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oftenderweapons · 3 years ago

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Into you | Yoongi

This fic was posted for the June Writing game A Summer Night's Dream, hosted by Professor Dove through @bangtansorciere

AU Types/Tropes: Silvery & Hush Established Relationship AU

Themes: Pining

Kinks: Marking, Fingering, Handjob, Blowjob, Edging, Overstimulation, Sex Toy Usage, (Praise kink, if you squint).

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 6.3k

Genre: pwp (very little plot) smut, fluff, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: we've all been traumatised by SoWooJoo!Yoongi, but apparently Kitten has very fancy ways of reacting to trauma. Expect a very special, very fond ending.

Trigger warnings: first of all, this is basically unedited, I'm sorry. Now on to canonical warnings: swearing, domme!reader, sub!Yoongi; assplay, rimming, anal fingering (all male receiving); edging (male receiving), marking (male and female receiving); blindfold and handcuffs (male reeciving), spit play, blowjob (male giving and receiving. yeah, he's blowing the strap, it's a thing, believe me. a hot thing too), brief oral, (female receiving); grinding/humping, masturbation (female), cum play/eating, lots of lube ofc, strap on/pegging, lots of possessiveness, very mild degradation (very fond, he calls her bitch but very, very affectionately), overstimulation, cumshots (plural, very messy). Lowkey voyeurism (it's in the final extra). The sex described is overall as safe as sex can be, with the exception of all anything oral and all the cum eating. That is not safe, get tested before you do that with your partner. Sorry, the warnings are very detailed but this is sort of different from what I usually write, so i tried to be extra careful.

Thanking the wifey, @joheunsaram for being the eternal sweetheart 💜💜💜

Here is my masterlist and well, enjoy!

When Yoongi came through the door, he looked quite happy, though his expression was slightly tired.

“Kitten?” he called, looking for you in the living room, and kitchen. Were you still working? He hoped you weren’t. Maybe you were still with the girls. But after two hours?

And then you appeared. Naked, leaning against the bedroom door.

“Hi, kitty cat.”

He hummed and grinned as he stared at your silhouette. “Is that for me?”

You nodded and walked towards him, staring at the way he bit his lip as he observed your swaying hips, the curves of your breasts. You laughed. He knew so little, poor boy. “It sure is,” you purred before hugging him, acting as if you were just going in for some intimacy before you found your target, grabbing his left asscheek while your other hand slid from his spine to his side to his stomach, all the way down to belly, teasing his belt and heading further down, cupping his crotch.

His mouth opened as he exhaled, his hot breath fanning over your bare chest. “You know what you want, don’t you?”

“I’ve always known it,” you replied, stroking him through his jeans. “I don’t think I could want anything else after what you put me through tonight.”

“Did you and the girls enjoy the show?” he asked, mouthing at your neck, feeling the heavy thump of your vein underneath the sensitive tip of his tongue.

“I believe Candy fainted or climaxed a couple times,” you considered, feeling Yoongi chuckle beneath your jaw.

“The kid will be getting it good tonight.”

You smirked, starting to undo his belt. “He's not the only one,” you teased before your hand dove into his pants, feeling him up. “Now I want you to focus on me, though,” you said with a pout, tracing the shape of his lips with a finger. “I want to blow your mind.”

He was speechless as he nodded, his mouth gently agape as you gripped the neckline of his shirt and dragged him to the bedroom. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew what was going to happen, what he did know was that he liked it, and he hoped you would walk the talk till the very end. Somehow, tonight he needed you to.

“What are you thinking of?” you started, your hands undoing the buttons of his shirt.

He placed his hands on your waist, caressing up and down your sides. “How much I love you.”

You smiled and knelt in front of him, kissing his belly button before nibbling on the soft skin just below it. “You’re such a liar.”

“You would be too dangerous if you knew the truth,” he hinted vaguely, pushing your hair back as you kissed his happy trail, your hands slithering into the back of his trousers and slowly, painfully slowly, pulling them down. Unintentionally, his underwear slid down too, his erection springing free against your cheek, a tight hiss coming out of his gritted teeth at the impact.

“Come on, darling,” you cooed before licking up the shaft of his cock. “Won’t you tell me?”

He was tempted to let you continue, making you become dirtier and dirtier as you tried to get him to talk; however, he was too eager to play other games with you. “I’m hoping you’re going to dominate me.”

You looked up at him.

“I want you to fuck me.” He looked away, his cheeks hot as he murmured the two words. “Ruin me.”

You stood immediately, placing your hands on his cheeks, combing his blonde locks back. “What am I allowed to do?” you asked, giving him a soft peck on the lips.

“You pick.”

You felt your soul leave your body. “Get on the bed. All fours.”

Yoongi bit his lip as he felt you switch, your demeanour getting assertive in a second. He loved when it happened. He loved feeling you so at ease with him to let yourself act upon your most animalistic instincts. He wasn’t sure of what it meant to him, but he loved being used by you. And he loved being part of your darkest, most unspeakable fantasies. He loved being kept in that sweet, dark place that was your libido, knowing he would always be the only one residing there, because he trusted you when you told him he was the only one you wanted.

And from the way you made love to him, night after night, he could feel it was true.

He heard a low buzz starting in the room, the sound almost disturbing compared to the quiet harmony of your breathing and his chasing each other.

He felt exposed on the large bed, lonely as you circled around it, around him.

The buzzing stopped.

“Love, would you like wearing a blindfold?” you asked, letting him choose on such an insubstantial matter. It wasn’t your main focus anyway.

Yoongi thought about it for a minute. Could he? Did he want to?

And then he remembered how he had trusted you that one time. “I want to.”

You grinned and held the silk piece between your hands, kneeling behind him on the bed and pressing your hips to his ass, beginning to work him up while you slipped the fabric over his eyes. “All fixed?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, the tone excessively teasing for that to be actual submission.

“Are you all cleaned up?”

He nodded while unconsciously pressing his ass to your hips. “All clean.”

You smiled. “Did you do this in the hope I would use you tonight?” you inquired, feeling him nod as his hair tickled your arms.

“A man can hope,” he replied mischievously.

“Do you need to be used, Yoongi?” The question rang in the room for three full seconds.

“I’m yours to use.”

“Good.” You rose from the bed, picking all your tools of choice. “Let’s get this started.”

Yoongi was in for a long night.

The first thing he felt was the squelching noise of your hands getting wet, next a vague pineapple smell drifting through the room. He could somehow imagine that the thump he heard next, with a click following, was you, putting down the bottle of lube and closing the cap.

“Does your shoulder hurt, love?” you asked, kissing his back. Though the surgery and the recovery was almost complete, you still treated it gently — mostly because you liked spoiling him and babying him.

“I’m okay, don’t worry,” he replied with certainty.

You hummed and tickled his nape. “Good boy,” you praised before bringing your hand around his waist, finding his cock and starting to tease him gently, with slow, light tugs that focused on finding the veins running along his shaft. They were rather delicate strokes aimed at your own pleasure rather than his. “I’ll check in on you later, okay love?”

His confirmation came through a hum that quickly turned into a moan as you reinforced your hold on him. “Yes, Kitten.” And that ‘yes’ felt more like a nod at the pleasure instead of an answer to your question. You grinned and let him live — you loved when he started growing so hazy he lost contact with reality.

While your hand kept going, you started approaching your actual target, your mouth leaving soft little nibbles on his ass, licking the skin you had just bit before moving to the next spot, making sure you left a bruise this time, Yoongi’s exhale turning into a whimper as you found the perfect spot with your thumb.

Now, the worst part of teasing Yoongi is that he loved having your mouth on him, but that automatically meant that you had to choose between his oral fixation and dirty talking, or just very mundane teasing.

“Do you like your pretty ass bit, my love?” The question was spoken softly, with your deepest voice, the one that always drove him insane. He called it your bedroom voice, velvety, low, sultry and so elegantly feminine. In his mind it looked like a black panther to him, hiding deep in the forest of his desire.

“I like anything you do to me,” he replied, trusting you blindly — quite literally — as you lead him exactly where you wanted him to be, in places he’d never had the courage to explore by himself.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you rewarded him, giving him that safety, that reassurance you knew he needed to take the next step.

“Love you,” he replied meekly, his breath laboured. And then he felt it, your mouth, lingering in between his asscheeks before you pushed them apart, dipping your tongue into the crevice and lashing it against the rim of muscles around his hole.

“Kitten,” he cried out, getting on his elbows, spreading his legs and arching his back to offer himself more fully.

You hummed, appreciating his new position. You wanted to answer him so much, but you kept going, rubbing the skin between his testicles and his anus with your thumb, covered in latex and lube. It was the easiest way — which you had learnt the hard way. Lubrication seemed to last longer on the gloves, and you were okay with sacrificing skin-to-skin contact when the glove allowed you an efficient job, and a quick clean hand when he needed aftercare.

As you let your spit dribble down his skin, meeting your finger, you rested for a second. “Do you still want my tongue or would you like my fingers, babe?”

He groaned and started moving to push his cock into your hand.

You loosened the grip, the touch too light to give him the friction and pressure he wanted. “I said, my tongue or my fingers, Yoongi.”

“Fingers, finger!” he replied quickly — anything to get your grip back on his cock. He needed it, he was desperate and foolish and he needed it so bad.

And then you pushed your middle finger inside, a gasp and a moan exiting his mouth as he crumbled forward a little, clawing at the sheet, the lack of vision unsettling him a little. “Oh god, Kitten! Just like that!”

You grinned and started moving your finger inside just barely, beginning to work at his inner walls little by little, stroking his cock every time he got too quiet.

“Do you know how many people wish they could do this to you?” you teased before bringing your finger out, stretching his entrance and pouring more lube onto the glove. “Do you know how many people want to be in my place, right now?”

He shook his head, too overwhelmed to think, to speak.

“Everyone wants to fuck you. Or be fucked by you,” you murmured, adding one more finger and catching him by surprise. “Everyone wants to suck your beautiful dick. My dick.”

He cried out your name as you found his prostate and started rubbing your fingers gently against it. “All yours,” he purred, swirling his hips against your hand, humming when you gave him the perfect angle. “Kitten, fuck.”

“Is it turning you on?” you asked, removing your fingers to make sure he didn't cum too soon.

“Yes. Now tell me, are you edging me?”

Though his tone was requesting and assertive, you let it slip. He would go back to whining like a good sub in seconds. You placed your lips at his ear, tracing the shell with your tongue and making him arch his back. “Maybe.” You kissed his temple and smiled at him as he purred at you, trying to find anything he could kiss. “Are you in the mood for that?”

He nodded and gasped as he felt your tongue caress his lips and your fingers linger at his entrance. He opened his mouth, ready to be doubly violated, imagining you kneeling at his side.

“Do you want me inside?” you teased, your hot breath fanning over the lower half of his face.

“Yes, please,” he replied, his voice so shy and open.

You held on, caressing his ass, back and forth, slowly, sensuously before you pinched him. “Lay on our back, kitty cat. I have plans for you.”

He snickered and obeyed, curiosity and arousal being the only things keeping him from taking over. “You’re really on your worst behaviour, uh?”

You hesitated, slightly confused at what he meant. Did he like that? Did he…

“Kitten,” he called, stretching his hand and finding your leg. “Love.”

You thought it ridiculous that with such a simple comment he had managed to make your commandeering mood wobble.

He lifted his blindfold at the lack of response. “Hey?”

“Do you really want it?” You looked away from him, feeling like you were maybe pushing him too far.

He sat up to grab your chin and make you look in his direction. “I want it, Kitten. Do you want to give it to me?” You nodded, earning a peck on your lips. “Then give it to me, love.” He laid back down, and put the blindfold back on. “There, you have me. I trust you. I know our safewords. Please, do whatever you fancy.”

You blinked and gave it a try. “I love you, Yoongi.”

“I love you too, ____. I adore you. This is a judgement-free zone, love. It’s always been. It’s the two of us. Nothing can be wrong as long as it’s me and you.” His hand abandoned your leg so he could grip the headboard. “Come on, do it. I know you want it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, already stretching to your drawer. “You want me to cuff you?”

He hummed and smiled brightly. “It was only a matter of time until you wanted the tables turned, Kitten. I accepted the idea of being cuffed the night you let me put them on you.”

You sighed and straddled his waist, stretching to the headboard to fix the prop on Yoongi, looping the links behind a bar and letting the other handcuff click close on his other wrist. “Too tight?” you checked on him, letting him tug at the restrain a little until he gave you his approval.

“It’s perfect. I’m doing perfect. Now could you please take care of my cock? It’s just a teensy tiny bit hard,” he hissed as he felt the mattress dip between his spread legs, your form crouched there right before you slipped your gloved hand under his balls, searching for the lube bottle and pouring some on your joined fingers before you dipped them in, making him groan in pleasure, your other hand running up and down his thighs as you playfully skimmed them with your nails.

“Kitten, I—” he stopped mid-sentence as he felt your lips around his soft, bulbous tip, his veins so thick you could feel them as you squished him with your cheeks, swallowing the first couple inches of the shaft and bobbing your head with the same rhythm of your fingers inside him. He exhaled, his breath coming out so hard that it resonated in small whimpers.

You let yourself continue for a while, waiting for his abdomen to start twitching right before you sucked him painfully hard, only to let him pop out of your mouth, his loud cries turning into a desperate little tumble of sobs as he felt stimulation stop entirely on all fronts.

“I only do this because it feels so good when you let me cum, but damn it feels so cruel when you edge me.” His words were raspy and vaguely ironic.

“Too cruel?” you asked, sitting up and stretching to his face.

“Perfectly cruel. I love it when you’re a bit of a bitch,” he replied with a semblance of a snicker. “You know, since I’m a bit of a saint. You balance me out.”

You grinned and pushed your naked fingers to his lips, letting him have a taste of his cum before he parted his lips wide, your face leaning over him as you made your lips touch his, your drool falling from the tip of your tongue right into his mouth.

Yoongi simply moaned at the gesture before chuckling. “That’s my lovely bitch.”

You nodded and hummed, kissing down his body, slowing down only to study the wet stain of saliva and precum pooling at his lower belly. Once at his stomach, you placed a heavy kiss there, deciding to mark your territory. You weren’t sure about what was making you feel so jealous of him all of a sudden — secretly your brain was still processing the mental image of him pole-dancing, after the guys had suggested it — nevertheless, you were a horny mess. Well, a hornier mess than usual.

Feeling your courage renewed, you stretched to his head, pulling up the blindfold. You needed him to look at you as you decided to remind him who he belonged to; however, you had to stop right on top of him as his beautiful eyes emerged, lashes fluttering softly as he stared at you, stretching to get your lips on his. As always, you gave him what he wanted, peppering a series of childish pecks over his reddened lips.

“Love you so mad,” he confessed as he watched you moving down his body, kissing the previous mark, already blooming in scarlet red and placing one right after, just one inch before his belly button. “You want me to watch you mark me up?” he questioned, his voice guttural and low pitched.

You nodded and pressed another kiss, even lower, feeling the salt of his sweat and precum sting your tongue as you sucked his skin in, feeling his taste settle in as you made sure the shape of your mouth transferred onto his flesh.

Lower some more, your index finger tracing his hard on, making him hiss.

Lower, to his pubic bone, where his shaved hair tickled you slightly.

And then up, one last hickey where the tip of his cock laid, taking note of the spot for later, when his sex would swell and twitch with a powerful orgasm, only to deflate and shorten a few minutes later, when he would grow sleepy and tender and his whole body would curl up with exhaustion. Then, you would look at the spot on his abdomen, stare at that burgundy sign and remind yourself that the tender kitty napping at your side is fucking hung — and knows exactly how to use every single inch of that beautiful dick.

And that every single one of those inches belongs to you.

With your eyes deep into his, you started sucking him some more, your fingers working in tandem as you started stretching his entrance, making sure he was absolutely ready for what would come next.

Again, his breathing started growing ragged, his wrists tugging at the cuffs as realised he was too aroused to let go of his high again. “Kitten, please…”

And that’s what broke the spell, his length sliding out of your mouth as you smirked and replied, “yes, my love?”

He threw his head back in frustration, pushing his hips up in a way that allowed him some friction against your mouth and chin before you moved away, recognising his intention. And just like that, sudden inspiration struck you, making you turn with your back to him, straddling his hips before you placed your sodden cunt over his erection, feeling the hard flesh glide easily with your drool covering it. It was almost too easy to sync that up with your fingers on your clit and the two digits still inside him. “Is this what you were begging for?”

He hummed, barely coherent as you started humping him, making him grunt and groan as he tried to get more stimulation, more sensations, something just remotely similar to your mouth sucking him off — obviously, to no avail.

You took only a few minutes to cum, deciding to do so with your hips over his face, too far for him to stretch out his tongue to taste you. And just to prove his patience further, you decided to press the softness of your boobs over his pelvis, one hand between your legs and the other one too busy to take care of him — which was actually a shame — still, you decided he was stretched and relaxed enough that you were probably ready for next step.

Plus, at this point, he was speechless, desperate and needy, begging you with a litany of ‘please’ and ‘Kitten’ and ‘let me’, all coherent thoughts out of the window as you finally came, gifting him with your open cunt right on top of his mouth as he pushed his tongue inside, humming and jerking his hips up when he finally felt your cum in his mouth, the salty, bitter tang of you so liquid and hot over his taste-buds that his eyes rolled shut and his nose sent a puff of fresh air tickling your overheated, drenched skin.

As you descended from your orgasm, slowly and carefully unstraddling Yoongi in the process, laying at his side and kissing his chest before you moved to reach his mouth, you realised he was the most incredible lover you could have ever wished for.

“Love you, baby,” you murmured at his side, watching him struggle slightly as his hands were still bound. He whined meekly as he found your lips once more, the kiss scorching hot as the two of you started moving in unison. “You still stretched?” you murmured, his confirmation coming with a brief delay as he tried to bring his brain to work.

“Do you wanna…?” Your question was vague, but Yoongi understood it nonetheless.

“Yes. I really wanna. I want it a lot,” he whispered, resting his face against the crook of your neck. You untucked him from there, drawing the shape of his lips with your finger before he swallowed one, tasting you.

You kissed the mole on his nose, on his cheek as he kept sucking, pushing your hand away as soon as you decided you needed to see him crumble. You removed the glove, reversing it inside out as you rolled it off. Next, you undid the handcuffs, making sure that Yoongi could be perfectly autonomous before you walked away from the bed to grab your required accessories from the drawer at the far corner of the room. Studying the straps and rings, you found out the correct holes for your legs to slide in, bending down to push the small harness up, getting a relatively small dildo in the ring fitting just on top of your mound, reminding yourself you should put a condom on it just to make the cleaning process easier.

Condom on, flared base holding the toy into the metal ring, you started doing the straps around your waist and ass, struggling to decide whether the harness was too loose around you.

“This is one of the sexiest things you’ve ever done,” Yoongi murmured gently from the bed, his eyes hungry and desperately in love with you. You gave a couple thrusts with your hips, feeling the addition at your pelvis and deciding that yes, it fit you perfectly.

Yoongi waited for you at the feet of the bed, kneeling, watching as you walked over to him and stood right before him.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, looking up at you, his eyes focusing on your blushing cheeks, on your turgid, red lips, at your swollen breasts and hardened nipples, following that line that lead from your sternum to your stomach to your belly, right to the toy at his eye level.

He licked his lips and kissed the tip, wishing with all of his heart that it could make you feel the same way as when he would press his barely agape lips to your clit. Grinning about your clean hand, you pushed it into his hair, combing it gently before he started taking an inch into his mouth, then another, then another, his eyes fixed on yours.

Even though you could feel nothing but the base of the dildo pressing into your skin, the sight was enough to give you a pleasure bigger than the physical one.

“You like it, my love?” you asked, watching him bob his head needily and gag before he backtracked, your thumb collecting the small tear that fell on his left cheek after his eyes watered. “You look beautiful, baby.”

He smiled and took the toy in once more, closing his eyes as he went further down on it, his hands placed on the back of your thighs as he pulled you closer, humming, sinking his pretty fingers into the flesh of your asscheeks.

“Wanna make you cum, Yoongi,” you murmured, using his hair to pull him off you.

He looked into your eyes, his lips messy with spit as he made his way to the middle of the bed, on all fours, trying to be as sexy as he could, but also feeling like he was miserably failing.

You smiled fondly at him, your reaction reassuring him as you climbed back on the bed. “How’s your shoulder, love?”

“Fine, but I prefer not staying on all fours,” he replied, getting on his knees and almost turning around before you stopped him with a hand around his waist. He knew his cock was leaking the very moment you put your hand on him, a white blob joining the ones caused by the feeling of your dildo inside his mouth and throat.

“Let’s do it like this,” you said, already pouring some lube onto the toy. “You love doing me like this,” you continued, getting both your hands around his waist and helping him scoot in between your parted thighs, the tip of the strap-on teasing the seam of his ass. “I want to feel the way you do.”

He nodded, fixing the tip to his entrance, pressing it and tipping his ass down, feeling the head fit into his hole. “Fuck,” he breathed out, abandoning himself so slowly onto the shaft, the object making his walls part until it reached his prostate, getting him to crumble entirely and sink down. “Fuck fuck fuck, thank you, Kitten, thank you so much, love,” he babbled, wiggling his hips as he found his favourite spot and started rubbing it against the dildo.

He was so grateful, so immensely thankful that you’d challenged yourself, that you’d explored so far so he could have this moment with you.

It wasn’t the first time you had tried pegging, but you hadn’t done it that much either. It was maybe your third or fourth time, but Yoongi couldn’t care any less.

The simple fact that you had agreed on trying was enough for him to be entirely smitten over you. Neither of you had even taken it into consideration when you first started dating, and now Yoongi loved how dominating and caring you became every time he felt like receiving assplay, or full-on anal sex; at the same time, you loved how vulnerable he became once you took control, and how easy it was for him to melt in your arms, or underneath you, once you started teasing his delicate hole.

As you moved into him, his back sweaty against your soft front, Yoongi threw his head back, resting it against your shoulder, mouth open, eyes closed, so heartbreakingly beautiful. You found his hand close to yours, lacing your fingers together while he found your other one, repeating the gesture right before you wrapped his arms and yours around his torso, holding him tight to you.

“I won’t let go, love,” you spoke in his ear, his whole body relaxing against you right before you gave a tentative thrust, making him whimper before he growled. “You’re safe here.”

He pouted, begging for a kiss, stretching as far as he could to get your lips against his. “Please. I love you. I want you so much. I’m so hard.” He almost sobbed when he felt you move inside again. “Please, let me cum,” he spoke, babbling slightly as you started pulling out, the dildo rubbing against his prostate. “It hurts, Kitten. Please. I wanna cum,” he sighed, gasping when you pushed back inside.

“Like this, my love?” you asked with a teasing grin, leaving a gentle peck on his delicate neck, drawing the profile of his adam’s apple with the tip of your tongue. “You’re so pretty when you beg, kitty cat.”

He moaned and shoved his hips down, gyrating them as the perfect friction hit his favourite spot. “Don’t play with me, Kitten. It’s been an hour, I’m begging you.”

“I know you can do way more than one hour, baby.” You started drawing circles on his tummy with one thumb, refusing to let go as you twisted your grip so your palm could rest on his abdomen, his own hand clinging to yours as you let your digits tiptoe further down, to the base of his cock, skimming the underside of the shaft in a way that had him setting a crushing grip on your hand.

“Kitten, I’m going mad, please. I love you. Please. Why are you so cruel to me?” he wailed, his body shaking against yours.

“Because you love it, Yoongi. Because you love me.” You chuckled as you felt his hand pressuring yours into jerking him off. “Because you let me ruin you so cutely. You’re such a pretty sight.” You decided to be merciful, starting to stroke in faster. “Because you want this, don’t you? Or you could use your safeword, my darling. I wouldn’t hold it against you, you know it.” You kissed his temple. “I’m yours, in any way you want me.”

Yoongi brought your joined hands to his mouth, kissing the back of yours. And then it hit you.

Everything was perfect. He was perfect. You felt perfect with him. And you knew he would take you, no matter how you came to him. He would take you and hold you — sad, happy, scared, excited, serene or troubled, powerful or powerless. He would wait for you and hold his arms open for you. He would kneel if you knelt, and he would rush to you if you crumbled and fell on your way to him. And he would have you, without condition.

Just like that, you went slower again, but deeper. Harder. Your hand, still teasing his cock, once more played an emotional tango as your pinkie lingered on his skin while you inverted your positions, your hand hugging his as you wrapped both your arms around his middle.

“Kitten,” he murmured, noticing that something was shifting between the two of you. “Like that, please, yes,” he said, letting the sound sibilate, giving you the answer you were searching for.

“Marry me, Yoongi.”

He opened his eyes, licking his lips as he stared at you with the widest, most incredulous eyes. “What?”

You rolled your hips good for him, making him purr and swear. “Marry me, Yoongi,” you repeated, kissing his brow. “Please, marry me.”

He twisted his head just enough to kiss the sweet spot under your ear. “Are you trying to fuck me insane so I’ll say yes?”

You chuckled. “Something like that.” You wanted to caress his hair, but holding his hands was more important — the most important thing in the world. “My heart is yours. I don’t want anyone else having it.”

Yoongi inhaled and made you tighten your grip around him. “Please,” he whined as you started going faster.

“Please what?”

“Yes,” he groaned. “Yes, yes, yes…” he said, starting to bounce on your lap, using you as he felt his cock swell, his eyelids quivering before they finally rolled shut, his release shooting out, against his chest, against your forearms and his abdomen. “Yes!” he finally growled, his expression becoming ecstatic as he rode you until not an ounce of pleasure could be drawn out anymore.

“It’s all mine,” you reminded him, his pleased smile getting even wider before he started nodding, only one of your hands leaving him as you wrapped it around his cock, even more cum coming out as you squeezed him, knowing he could be overstimulated, and that he would love it. “This cock is mine.”

He nodded, out of his mind, moaning as he reached the deepest pits of pleasure.

“And this sweet ass is, too, all mine.”

He nodded even harder, his lovely locks tickling your shoulder, his grin lopsided as he opened his eyes, brow furrowing as you smeared the cum on his chest with your fingers. “Your heart. Right here. All mine.”

“Yes, yours,” he confirmed, again getting worked up, all the edging and foreplay rewarding him with one more growing orgasm. He felt slightly sorry that you had cum only once through the night, but all his worries faded as your dirty fingers reached his lips. “These lips?”

“Yours,” he replied, automatically, opening them to suck at your digits.

“All your pleasure?” You went harder on him, ramming your hips up, feeling his muffled moans against your hand as you gritted out, “mine.”

He freed his mouth. “Yours,” he confirmed, fucking himself onto you as once more he shot another load onto his chest and abdomen, this time only barely less abundant than before. “It’s all yours. Everything. Everything,” he repeated, entirely spent as he tumbled forward, the dildo exiting him as he laid on the bed and rolled on his side, his entire body shivering with the aftershocks of pleasure as he still rolled his hips shyly, cum pooling at his slit and rolling down in heavy, white, blobs, all pressure gone after the insane amount of semen he’d shot all over himself and on the sheets.

You found a quick way to get rid of the strap on, laying behind him before he turned around, his body messy and tired. Still, you rubbed your hands all over his strained muscles, trying to ease out the sensory overload he’d just gone through.

“Yoongi,” you breathed out, before his eyes grew glittery. He smiled as the first tear rolled down.

“Did you really ask me to marry you while you were fucking my ass?” he joked, trying to hide just how emotional he felt.

“We can make up a more appropriate story to tell family and friends,” you joked back, your hands touching his face in a way that matched the feelings in his glance.

“We might have to, yes...” he conceded, finding the vaguely greenish mark between your breasts, kissing it before he renewed its bright red colour. Soon it would be purple again. “Do you really want me to be your husband?”

“I really do,” you replied without hesitation. “Do you really want to become my husband?”

“You will also become my wife in the process. Are you ready for that?” he teased, chuckling together with you.

“I’ve been told I’m a fast learner,” you cocked an eyebrow. “Great versatility,” you went on, giving him that cheeky smirk that made him know exactly what you were referring to. “I’ll learn on the go.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to agree to your proposal. You know… Taxes… Health benefits… Saving on all those boring law procedures…” he mused, his eyes telling you that it was for the most antithetical reasons that he was saying yes.

Love, faith, trust, devotion, commitment. True companionship.

“I could use a very expensive diamond ring to pay for a sugar baby once you’re old and boring.” The joke made him snicker before he placed a kiss on your lips.

“Already thinking of substituting me,” he mused, kissing you again. “I’ll buy you one of those fake stones.”

“Then I guess I’ll be stuck with you forever.” You replied, grinning. There was nothing better you could think of.

When Yoongi woke up, he felt slightly dizzy. He had slept all the way to mid morning, the aftercare so gentle and relaxing that after the bath he crashed on the fresh sheets, nuzzling his face into your chest before he fell asleep like a baby. And apparently his sleep was so heavy that he’d managed to sleep through you messing in the kitchen, baking a cake and icing it too. In your messy handwriting shining bright blue on top of the cake, the words read: ‘thank you for letting me peg you’, which genuinely stole a giggle from his throat.

What didn’t steal a giggle was a small piece of rolled up paper planted on the cake, almost resembling a small candle. He untucked it, rolling it open and reading it twice, feeling his heart swell with pride and love and gratefulness. ‘Thank you for agreeing to become my husband.’

Yoongi smiled at it, feeling his eyes growing wetter as he groaned an ‘aigoo’, standing up from the chair and finding his wallet inside his jacket. Opening it, he found the spot where he kept the cinema ticket from your first date, and the passcode to your apartment door, slipping in one more trinket of your story together.

Yoongi looked around as the other boys worked out. Maybe he shouldn’t… Maybe he should just… keep it on the down low.

And then Jeongguk, shrugged and removed his shirt, an avalanche of definitely-not-mosquito-bites covering his chest. Namjoon, spotting the maknae’s puffed out chest, pride prickling at his ego, also removed his tank top to expose the eight matching red lines down his back. He grinned even more as he turned around, small bite marks appearing at his collarbones and delicate crescent-shaped indentations on his pectorals.

Jimin blushed as he decided to pass. His marks were way too low to be shown publicly.

With a smug grin, Yoongi decided to keep his dongsaengs humble, removing his shirt only to expose a line of bruises starting at his stomach and disappearing at the waistband of his shorts.

Everyone hollered at him, Jimin chuckling before chanting, “Suga-hyung won!”

Tagging: @hesperantha

#Yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi x kitten #sub!yoongi #domme!reader #min yoongi smut #yoongi x yn #thebtswritersclub #houseofddaeng #52hertz #bangtansorciere #thetruthuntoldnet

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Sixteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3021

Warnings: None

A/n Every chapter, you all make me smile so much <3 Thank you!

Haldir leaves and I let out something halfway between an exhale and a groan.

What. Was. That.

My room, which is a very respectable size, felt like a matchbox as the space between Haldir and I minimized. He went from weeks of keeping a consistent physical barrier between us to ghosting his hands over my arms, my hips, my waist…It’s…new.

And when he held me close, his chest so nearly brushing against my back—

I shake my head against the onslaught of scenarios that run through my mind.

I should not be thinking of him this way.

Haldir is a friend, a guide, an instructor, nothing more.

I let out a deep breath and begin to pace, trying to work off this newfound energy. Haldir and I trained for nearly two hours, I should be exhausted. Instead, I feel wide awake, invigorated, jittery, like I couldn’t possibly go to sleep. I groan, taking my hair out of its bun and letting it fall around me. I stop in my tracks, glancing at the spot where Haldir and I stood so close together just moments ago.

I cannot stay here.

I tear through the open door, turning right and taking the staircase that leads to the first floor. I turn left and, before I know it, I’m standing in front of Alex’s closed door.

I knock.

The door creaks open. “Hey,” he greets, opening it wider to allow me in. “What’s up?”

“I uh,” I purse my lips, having not really thought through my plan. I do need a distraction though, and being out of my room is already helping clear the fog from my brain. My eyes catch a pile of books on his nightstand. “I came to help you research, if that’s okay.”

His face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, of course. I’ve read those three so far,” he gestures to a small stack by the window, “and there’s nothing helpful in them. Everything else in English is fair game. Is there anything specific you want to look into?”

“Fæs.” I’m surprised that the answer comes to me so easily, but as soon I speak the word, I know it’s true — I do want to learn more.

Alex nods slowly. “Yeah, okay, I think I’ve got a couple books on that here. Let me….” He trails off, spinning in a circle as he searches for a specific volume. “Ah.” He squats down and grabs a book near the foot of his bed, reaching it up to me.

An image of Haldir, crouched on the ground, hand warm against my ankle, staring up at me with such intensity, so much confidence—

Alex stands and I look to the ceiling, trying to will away the image and the feelings that come rushing along with it.

“What makes you want to learn about fæs? Isn’t that an elf thing?”

I purse my lips, stalling until the embarrassment fades enough to look Alex in the eye. “Haldir mentioned that humans have their own version of a fæ — a little weaker, a little different, but generally the same concept.” An idea begins to take form, and I roll with it. “I was wondering if—assuming that our fæs remained unchanged between our homeworld and Arda—well, if we could use it somehow, tap into it and reclaim our memories. If anything were to remember, wouldn’t it be our spirits?”

Alex nods slowly, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Great thinking! Let me know if you find anything.”

He settles into the couch, leaving the bed for me. Gratefully, I cozy up against the pillows. I open the book, skimming the introductory chapter, which is basically just a summary of the core concepts Haldir has already explained to me. When I’m on chapter three, the sky passes firmly into night, and even the plethora of candles Alex has lit aren’t enough to keep my eyes from straining.

I pull my knees to my chest and lean forward, glancing over at my friend. His cheeks — which had been gaunt when we first reunited, now take a healthy shape. His shoulders no longer hold vestiges of tension — they lean relaxed, leisurely, against the back of the couch. Even in the limited light, he squints his eyes and continues to read, seeming intent on soaking up as much knowledge as he can.

I rest my chin on my knees. “I need to ask you something.”

He looks up, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Okay?”

“Are you alright?”

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “Cosima…”

“No,” I protest. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable, he needs to talk about things. He’s been bottling it up since he arrived in this world and it hasn’t done anyone any good. “I mean it.”

Alex groans, shaking his head. “Fine, okay. It’s…strange.” He pauses, but I wait, holding out hope that he’ll continue. He does so, slowly. “I’ve…gotten myself to accept that I’m in a different world, but I can’t wrap my mind around the how. That’s stressful. We don’t have a solid plan to return home, nor do we know if we’ll find one. That’s depressing. And, I have flashes and snippets of memories, but otherwise, I feel like I don’t know who I am.”

My heart breaks. Here my friend is, hurting, lost…

And I’ve left him completely alone.

Alex tilts his head to the side, contemplating. “But I do feel better than when we arrived, or even just from a few days ago. Having things to do, feeling useful and like I have agency for the first time…it’s really good for me. And, well,” he dips his head then raises it again, leveling his eyes on me. “It’s helped me realize something else — that I owe you an apology.”

I blink in surprise. I’ve been the one that has pretty much abandoned and ignored him. I should be apologizing.

“On the road, I said some pretty mean things, and I isolated you from your friends and tried to take control. I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I was…” he sighs, shaking his head, “scared out of my mind. I already felt like I couldn’t do anything to fix the problem, and then on top of that I felt like you had completely given up and it was my job to save us both. And I know now that’s not the case, but for a while…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re just more adaptable than I am, I guess.”

I push myself off the bed, cross the room, and sit next to him on the small couch. Automatically, he throws an arm over my shoulder, the movement so familiar and easy that he must have done it a thousand times before. I lay my head on his shoulder, the bone there pressing against my ear.

I take a deep breath. “If we had really been kidnapped, or injured, or anything more realistic than what actually happened,” he gives a small, tired laugh, the movement shaking his shoulder, “you would’ve been the one to get us out. I know it. Even now, you’re the one putting in all the hard work to get us home. I’m sorry I’ve pretty much left you to handle it alone.”

He squeezes my upper arm gently. “I appreciate it, but I don’t blame you. I get it.” He shrugs again, a measure of sadness creeping into his voice. “It’s not like you remember anyone enough to miss them. If you have people you like here, of course you’d focus on them.”

I feel my lips pull into a guilty frown. “They like you too, you know. You all just need to spend some more time together—”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, pushing a smile onto his face. “It’s okay, honestly — we just don’t click. But I have you, and Baranor and I get along well, and I have this project to work on. It’s enough for me.”

I sigh, resting my head against his chest. I hope that’s true.

{***}

At breakfast, Lavandil and I make plans to meet at her shop. She gives me directions and I hurry up the stairs to my room, changing out of my tunic and leggings and into something a little more fun for my first day of work. I settle on a dark purple gown, one that billows down my arm in puffy gossamer sleeves and has a slight, sparkly train. I’m probably a bit overdressed, but knowing Lavandil’s extravagant wardrobe, I’ll fit in just fine. I bound down the staircase, eager to discover the market and the shop. I turn left, intent on exiting the building.

And crash into the middle of someone’s chest.

Hands grip my upper arms, steadying me as I stumble back. Once I’m righted, I look up, and my mouth falls open.

“Cosima—”

“Haldir—”

Both of us freeze, having spoken at the same time. I purse my lips, waiting for him to go first. He raises an eyebrow, evidently expecting the same of me.

But I can’t make the words happen. His hands on my arms send my mind right back to the tension of last night, to the room that started light and open and turned more intimate than it should as the night went on.

Haldir’s arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you turning the corner. Are you alright?”

I nod, my eyes darting from his chest clothed in a cobalt blue tunic up to his eyes. The intensity from last night is gone, now replaced with a noticeable degree of hesitance.

Interesting.

Did he feel something last night, too? Or does he know I did, and now feels awkward around me?

That last thought sends a wave of stress through me. Was I horribly obvious? Have I messed everything up?

“Are you off to Lavandil’s shop,” he inquires, pulling my mind away from these anxiety-inducing thoughts.

“Yes.”

He quirks a smile. “Then I imagine you will be seeing a lot of my brother today. He has a tendency to hang around there.”

“Probably a result of him being in love with the shop-owner,” I quip, voice going high with nerves.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose that would do it.”

We fall into awkward silence.

Haldir clears his throat. “Well, enjoy your day.”

“You too,” I nod, crossing paths with him to exit the building.

Once outside, I take in a gulping breath.

Did I create all that weirdness? Or is he struggling to figure out how to act around me, too? And why?

Things have never been strained or awkward between myself and Haldir. Once he got over his initial suspicion of me, we got along easily. I feel like he understands me better than the others and, if I had to pick a favorite, as Rumil prompted me not so long ago, it would be, without question, the supposedly-stern Marchwarden leading our company. And, based on the amount of time he spends with me of his own accord, I would say he enjoys my presence, too.

So, that begs the question, what could have happened to turn all that ease on its head and replace it with stilted, awkward, unsure interactions? We were fine until last night—

I suck in a breath.

My brain, apparently useless until I looked the issue straight in the eye, starts piecing together instances of my time with Haldir, forming a terrifying and exhilarating picture.

Sleeping between me and the entrance to our camp so I wouldn’t be frightened. Spending hours alone with me lying on a blanket staring up at the stars. The way he panicked and looked after me when I had my migraine. Big things like that and smaller ones, too — the way he teases me, the way he always makes sure I’m cared for, whether that means sharing from his canteen or sending me with food when I’m likely to miss dinner. The way he’s conscious of my fears—heights, orcs, you name it—and provides support without coddling me, enabling me to handle and face them on my own. The way his arms, so gentle yet so secure, held me close, even for just the smallest of moments.

Could we…have feelings for each other?

Could this rapid and strong attachment to an ellon I met mere weeks ago be something other than friendship?

With a sinking feeling in my gut, the momentary rush of excitement falls into something much more sinister. Something that, in any other world would be a wonderful, thrilling feeling—the one I am developing feelings for maybe, potentially, might see me the same way—is here, horrifying.

Because elves live forever and love only once.

And a human lifespan is dismally short.

Rumil’s face after our conversation yesterday, crestfallen and saddened, comes to my mind.

If my mere friendship with these ellyn will cause them grief when I’m gone, then even entertaining these thoughts about Haldir….

It’s deplorable.

From the heart of the city, the bell chimes. I’m late to meet Lavandil.

I shove down the ache that makes my lips quiver and hurry down the path that will lead me to the market.

The distraction of working with Lavandil will be my lifeline.

I cannot allow my feelings for Haldir progress any further. So, though I’m not sure how effective I’ll be, I swear not to think about him for the rest of the day.

{***}

“What happened last night between you and Haldir?”

Damn.

I made it two hours.

I swallow, trying to seem busy as I hang a tapestry on a display. “What?”

Lavandil comes up beside me, using her height to hang the art properly. “Rumil told Orophin who told me that Haldir came back from training with you and seemed quite flustered.”

My body runs hot. “Did he?”

“Mhm,” she nods decisively. “Apparently he returned to the room in a rush, wouldn’t say a thing, and then spent over three hours at the training grounds, sparring quite harshly with some of the guard.”

Even though the tapestry is hung, I pretend to fuss with it, not brave enough to meet Lavandil’s eyes. “Nothing happened. Maybe he just wanted a better workout — I can’t imagine I was much of a challenge.” I try for a joke, and mercifully, she gives me a pity laugh.

Her demeanor softens. “Cosima, you know there’s nothing wrong with having an attraction, or even feelings.”

“Of course there’s something wrong with it,” I shriek, much louder than I meant to. I look at her with wide eyes, surprised by my outburst.

Thankfully, no one is in the shop, and Lavandil only regards me with calm eyes, no judgement in them.

“I’m sorry,” I hurry to apologize, sitting myself in a chair at a nearby table. On top of it sits a beautiful garnet tablecloth — Lavandil’s work. She sits across from me.

“It’s alright,” she smiles kindly, resting her elbows on the table to mirror me. “I had a similar disposition when I realized I loved Orophin.”

“I don’t love him,” I correct quickly.

She puts her hands up in the sign for surrender, though her bottom lip pulls like she’s trying not to make a face.

“I don’t,” I insist, putting effort into keeping my tone non-angry. I lower my voice, worried, perhaps irrationally, that Haldir himself will go waltzing by and hear my dreadful confession. “It’s, at most, an interest, and probably not even that. Likely more of a curiosity.”

“Well, interests are nothing to be ashamed of.” Her tone matches my low volume and carries in it a gentleness I could never hope to emulate.

“Yes, they do!” My voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Lavandil, he is an elf. You know I’m human. The two don’t mix well.”

She huffs. “There’s nothing to say that. An elleth here, Arwen—”

“Is walking into a tragedy,” I cut her off.

Lavandil’s eyes narrow. “Too many people see it that way, and it is getting quite old. Do you know what I see? Two souls in love. Though their futures are bleak and incompatible, their presents are filled with joy and love and the connection that can only come from two fæs who want each other so badly finally bonded. They would still face pain if they ignored their love for each other — so why not give themselves what joy they can?”

“But she will die—”

Now it’s Lavandil’s turn to interrupt. “Arwen is fully grown. She is wise, and I trust that she knows herself well enough to make the choices she has. Her life is ultimately her own. She can spend it how she pleases.”

I press my lips together, head falling to stare at the deep red tablecloth. Despite Lavandil’s conviction, her words do nothing to allay my fears.

The only thing that awaits an elf bonded with a human is grief and death.

Arwen may have made her choice, but so have I made mine.

“Rumil said elves can take centuries to fall in love. Is that true?”

Lavandil pauses, caught off guard with my change in topic. “I-in some cases, yes. More that it could potentially take that long for an elf to admit they are in love. Often, even if they are not ready to accept it, their fæs know. And even then, that is the timeline in the most rare of cases. You know, for Orophin and I it only took a matter of—”

I raise my eyes to her, pleading. “Lavandil.”

She sighs, staring at me like she wishes I had asked her something else. “Fine, yes. Elves fall slower than humans.”

I take in a deep breath, nodding.

Good.

Because if I have only just noticed these feelings, chances are, if Haldir were to follow suit, he is way behind. The instance Lavandil described from last night, the other hints that show he might be feeling something…I can end them now.

I have time to stop this.

I have time to save him.

A/n So, funny thing, @errruvande got pretty close to guessing Cosima’s reaction to realizing her feelings for Haldir, so shout out to Liza!!! Seriously though, love her, love her blog, I’d definitely recommend checking her account out! Thank you all for reading!

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

#haldir #haldir x ofc #haldir x oc #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction

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harryspet · 5 years ago

Note

dark peter parker x innocent naive reader (or ofc it doesn’t matter) non-con fic?

CAMP KISSLESS | peter parker

[WARNINGS] dark peter parker x reader (Y/N), virgin reader, noncon sex, outdoor/car sex (public?), peter isn’t very friendly neighborhood spidery in this

A/N: I’ve wanted to do a camp au for a little while so that’s why I chose this setting! This ended up being way longer than I thought it would be. Read at your own risk.

In which your the new camp counselor and you’re excited to start your job but Peter has other plans for your summer.

word count: 2.7k

It was gonna be a great summer.

It wasn’t your first summer at Camp. No, your parents drove you to upstate New York every summer since you were eight and you stayed at Camp Moonfall for three weeks out of the summer. You always made the best memories there but, now that you were older, you were saving up for college next semester. Now that you were eighteen, you felt responsible enough to get a job and of course, Peter put in a good word for you.

You remembered the summer before, all the counselors had let you join them around the fire since you were older. That’s when the game of never have I ever happened and that’s when you changed the way you looked at Peter. You always thought he was cute but with him smiling around all his friends, the firelight illuminating his skin, you developed a small crush. He was a year older than you and you remembered saying how you were going to miss him during your Senior Year.

He smiled at you, of course, and your heart fluttered.

It was in that game that everyone learned your secret about how you hadn’t even had your first kiss yet. They looked at you, shocked, and you would’ve preferred if they had just teased you rather than pitied you. You didn’t care that you hadn’t had your first kiss because you were waiting for magic. You wanted to settle for nothing less.

“So who’s first on your list?” Peter had asked you and you raised an eyebrow. He turned his marshmallow over the fire, letting it brown, “Your kiss list? Who’s your dream first kiss?”

“Thor, I think,” You joke to Peter and he only rolled his eyes.

“Haha, Y/N,” He spoke sarcastically, “But I’m serious, who’s number one?” For a moment, looking in his eyes, you could’ve sworn he wanted you to say him.

“I don’t have one,” You slouched back in your chair, “Whoever it is, I want them to be the one I marry.”

All of their eyes turned to you, even Peter as if you had said something offensive, “What?” you asked.

“You should save it for as long as you can, Y/N?” MJ said across from you, easing the tension, “High school boys are Satan's spawn. And I hear college boys aren’t far off.”

For the first day of camp, your outfit consisted of a tie-dyed t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. You had dreamed of carrying the clipboard you now possessed. Along with the wooden whistle around your neck, you felt complete.

MJ pointed at a gray minivan parked in a long line of cars where parents were unpacking their kids, “Y/N, can you check them in?” You immediately nodded

She remembered her training, all eight hours of it, and took a deep breath as she approached the family. The Dad was lugging things out of the trunk and the mom was rustling around with her triplets.

“Good morning, campers! I’m Y/N” You greeted them with a wide smile, hands tight around your clipboard. The kids didn’t seem to care much about you but you could get used to that, not every child was gonna fall in love with you, “Hope you all are excited for the best three weeks of your year. Can I get the last name?”

“We’re the Nelson’s,” The woman muttered, clearly not excited to hear your chipper voice this early in the morning. She pointed to each child and named them off.

You looked down the long list of names and easily found the three Nelson’s. You took a look at each boy, knowing you’d have to remember all of them, “There, found ya! Are these all of their things?”

The father nodded, three suitcases and several pool noodles on the ground, “You got a bellhop, Betty?” He spoke, clearly not bothered to know your name.

You looked down, still trying to smile wide as you crossed off the names, “Uhm, if you carry your things over there, someone will be there to carry their things to their cabin. Someone will also be there to take the boys down by the lake and they can join in the welcome festivities. You guys can say goodbye there and that’s when your vacation begins, Mom and Dad.”

You expected a smile or a nod of approval but you got cold stares, “We want to make sure they get settled in and see where they will be living. You can’t expect us to say goodbye now.”

Your smile fell a little bit but you kept your composure, “Well, here at Camp Moonfall, we want to keep the goodbyes short. When you took the tour, you were able to see the campsite. It’s very safe. We just find it’s easier for kids to adjust without the big, emotional goodbyes. It helps the homesickness when you start the fun right away,” You thought your smile would somehow lift their spirits but it only crushed yours.

“Could you stop smiling like an idiot? You’re an adult, aren’t you? They must be hiring the mentally incompetent here, Diane,” The father said to the mother.

Your heart sank and your lips parted to say something but the words didn’t leave, “I’m going to that cabin, sweetheart. Do you know what it’s like to give birth to triplets? I spent nine months with these kids and you aren’t gonna rip them away from me. I was in labor for twenty hours!”

“I-I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just telling you the camp policy. We just find that it works best-”

The dad interrupted, mimicking your voice, “We just find that it works best. God, Diane, I told you this was a bad idea.”

“My mother said this would be a good experience for them!” The Mom yelled back at the husband, she held her boys closer to her, “The boys are not staying here. It seems like there’s something in the water here anyways …” The woman scowled at you.

“I-I can g-get my supervisor-”

“And now she’s stuttering,” The father rolled his eyes, starting to grab their things and put them back in trouble, “Get in the car boys.”

How could your first time at this have gone so wrong? You clutched the clipboard to your chest, tears stinging your eyes.

A second later you felt a hand on your shoulder, “What’s going on, Y/N?” He looked at the family then back at you.

You just shook your head. He could tell you were about to start bawling, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Go back to your Cabin and collect yourself,” You nodded and instantly walked away.

You heard Peter talking to the family, hoping to solve the issue so that the boys didn’t miss out on camp because of their crazy parents.

“I did it. I saved the triplets,” Peter entered the girl counselor’s cabin, a soft grin on his face. He saw where you were laying on your twin bed and sat down on the edge, “I might regret it later because the funny looking one with the mo-hawk looks like a biter.”

You didn’t laugh, just pressed your face further into the pillow. Peter’s hand rested on the small of your back. You felt him start to rub circles there and that level intimacy enticed you as much as it scared you.

“I suck,” You spoke but it came out muffled.

“You don’t suck,” Peter insisted, “They sucked, hard,” That made you laugh. You turned your body to look at him and his hand moved to your waist, “You’re gonna have a good rest of the day. You’re gonna go swimming, eat hotdogs, and play way too many rounds of hide and seek. It’s gonna be awesome and you’re gonna have to perk up if you want to steal my title as everyone’s favorite counselor.”

You snorted, “Really? I recall Ned being everyone’s favorite last year.”

Peter faked a frown, “The man can make a mean s’ more.”

Absentmindedly, your hand touched his and you moved it away quickly. Too quickly, “You’re right,” you coughed awkwardly, “Today will be good.”

Something clicked, you could see it in his eyes that something had shifted.

“Do you want to come on a drive with me tonight, after everyone’s in bed. I have a view I want to show you.”

“Isn’t that not allowed?”

“I’m head counselor, Y/N. Plus, I’m Spiderman. Who’s gonna fire me?”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine, but we’re back before midnight.”

For such a techy guy, Peter’s car was more run down than you expected, “What? She’s a passion project,” He said, touching the dash as if he believed the car was actually a person.

Peter was right, you had a great day. The kids loved you and you even had one of Ned’s famous s' mores. You had a feeling the night might even get a little better. The way Peter was looking at you was how you’d always wanted to be looked at by someone.

The car turned on onto a dirt road and it seemed you were on it for ten minutes before suddenly a valley opened up before you. Peter parked the car so the trunk was facing an amazing view. You got out of the rusty truck with your flashlight shining for extra light. You really didn’t need it because the moon was full and the stars were shining so bright.

They illuminated the valley and the beautiful mountain range in front of you, “Wow,” your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape and Peter looked at you as if you were the cutest thing in the world.

“Just wait,” Peter opened up the back of the pick-up trunk and there laid a bunch of blankets and pillows. He kicked off his shoes, climbing in and setting the lantern down. He patted the spot beside him, “You can see the stars better if you lay down.”

You would’ve thought this idea was the most romantic thing in the world if you didn’t get so terrified at that moment. This was like … a date. At least, to her, these weren’t things normal friends did. Not when they held your waist and looked at you like that.

You played with your fingernails, “Uhm..” Your voice trailed off.

Peter had already laid down, expecting you to join him. He sat up on his elbows, “Y/N?”

You could do this.

You climbed up into the truck, crawling beside him but leaving a few feet in between you. You let the small lantern keep you separated, “D-Did you only bring me here because of what happened earlier, Peter?”

You looked up at the stars and it was breathtaking.

“No,” Peter laughed nervously. “I just … It just made me realize something.”

“Realize what?”

You turned your head and realized he was already looking at you, “That I wanted to get to know you. You were still nice to those people even after they were so rude to you. It made me …” His voice trailed off and his eyes shut as if he didn’t want to admit what was next, “It made me want to protect you.”

Was this it? The magic you always wanted.

“You don’t … y-you, don’t have to protect me, Peter.”

He laid his hand out and you surprise yourself when you pressed your hands to his, “But I want to,” He said.

“I don’t know how to do things like this,” You admitted.

“It’s okay, I can show you,” Peter said quickly, “Not that I’m super experienced either. But, as you can see, I’m pretty good at choosing romantic locations.”

You blushed and he interlaced your fingers.

You laid there for a while, pointing out constellations and making jokes about the new ones you made up.

“There, I found it!” Peter pointed up but there were so many stars that you couldn’t tell which one he was looking at.

“What is it?”

“It’s you, can’t you see it?” You shook your head, leaning closer to him so you could try to see from his perspective. As you moved closer, Peter turned his head towards you, “Take my word for it, it’s as beautiful as you look right now.”

You looked at him too and you stared until Peter leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. Magic. This was magic. You weren’t sure how to move your lips but you just pressed yourself further into him.

As you pulled away to catch your breath, you smiled, “Was that good?”

Peter nodded, “Yeah,” and he pressed his lips against yours again, his hand on your waist, “I’ve wanted to do that since last summer.”

You pulled away, “You’ve liked me for that long?”

He tried to kiss you again, pulling your body into his, “Of course, you’re so beautiful … and innocent.” And naive, you thought. You didn’t want him to think of you as innocent. You didn’t want that to be the reason he liked you.

You pressed a hand to his chest, trying to create distance, “Peter, maybe we should go back now. What if someone notices we’re gone?” He held you tighter and your heart raced, “Peter, I-I think we’re moving too fast.”

“This is what people who like each other do, Y/N?” He buried his head into your neck and began to kiss the skin there, “You don’t like me?” His breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine.

“P-Please, please, Peter,” You begged, struggling against him. He soon was on top of you and, as you tried to escape his grasps, he pinned your arms above your head. You screamed for help and Peter only frowned.

“No one’s gonna hear you,” He sounded annoyed. Who was this boy above you? Was he always a wolf in sheep’s skin? All these years?

“Peter, you saved me today,” You tried to reason with him, “Don’t do this.”

He held your legs down as he ripped off your shorts with ease, “White panties? I should’ve known,” This was what he wanted. To steal your innocence and to hold that title forever. He spread your legs with his own.

His eyes hovered above your own, his eyes staring right into, “What do you think people will believe? This story or that an innocent little girl like you wanted to lose her virginity with the boy she’s always had a crush on. Who do you think they’ll believe, you or me?”

You cried out but he shushed you by forcing his lips on you. You bit his lip and he pulled away, fuming and his grip on your wrist tightened, “We’re gonna have fun these three weeks,” He pulled off your panties next, stuffing them into your mouth to muffle your screams, “I’ll be gentle if you stop struggling, Y/N. I know it’s your first time.”

He positioned himself between your legs, pulling down his own shorts before feeling your sex with his fingers. He tested your reaction, watched you flinch as he stimulated that foreign part of your body, “I bet you haven’t even masturbated,” Peter growled, “Jesus.” He could probably finish just with the idea of you being so tight.

He positioned himself at your entrance and you felt just how hard he was. You closed your eyes tight but they shot open as he slowly entered you. You struggled but that only made it worse. You were still, the pain ripping through your lower region. Tears were spilling out of your eyes.

He didn’t need to hold you down anymore, his body was pressed against yours now and you felt too helpless to fight it anymore, “You’re gonna be mine, Y/N,” Peter whispered in your ear, tasting your tears with his tongue, “Only mine.”

As he rubbed your sensitive area and moved in and out, you hated that you were getting used to it. You hated that it was starting to feel pleasure. Peter noticed that you were getting wet and that only made him start to thrust his hips faster.

Something began building in your core and you thought you might explode. Your body convulses and your breathing becomes even more rapid. You tightened around Peter’s member, milking his climax out of him as you did the same but against your will. Peter slammed his hand down beside your head, groaning loudly as he finished inside of you.

You were his for the rest of camp and you were not to tell anyone what happened.

“This is gonna be such a good summer, Y/N.”

Feel free to request some drabbles! If you want more dark peter than check out my masterlist!

#peter parker x y/n #peter Parker au #dark Peter #dark!peter #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman #fanfiction #dark fic #dark marvel #marvel smut #marvel #mcu smut #mcu #mcu fanfiction #harryspetrequests #camp au

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Strawberries In Bed 1/1

Title: Strawberries In Bed

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Wife Angela (OFC)

Challenge: 25 DAYS OF CAVILL by @emjayewrites

Summary: Napoleon absolutely loves spoiling his family on the Holidays.

Word Count: 3000

Rating: Extreme Holiday fluff, oral sex (female receiving), some intimate hand about the neck (female receiving), Napoleon is a boss and Angela loves it. Mature.

‘Bishop to knight 4,’ said Illya.

He looked up at his laptop camera, and smirked with satisfaction. The move was absolute perfection. There was no way he could lose now.

Sighing, Napoleon took a moment to recognise the move. Then, feeling resigned to losing yet again, he nudged Illya’s corresponding piece to the requested place on his own chess board. He studied how terribly boxed in he was and scowled. Illya was a genius chess player and Napoleon had learned a lot from him when they played on long, quiet missions. Unfortunately, their long quiet missions were long behind them, at least for a while and they had to resort to playing their games by correspondence.

How Illya could be more insufferable when they played their games through Skype, Napoleon just couldn’t understand.

If Illya was doing well, he would call for Gaby to come congratulate him and force Napoleon to watch her spindly-legged uncoordinated ‘Illya is beating Napoleon at chess. AGAIN!’ dance in the background.

‘Doesn’t look like you’re doing too well, Cowboy,’ Illya gloated and moved in close to the camera as if trying to peer through the screen and down at Napoleon’s board. ‘Make sure you move it to right square this time. Put camera down. I want to see.’

Rolling his eyes, Napoleon tilted his own laptop screen down and he could hear Illya laughing.

‘Good, Cowboy. Now, how to get out of this?’

Napoleon righted the laptop again and glowered at his friend’s very punchable face.

‘I’ll get out of it,’ he swore. ‘I just need a moment.’

Napoleon knew he wasn’t going to get out of it, but he wanted to make Illya believe that he had a trick up his sleeve. However, Illya didn’t buy it for a second.

‘Gaby!’ Illya called, turning to look over his shoulder and into the room behind him. ‘Napoleon will not get out of this. Get your dance ready.’

Not wanting to see the dreadful dance, yet again, Naopleon held up one finger, telling Illya to just wait one minute, when a piercing scream broke him out of his muse.

The smoke alarm!

Napoleon looked into Illya’s startled face. The noise must have have been loud enough to come across the computer’s microphone.

‘Convenient!’ Illya said. ‘When check is about to happen!’

‘Later!’ Napoleon snapped and shut the laptop.

There were more pressing matters to attend to now.

Napoleon opened the door of his den and stepped out to the smell of smoke in the air. Sniffing, trying to discern if it was house material burning or if it was food burning, he hurried down the hallway from the den, and into the broad tastefully decorated L-shaped living room. He glanced at the holiday pennants strung above the gas fire burning in the hearth and at the gaily decorated Christmas tree next to it. No fire there.

Turning the corner that led to the adjoining kitchen, he stopped short. From his vantage point he could see into the newly remodelled kitchen where his beautiful and capable wife stood looking helplessly at a spot on the floor beyond the long white marble topped island.

‘Angie, baby!’ Napoleon shouted above the roar of the exhaust fan and the bleating alarm. ‘What are you doing?’

The kitchen was a disaster and Angela gestured helplessly around her as if she couldn’t decide what fire needed to be put out first.

He extinguished the alarm, pulled open the sliding patio doors to let out the lingering smoke, and then went to attend to his wife.

Holding a bag of frozen peas against her palm, Angie stood over an overturned pan of burned sugar cookies on the floor.

‘I thought… I wasn’t expecting it to be so hot through the towel,’ she lamented and drew away the peas to examine the damage the edge of the cookie tin had done to her skin. ‘And then everything just went…’

She made another gesture around and Napoleon couldn’t fight down the sudden surge of adoration for her.

Tsking, Napoleon crouched to sweep the cookies onto the tray, which he then put on the counter.

‘Aw,’ he cooed, and she looked sharply at him, upon hearing the amusement in his voice.

‘It’s not funny,’ she warned him. ‘You’d better not laugh.’

Napoleon made a zipping and locking motion across his mouth, but didn’t suppress the smile that threatening to turn his night into a stint on the couch. He reached drew her close.

‘My poor baby.’

He cradled her hands between his and saw a glassy, angry red streak across her left palm. It didn’t look too bad, so he walked her to the sink and turned on the tap.

‘You’re still making fun of me,’ she groused, leaning her head against him as he held her hand beneath the cool flow.

‘Nonsense,’ he answered fondly and kissed her forehead.

Angie sighed and smiled as the throbbing pain in her hand finally subsided. She liked when Napoleon took control, whether it was of the situation or if it was of her directly. It made her feel loved and looked after. He was very good at taking control. And maybe, though she would not admit it to anyone but herself, it fostered a certain kind of helplessness in her, in order to facilitate Napoleon’s white knight tendencies.

Lifting her face, she nudged his cheek with the tip of her nose and she could see him smile. But, he stubbornly kept his attention on holding her hand beneath the water. She hummed softly and nudged him again.

‘Stop,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m concentrating.’

He wasn’t really concentrating. It was just one of the games they liked to play. Warm up the tiger before he pounces.

Angie reached into the water with her free hand and gathered her fingers into a line along the edge of her curled in thumb, threatening to flick the water from her dripping fingers and onto Napoleon.

That got his attention and with interest, one dark elegant brow flicked upwards.

‘This shirt costs nine hundred euros,’ he warned with a laugh. ‘Dry clean only.’

‘Then give me what I want,’ she replied easily, a teasing smile turning up the corners of her lush mouth.

Napoleon closed the taps and grabbing a tea towel, he gently and thoroughly dried her hands before leaning in to kiss her sweet lips. He backed her up against the edge of the counter and leaned his weight into her. Angie reached to slide her arms round his neck and made a small noise of protest when he grabbed her wrists and pressed her hands down on the countertop.

Trapped, she thought, and the warmth of pleasure suffused her skin.

Napoleon was an absolutely beautiful, high quality man. They’d met five years ago during a masked New Years Eve party and had kissed each other at the stroke of midnight before they had even exchanged names and they had been inseparable ever since.

But, they couldn’t make out like newlyweds in the kitchen when there was a holiday dinner party to prepare for.

She drew away just a little to catch his attention, to remind him that he had still had husbandly tasks to complete before the evening get-together, but he chased her, increasing the pressure of his kiss and slipping the tip of his tongue into her mouth. The heat and familiarity of that possession redirected her intentions and Angela’s thoughts scattered like rose petals on a soft spring wind.

Napoleon circled her waist and leaned back. It took a moment to register that he has moved at all and with a disappointed mewl, she opened her eyes. She looked up into his face, that face that promised that he would never hurt her, but that he would do everything he could to treat her like the queen she was.

The queen to his king.

‘C’mon baby. Up you go,’ he murmured lustily, crouching just a little to hoist her up onto the counter.

Angela reached for him, needy and wanting and slid her hands through his neat hair. Her fingers tightened and gripped him so that he had no choice but to look up at her. When their eyes met again, a silent agreement passed between them.

‘Be a good boy,’ she hissed and wetting his lips, he grinned.

‘Always, darling.’

Napoleon curled his fingers beneath the waist band of her velour tracksuit bottoms and as she lifted herself, he slowly worked then down along her strong, creamy thighs. Her hand tightened in his hair again when he leaned in to kiss her velvety inner thigh. He hummed quietly, relishing the sweetness of her skin, the silkiness of her, and the pulse of her heat that rapidly eroded his self control. He nudged her until she collapsed back on her elbows, and opened herself to his touch. Angela shifted and wriggled just enough, spreading her legs as far as the bottoms would allow. The thick elastic bit into her thighs but it was a punishment that she’d willingly withstand in order to quench the suffering craving she had for her man. She moaned quietly, carefully, still aware of the slow delicate breath that lingered in her chest. She was still aware of how she looked to him, alluring and picture perfect, teetering on the precipice of her awakening desire. She was so close to tipping over the edge.

And Angela kept the sound of pleasure that threatened to escape her lips, a wicked reaction to the slow deliberate stroke of Napoleon’s slippery, questing tongue along her slit.

She arched up high on her elbows and the trembling desire to be dominated by him drew the worst out of her, the part of her that would willingly degrade herself for him. Only him.

Napoleon dragged her to the edge of the counter and slid his hand up her belly, between her breasts to where he eased his fingers about her throat. Angela whined with anticipation of delicious pressure and pushed into his grip giving him permission to keep going. Those strong fingers remained cupped possessively but did not exert any additional force. Angela knew she would come apart at being denied, but she trusted him. She knew him. Napoleon was holding back. This was not the beast he could become, just a shadow of it for now, as there would be time enough for that later.

Napoleon knew exactly what he was doing and how to stoke the fire in her. He knew how to touch her and taste her and when he gently thrust one finger into her Angela cried out and swore indelicately.

The rumbling sensations of Naopleon’s smug laugh against her skin thrilled her and she clutched helplessly at his dark hair.

Napoleon turned his attention to her thigh again, that tender flesh, and bit her gently, but with full intention to leave a mark. Angela yelped, gasped and her orgasm took them both by surprise. Napoleon watched his wife shudder as she lost herself and he pushed in again to ensure that he would not miss a thing, not a taste not a drop. He lapped at her, sliding his tongue in deeper, his fingers spreading her wide open until she begged him to stop.

Too much, baby, too much please!

Napoleon did as she bade him and straightened, wiping up her wetness from his mouth and licking clean his fingers. Angela laughed breathlessly, reached for him and he helped her to sit up. She flopped bonelessly against him, and rested her head on his shoulder. She had no words to describe how light and content she felt in that moment, how lucky she felt to have him, so she remained silent and let him kiss her

Napoleon was about to say something but was interrupted by the front door chimes.

‘Probably the caterers,’ she said, finally getting herself in hand and pushing him aside.

With a smile, she hopped off of the counter.

‘I’m not finished with you yet,’ Napoleon promised, pointing a finger at her as he went to the door leaving her to clean up after them.

Angela and Napoleon were the consummate hosts and their annual Christmas party pulled friends and family and neighbours from all over for one night of excellent food and even better company.

Angela took pleasure in the perfect presentation of her house and pride that she had the means to accommodate those people who were dear to her. And because of that, the house was crowded, filled with awful Christmas music, sounds of laughter, joyous voices and a deep seated sense of love.

On her way through the kitchen for the fifth time to refill a platter of canapes, a loud voice stopped her.

‘Angie, darling!’ shouted a woman who grabbed her up and into a tight embrace.

A year or so ago, Angela had met Adiche and her husband Kofu on a trip to Florence. Napoleon had to travel to the city on business and ensured that his wife could accompany him and tour the country to her heart’s content. Adiche was an architectural graduate student who shared a 100 kilometre taxi trip from one city to another when the train system broke down, leaving she and Angela stranded in the middle of nowhere. On the journey they became fast friends.

‘Adiche!’ she cried hugging her tightly in return. ‘You… I didn’t see you come in. I’m so glad you could make it. You’re back from Dubai already?’

‘Yes! And Napoleon let us in,’ she assured her and held out the gift she’d brought. ‘I don’t know if you’re opening them now, or if they’re going under the tree.’

Angela smiled happily and took the heavy box.

‘Under the tree for now,’ she said. ‘And we’ll do the gifting in an hour or so.’

‘I’ll let you girls talk,’ interrupted Kofu who was standing at his wife’s shoulder. ‘But, where’s Leon keeping his special…’

With eyebrows raised, Kofu pinched his fingers together and made a drinking motion by his mouth.

‘You, sir,’ Angela laughed, shooing him away, ‘need to talk to Mr. Bad Influence himself. That’s his business.’

Grinning with anticipation, Kofu took the box from Angela and kissing his wife’s cheek he waded off through the crowd to find the good stuff.

‘That’s all he talked about on the way here,’ Adiche confided with a chuckle and pitched her voice deeper to imitate her husband. ‘Man, Leon’s got the best shite! Remember that bottle he sent to me for my birthday? Whooeee, I was sorry to see it go!’

The two women laughed and rubbing her hands together, Adiche returned to her normal voice.

‘I don’t ever want to hear about that magical bottle of booze any more! Now, what I want to know is if you’ve got the good shite.’

‘Come on girl,’ said Angie, taking her by the arm and leading her to the adjacent dining room where most of the women were camped out and having after dinner drinks and dessert. ‘I got you.’

As the evening waned and once everyone had their fill and all gifts were exchanged, Napoleon pulled Angela up with him so that they could both stand by the twinkling tree and make a joint toast to their friends and family. Afterwards, it was all new year wishes and hugs and kisses of farewell and soon after the caterers left, it was just the two of them once more. Finishing the last of her wine, Angela yawned and stretched feeling infinitely exhausted, but deeply content as she warmed herself by the fire. She had long ago kicked off her shoes and the white tiles before the hearth were warm and soothing against her tired soles.

Napoleon shrugged out of his dinner jacket and tossed it onto the back of one of the living room chairs. He walked to where she stood and pulled her into his arms.

‘I love you,’ Napoleon whispered, resting his lips against the back of her neck.

Angela sighed and leaned against him.

‘I love you,’ she answered, turning around to drape her arms over his shoulders.

Angela smiled up at her tired looking husband and stroked her thumbs across his cheeks.

‘Now,’ she murmured, rising up on her toes to kiss his lips. ‘What does Santa want for Christmas?’

Napoleon’s grin turned into a boyish laugh and he slipped his hands down from about her waist to cup her bottom. She felt so good in his arms that he didn’t know if his answer could illustrate the depths of his love and admiration for her.

‘I’ve already got what I want,’ he replied and kissed her again.

‘Then you don’t want what I’ve left for you under the tree?’ she teased and glanced back to the single unwrapped box that sat under the tree.

Napoleon followed her gaze and then looked back at her. He then bent a little and swept her off of her feet. With an amused chuckle, Angela settled easily went in his arms.

‘Later,’ he said, his blue eyes warm with mischief and carried her up to their bedroom. ‘I told you that I wasn’t finished with you. I want to make good on my promise.’

-the end

Merry Christmas and tagging some of my girls. I wish you a wonderful holiday and new year

#henry cavill #napoleon solo #angela bassett #mission impossible fallout #the witcher #clark kent #man of steel #geralt #the man from uncle #christmas fic #henry cavill x ofc

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

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The Tower: Family - 6

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 4012

Warnings: Pregnancy, smut (bisexual orgy, baby making, edging, over-stimulation, oral sex, anal sex, rough sex, throat fucking, face sitting, vibrators, cock-rings, electrostimulation, multiple orgasms).

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 6: Making a Baby

Immediately after the ceremony, we had to sign all the legal paperwork and we had some photos taken. The bots Tony had made when we were in Asgard had taken some photos at the bonding but as that had been interrupted by a large battle, there were none posed of us together as a family. It was definitely nice we got to have this moment recorded when the bigger one hadn’t been.

The sun was setting by the time we walked over to the area on the beach set up with tables and hanging lanterns that would host our reception. There were two large round tables, one for us and one for the guests, and next to the long tables where the buffet would be set up, there was a small round table with a large cake shaped like the Avengers Tower.

Waiters had been walking around handing out tropical-themed canapés that included coconut shrimp, chicken skewers with pineapple and mango, and mini black bean and corn empanadas, while the band played soft rock songs by Tony’s favorite bands.

When we arrived, the band stopped playing and Rhodey went up to the podium.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Looks like our little group of deviates has finally arrived, all official and everything. Can we all stand and welcome them, complete and whole, and two of them legally married.”

Everyone stood and clapped as we moved up to the dance floor. Tony and I moved to the center while the other’s circled the edge. The band began to play ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica. Tony spun me into his arms and we began to slow dance to it, turning slowly around the dance floor. Steve and Bruce stepped out onto the dance floor and Tony spun me into Steve’s arms before turning and pulling Bruce against him. We danced in pairs for a few bars and Natasha, Wanda, Bucky, and Thor moved in. Wanda began to dance with me and I kept my cheek pressed against hers as we moved around the floor. Finally, Sam and Clint moved in and we all switched again. We spent the rest of the song slow dancing around each other and switching from partner to partner until we had each danced with everyone.

The song ended and we took our seats and Rhodey got back up to the podium.

“Now, we all came here from pretty far away… not like when they dragged our asses to Asgard, but still, it was a trip. But we all know why we’re here,” Rhodey said as the staff began to set up the buffet with the starters. “These guys are our family. So thank you all for coming to celebrate with them. It looks like they’re bringing out the food. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

Our table went first. The buffet was set up in sections. One had a selection of cold seafood, like shrimp, oysters, and smoked salmon, one had things like crab cakes, different kinds of skewers with things from fish to tofu, stuffed mushrooms, tacos, and warm tartlets with tomato and bocconcini. There was a salad station, and one with soups, as well as a table full of tropical fruit. There was also a bar that was specializing in brightly colored tropical cocktails.

“Thank god,” Tony said as he began loading up his plate with crab legs. “I’m starving. I’ve been fasting so I’d look good in a suit.”

“Are you kidding?” Natasha asked. “You’re basically a coat hanger. Everything looks good on you.”

Tony chuckled. “Thanks, Red,” he said. “But I didn’t want to be all bloated.”

“Well, eat up, you dope,” I teased. “Gonna need your energy.”

“Already calling me a dope?” Tony asked.

“You are a dope,” I teased. “And don’t drink too much either.”

“Wow, Elise,” Tony deadpanned. “We’re married two minutes and you’re already trying to change me.”

“I need you at your peak performance tonight,” I whispered and headed back to the table with my plate piled high with different things.

“Pfft,” Tony scoffed as he followed along after me. “That’s what Thor is for.”

“I can only ensure that you are fertile. I can’t ensure you’ll be able to perform,” Thor said playfully.

“But if you’d like one of us to get Elise pregnant,” Steve added.

“Woah now,” Tony said, putting his hands up. “Let’s not be hasty here.”

We ate our starters and drank and talked and as the plates were cleared away Rhodey got up to the podium again with a glass of champagne. Waiters started filling everyone’s glasses. There was a hibiscus flower in syrup sitting in the bottom of each glass and when the champagne was added to it, the flower appeared to bloom in the glass.

“Now, platypus,” Tony said. “No bad mouthing me. You promised.”

“I feel like this speech should have been done in Asgard. But then there was some battle with angels and it became a little like work. So we’ll do it here,” Rhodey said. “I met Tony way back at MIT. He was just an annoying kid who liked to show up all the students who were at least three years his senior. But he has a way of growing on you. I don’t know what I expected him to do with his life. He was smart and funny and partying hard and that never ended for a long, long time. For a while, I was worried he was going to burn out hot and leave a pretty corpse. But it turns out, he’ll most likely outlive us all. Back then I didn’t really see him as the marrying type. Yet here we are. At his wedding. The official Earth one after he just committed himself for 5000 years to 9 other people. If you’d asked me back then if I thought he’d do that I’d have thought you were as drunk as Tony probably was.”

Rhodey looked over at Tony affectionately and Tony winked at him. “I’m so happy for him. He deserves a happy ending and he’s found it. I know he loves them all. And he loves being a dad. He’s finally seemed to find that exact thing he needed. A loving family. I know it’s unconventional. It took me a long time to understand it. But Tony isn’t conventional. Conventional was never going to work. And while he went in reluctantly at first because a woman he got a crush on was gently leading him in, it’s been exactly what he needed,” Rhodey said and raised his glass. “So I’d like you all to raise your glasses to finding your people and unconventional love.”

Everyone toasted to unconventional love and clinked their glasses together before taking a drink. Rhodey returned to his chair, ruffling Tony’s hair as he passed him.

Steve stood and approached the podium. “That’s quite the speech to be following,” Steve said. “But I’d like to follow with the same theme about not believing what the future would bring. I was born in 1918. Over one hundred years ago. I had a list of ailments that was taller than I was. I was told I wouldn’t make it to adulthood. Despite being told all the things I couldn’t do, I was determined to do them. I made it to adulthood. I started dating the boy I had a crush on for so long. I even managed to ride the Cyclone at Coney Island. But if you had told me back then, I would not only be marrying that boy but also eight other people, one of them an actual god, on a completely different planet, well, I probably would have had an asthma attack.”

There was laughter from everyone and Steve looked over at us all. “Here we are though. I didn’t expect it, let me tell you. Someone once told me that if it wasn’t for war I was nothing. It took nine people to make me realize otherwise. And I love them all. They each touch a part in me that’s unique and I’m so happy that… well, we all fell into this little arrangement.” He took a breath and looked over at us. “It hasn’t been without its obstacles. But you can’t say you have a strong bond until you’ve overcome some obstacles together. And we made it. We’re getting our happily ever after. So let’s toast to that. Happily ever after.”

He raised his glass and everyone repeated ‘happily ever after’ while raising theirs. Steve came back and took his seat and I went up next.

“We like to joke about being in the bad dad’s club,” I said as I stood in front of everyone. “Most of us have our own stories of parental neglect. I was raised being told I needed to marry rich, lock him in with some kids, and not care who he was sleeping with. It made me reject all of that I barely dated. I expected to just die alone. And then one day I knocked a certain red-head over when I was running late for work and it changed my life forever.

“I have had my two kids. And I did marry rich. I also don’t care who my husband sleeps with. But I don’t think my parents had this in mind. They’d hate this. I don’t care. I am happy. I love these people. I love the thing we’ve built together. I’m excited about our future and what that means. I’m excited to see how our family grows and what that means for us. I love them all so much. I never thought I’d ever want anything like this, but love is like a drug and I’m addicted. Now I have it, I can’t imagine it being any other way.” I lifted my glass. “So I ask you to raise your glass to finding your family.”

I took a drink while everyone repeated me and then returned to my seat. Natasha grabbed my hand as I passed and pulled me down into a kiss. Tony got up and spanked my ass as he passed me and I made a choked giggle into Natasha’s lips.

“So,” Tony said as he waggled his glass and a waiter came back over to refill it. “We've all heard I was a bit of a mess. All I ever knew was abuse, manipulation, and neglect. So it took me a while to even think about trying to attempt monogamy. And well, we're here today, so obviously, that didn't work out for me either.” There was laughter from everyone and Tony paused until it died down. “These guys started up their little den of iniquity under my nose. Oh, they invited me to join. In fact, they told everyone else I was part of it, completely ignoring how closed off and angry I was. They really didn’t want to take no for an answer, but I guess, I am me, so who can blame them?” There was more laughter and he looked over at me. “Then one day, I found this stray roaming around my tower. I tried to resist her. I even tried to get FRIDAY to kick her out of the building. But she managed to crawl right in under my skin and take up residence there. It hasn’t been smooth sailing. Like Spangles said, there have been some rough and downright scary times. I kept locking them out, scared I was going to get hurt or end up hurting them. It took a long, long time for them to teach me they were here for me and I was worth it. Slowly, I realized I was healing. That I was in love with all these people. So I guess that is proof we all have hearts. So I ask you to raise your glasses to love. Whatever form it finds you in.”

I got up and kissed him deeply as everyone toasted and he pulled me close. “I love you so much,” I whispered.

“Alright,” Sam said standing. “Enough talking. Looks like the second course is here, let’s eat.”

The reception turned a little more party after that. We ate, danced. Cut the cake. Bucky shoved his slice right into Steve’s face much to Tony’s amusement. The cake was 10 different flavors and I was pretty determined to try them all. The kids were taken to bed by their aunt and uncle just after the cake and by the time we left I was a tipsy, exhausted, and yet completely hyped up.

“Alright,” Tony said, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and kissing my neck. “Let’s make a baby.”

“Not so fast, Tony,” Steve scolded. “We all want to be part of this. We are a family after all.”

“Besides,” Thor said. “I thought you wanted my assistance.”

“Oh, yes,” I said as Sam approached me. He ran his hands up under my skirt, pushing it up at the sides as he moved his hands to my ass.

“I don’t like the tone,” Tony said, suspiciously. “What exactly are you people planning?”

“You people?” Steve teased, pulling Tony back against him and palming his cock through Tony’s pants. Sam brought his lips to mine and began to kiss me deeply and lovingly. “Come on now, Tony. We’re family.”

Tony made a choked groan and leaned his head back on Steve’s shoulder as Thor approached Tony. He leaned in and kissed Tony hungrily and slipped one large hand into Tony’s pants and began to massage Tony’s balls. There was a spark and a ripple through the air and Tony groaned loudly into Thor’s lips.

“All the other babies were conceived in an orgy by accident. The only reason we know paternity is because Thor just knows that kind of thing,” Natasha said running her fingers down my neck. “This is the first time we’re planning to get pregnant and we all want to be part of that even if we are planning paternity too. So, little Elise here is going to be overstimulated. We’re each going to make her come over and over and over until she can’t take it anymore.”

Thor released Tony and moved over to me, pressing himself behind me and kissing my neck. Sam pulled back and Thor tilted my head back and kissed me deeply. He pressed his palm low on my stomach, just above my pubic mound. There was that same spark and ripple as with Tony, and a dull ache ran through my core.

“You on the other hand,” Natasha said, grabbing Tony by the lapels and pulling him toward the bed. “Will be edged until you're begging us to let you come.”

Thor pulled my dress off over my head and everyone else began to undress, either themselves or each other. Clint picked me up and carried me to the bed tossing me on it. Tony was on the far side of the bed. He was naked and Natasha was sitting on his thighs and putting a cock ring on him.

Clint crawled between my legs and pushed them apart kneeling down and nosing at my cunt. He pulled off my panties and licked a stripe up my folds, making my skin buzz. Wanda climbed up on the bed beside me and straddled my face. I hummed and lapped over her cunt, swirling it over her folds and dipping it inside her. Clint began to flick his tongue over my clit and sucking on my pussy.

My hips jerked under him as Wanda’s rolled on my face and her fluids dripped down into my mouth. I was vaguely aware that the others were kissing and grinding on each other near me and right on the other side of the bed Thor was sucking Tony’s cock while Natasha rode his face.

Clint thrust a finger inside me and began to suck on my clit. He hit my g-spot immediately like his fingers had a magnetic attraction to that sweet spot inside me. He sucked on my clit, flicking his tongue back and forth over it. I moaned loudly into Wanda’s cunt, trying to focus my tongue on her clit, moaning louder each time she shuddered over me. Clint’s fingers pushed harder and harder on my g-spot sending a jolt up my spine each time he did it. My legs began to shake as my orgasm approached being fed by the feelings the others had and intensified. I focussed on Wanda, sucking hard on her clit and pushing my tongue inside her. I knew she was close too, I could feel it through her thread. She always sat close to the edge once the rest of us began to enjoy ourselves. I nipped at her clit and she moaned, coming on my face. I let myself relax and as soon as I did, Clint pushed hard on my g-spot with two fingers and twisted his wrist. I screamed out and came hard, bucking my hips against his face.

Clint got up and crawled over to where Tony was and Wanda climbed off me. Natasha, Steve, and Bucky approached me. Natasha guided me so I was straddling her face and Bucky pushed me forward so my face was at Natasha’s cunt. Sam had pulled Wanda into his lap and they were kissing hungrily, while Thor was fucking Tony, and Tony sucked Bruce’s cock.

Bucky poured lube onto my ass and pushed a finger inside, fucking it slowly. I moaned loudly and nuzzled at Natasha’s cunt as Natasha lapped over mine. Steve slapped the head of his cock on Natasha's clit and teased it over my lips. I sucked on the head and he thrust shallowly in and out of my mouth.

More lube was added to my ass along with a second finger. I mewled and tried my best to relax as Bucky worked to loosen me up. Steve pulled his cock from my mouth and sunk into Natasha. I licked over his base and flicked my tongue over Natasha’s clit as Steve began to fuck her. Bucky pulled his fingers out and added more lube. I felt the head of his cock press against my ass and he began to ease into my ass.

“Fuck!” I gasped. The sound muffled by Natasha’s cunt.

Natasha gave my ass a spank and I clenched hard around Bucky’s cock, making him groan loudly.

Steve was fucking Natasha at a steady pace and I lapped over her cunt and the base of his cock, drinking up her arousal as it ran down his shaft. Bucky fucked me slowly as Natasha sucked on my clit. My muscles spasmed and clenched and I struggled to keep myself up. The way I clenched and moaned seemed to spur Bucky on. He picked up his pace, adding to the burn through me. I started panting against Natasha’s cunt and she moaned and bucked under me. I sucked her clit into my mouth and pressed my lips against it and flicked my tongue back and forth quickly. Natasha mirrored my action and we both came moaning into each other. Bucky and Steve fucked us through it before slipping out. I rolled off the top of Natasha and lay panting as people moved around me. Thor, Sam, and Bruce approached and I looked up at them and swallowed hard. “How many times have you climaxed, my queen?” Thor asked as he lifted me and moved me so my head was hanging over the end of the bed.

“Two,” I answered as I let my head drop over the edge of the bed. I could see what the others were doing to Tony now, but I knew he was struggling to hold it together.

Sam tutted. “That doesn’t sound like nearly enough. I think we might need the vibrator boys.”

He went to the drawers and pulled out a small bullet vibrator. Bruce and Thor both lubed up their cocks and Bruce put pillows under my hips and eased his cock into my ass. Thor straddled my chest, pinning me to the mattress and pushed my tits around his thick shaft and slowly began to roll his hips. Sam gave Bruce the vibrator and he turned it on and pressed it onto my clit. The setting was low but it still made me buck up and moan loudly.

“Open up, princess,” Sam said.

I opened my mouth and he pushed his cock into my mouth.

Thus began one of the most intense sexual experiences I’ve ever had.

It started slow, Thor massaging my tits as he fucked them slowly, Bruce matched his pace as he fucked my ass and held the vibrator against my clit, and I sucked Sam’s cock. It very quickly escalated. Each man seemed to be spurred on by the others. Bruce started fingering me as he fucked me and Sam started fucking my throat.

The first orgasm hit quickly and Bruce upped the setting of the vibrator. I cried out and bucked under them and Thor sent a jolt through me making me come again. Each time I came they went harder and upped the buzz on the vibe. By the third my vision was going fuzzy thanks to the brutal pace they were setting. Bruce groaned and jerked hard into my ass coming inside me. He slipped out and Thor moved down and took his place. He was large and his cock stretched me painfully, but I was light-headed and fuzzy and I welcomed the pain. He upped the buzz on the vibrator and I came immediately.

Thor made an almost graphic squelching sound each time he thrust into me as Bruce’s come acted as a lubricant for his cock. Sam groaned and pulled back slightly as he came into my mouth, coating my tongue with thick, salty ropes of semen.

I moaned and swallowed it but Thor didn’t even seem close. Bruce and Sam stayed close to me as Thor kept fucking my ass. Sam massaged my breasts and pinched my nipples and Bruce took over with the vibrator leaving Thor free to just hold my hips and fuck my ass hard. One orgasm just blended into the next and I couldn’t focus on anything else. I screamed out and everything went black. When I came to Thor had moved me a little and was no longer inside me. “Oh good,” he said smiling. “Did we push you too far?”

I shook my head slowly.

“Good, because Tony is ready for you,” Thor said, gently and kissed me softly.

He moved away and I opened my arms. Tony crawled up between my legs. “I’m not gonna last long,” he said, apologetically as he eased inside of me.

I moaned. “Good.”

He chuckled and slowly rolled his hips as his body stayed pressed close to me. Everything ached but my cunt welcomed him. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight and we began to kiss. Everyone else was just sitting around us watching. Tony was right though, he was sitting right on the edge and it was only a minute before he groaned and was releasing inside me. I didn’t care that I didn’t come again. I had done more than enough of that. I hummed happily as he filled me and collapsed down on top of him.

“Was that it? Is she pregnant now?” Clint asked.

There was laughter in the group. “Takes a week or so, Clint,” Bruce said, with no patronization in the tone, just kindly educating his husband.

“It will, though, right?” Clint asked.

“They are both at peak fertility,” Thor said. “It still may not happen and I would recommend that Elise and Tony try again tomorrow. But it should work.”

I hummed and kissed Tony’s neck. “You hear that?”

He hummed in return. “Yeah. More sex or us.”

I giggled and nudged his cheek with my nose. “Not that part.”

He laughed and kissed me just under my ear. “Yeah. We’re gonna have another baby on the way.”

// NEXT

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years ago

Text

The Call of the Wild Woman

Just some fluff featuring the green-haired goddess of NXT.

Pairing: Shotzi Blackheart x OFC

Word count: 2,412

Content advisory: brief sexual references, language

The first time I met Shotzi, I instantly liked her. We shook hands and she gave me this smile that made me feel like I was having a great day, even though there hadn’t been anything exceptional about it to that point. I was a little overwhelmed with all the people I was meeting, trying to get a sense of their look, their personality, their character, but I knew from our introduction that I was going to remember her for years, even if I never saw her again.

Of course, Shotzi’s a memorable person. Tall, tattooed, pierced and sporting that incredible acid green hair, it would be hard not to remember her. But I felt like I’d remember her vivacious eyes and confident smile just as much as the things that made her stand out from a mile away. My whole first day getting led around the performance center, I found my eyes drawn back to her whenever she appeared.

I had just been moved to NXT to take over as their chief makeup artist. I’d been working on Raw for close to a year when the position opened up and I’d been so excited and nervous about whether I’d get the job that I felt as if I’d barely slept for two months. My boyfriend and I actually broke up while I was waiting to hear back and I hardly noticed. We’d been struggling since his work had moved him out of state, and things had just sort of ended like a wave washing over a sandcastle. I wasn’t bitter but I was lonely. And that, along with my desire to show that I could run a team in high pressure situations, meant that I threw myself headlong into the new job. I tried to keep some time to see friends but work seemed more rewarding.

By the time I’d been there a few months, my circle of friends was largely made up of coworkers. There were always birthdays or barbecues or other things going on, and it was fun to be able to dish about work without having to explain a lot of background detail. I was enjoying myself. But, yeah, I was definitely lonely.

I dropped a couple of hints here and there that I wouldn’t mind being fixed up with any single male friends and a couple of the women made suggestions. A couple of the men did too. But none of it went anywhere. I was too busy and too awkward to make a first move and if any of the suggested bachelors ever thought to check me out on social media, it never resulted in a phone call.

Shotzi was always one of my favorite models. I loved transforming her from the natural beauty she was to the wild child who appeared on tv every week. And while we’d talk about work, she also had the greatest gifts as a storyteller, and the crazy stories to complement her skills. She’d been raised around bikers and conservative immigrants at the same time. She’d worked as a late night host for a horror movie tv broadcast before she became a wrestler. It was like she’d been born to perform and had found a way to do so while still being herself.

I found myself sitting at home, always alone, watching the silly and shocking horror movies she’d recommend to me, or tracking down music by bands she’d mention or whose shirts she’d wear. When she’d worked on tv, she’d developed a loyal following of teenage boys and girls who used to do everything from message her begging her to go out with them to sending her love letters and poetry to showing up outside the station in the hopes of meeting her. It sounded both creepy and sad but I sympathized a little with her starry-eyed fans. She was a kind of dazzling whirlwind of a person and, indeed, I was dazzled by her.

One day, I’d showed up at work after a particularly inauspicious Tinder date. The guy had picked me up for what was supposed to be coffee and a walk but had insisted that we stop by his friend’s place so he could get some pot. The three of us shared a joint and I assumed we were about to leave when another joint appeared. Being a lightweight, I declined but the two of them proceeded to smoke it themselves. Then the friend’s roommate came home from band practice. She pulled out her bong and that was getting passed around while she played us the hour-long piece of meandering prog that they’d created that day. All three of them seemed really entranced by what they could hear in the music, which I was pretty certain they were imagining.

About an hour later, my date and his friend started playing video games. I quietly tried to suggest that we leave and at least grab that coffee because I was clinging to the hope that maybe the guy, who was way cuter than I’d counted on, might have some redeeming qualities. He assured me we could leave in a minute. He and his friend were completely absorbed in their game, while the roommate randomly started telling me about how her mother had given birth to her at a Grateful Dead concert in the eighties, after following the band on tour for years. She didn’t seem to care much if I responded and would focus entirely on her phone every minute she wasn’t speaking.

Eventually, the roommate had begun to complain loudly that she was hungry and the guys agreed that we should order pizza. I handed over some money and advised them that I was a vegetarian, only to be surprised by a pizza that arrived looking like it had been fished out of a trash can, topped with pepperoni and cheese. I knew the place they’d ordered from and some quick math in my head made it clear that I had paid for basically all the pizza. They assured me that I could just pull the pepperoni off.

I was about to leave but my date insisted that we could head out in a few minutes to find me something I might actually want to eat. He was cute enough that I‘d agreed to stay just a little longer. A few more guys showed up to buy pot. Then friends of the roommate‘s had shown up with beer and put the stereo on so loud I thought the ceiling might cave in. I ended up leaving at eleven without even saying goodbye. When I got home, I realized that I‘d lost my house keys and had to ask a neighbor to help me break into my apartment.

I told this story to my coworkers to a chorus of loud “nos'' and peals of laughter. Others shared some bad date stories but this one did seem pretty dire. Everyone commiserated and it did make me feel better, like the night hadn’t been a total washout because I had a good story to tell and, as a couple of the girls pointed out, dates I had in the future were likely to seem pretty good in comparison.

“You should have taken some of the pot!” Shotzi exclaimed to a round of agreement.

“I wish I’d thought of that.”

It was a few days later that I was prepping Shotzi’s makeup and I noticed that she was a bit quieter than usual. She wasn’t unfriendly but there was something off.

“You ok?” I asked quietly, sweeping my brush out to give her the perfect cat’s eye flip.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

She didn’t sound great, or at least not in the enthusiastic way she usually did. I felt my neck getting tense as I tried to lead the conversation for the first time, knowing I wasn’t nearly as good at it as she was. I didn’t want to push her to tell me what was on her mind and at the same time, I felt like my forced smalltalk was probably grating on her nerves. I wanted to be entertaining but I lacked the stories and the flair.

Finally, when I announced that I was finished, she stood up just a few inches from me. I expected her to tell me to wish her luck, which I always did, but she didn’t move, her bright eyes focused on mine.

“Do you want to go out some time this weekend?” She asked.

“Like, hang out? Sure.”

She shook her head. “No. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing quite what to say. I fell back on the default. “Um, I don’t actually date women.”

“Oh.” She looked sad for the first time and a little surprised. “I’m sorry, I read some singles wrong. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Not at all. I mean, it’s no big deal. I just… you’re gorgeous. I’m just not…”

“It’s fine,” she insisted, extending a hand as if to pat my arm but withdrawing it before she did. “Please, forget I ever said anything.”

Of course, I couldn’t forget that. In fact, I couldn’t even get it out of my head. I’d always dated men. I’d known women who were bisexual and lesbian but none of them had ever expressed an interest in me and I hadn’t found myself attracted to them. But Shotzi was attractive. She was stunning. And the more I thought about that first reaction I’d had to her, the more it seemed similar to the way I’d reacted to men I’d been involved with in the past. I just hadn’t noticed the similarity because she was a woman and I wasn’t into women.

But maybe I was into one woman.

She stayed friendly with me, although she didn’t linger as long in the makeup chair regaling me with tales of her rock ‘n’ roll childhood or films that had made her who she was. I hadn’t even realized that she had been lingering before. I just thought we’d been having great conversations. We had been having great conversations. Had I been sending the wrong signals?

I knew that I had marveled at how beautiful and unique she was. I’d gushed, really. But I’d been so floored by her that I felt like I had to let off some steam in the form of compliments or I’d never be able to focus on anything else. That didn’t change after the “asking me out” incident. The fact that I couldn’t release any of my thoughts made it harder to think about anything. I’d see her and I’d spend ten minutes feeling like kind of an idiot, then half an hour thinking about her chatoyant eyes, about the perfect heart shape of her face, or her full lips.

It was a few weeks later that I caught myself staring at her from the safety of the shadows while she prepared to go out for a match. I’d often stared at her body and I figured that it was because she had the kind of body that every woman wanted to have: perfect curves, toned limbs, smooth skin… Looking at her in that moment, though, I wasn’t so sure about my motives. Was I wishing that I had those taut thighs or was I wishing that I knew what it felt like to drag my lips along them, to feel her shudder at the sensation of my breath on her sensitive flesh?

Her match was thrilling, as her matches almost always were. She was whipping around the place looking completely out of control, although we all knew she wasn’t. The more danger she put herself in, the more she seemed to glow with internal electricity. It was no wonder that the company was already treating her like a star. You’d have to be dead not to get drawn in by her. But it occurred to me as I watched her that I was more drawn in than others.

When I saw her come backstage, I retreated to my makeup room and counted down what felt like enough time to allow her to unwind, shower and change before I made my way over to the locker room.

“Hi there,” I greeted her, a little shyly.

She glanced up and gave me a big smile while she patted her hair dry.

“Hey you.”

“So, if the offer is still open, I’d like to say yes.”

She arched her elegant brows and gave me a coy smile. “Now what offer would that be?”

“If you still want to, then, yes, I would like to go on a date with you.”

“Interesting,” she drawled. “What brought about this change of heart?”

“You did.”

She bats her eyes and points theatrically at her chest. “Moi?”

I couldn’t help but smile. The light in her eyes told me she was happy but she still wanted to make me work for it a little. Fair enough.

“Ever since I met you, I’ve found all these things- movies, music, all sorts of stuff- that I just never thought of checking out because I either didn’t know about them or because I just never thought I’d be into them. And the more I think about it, the more I think that I might have made a lot of decisions about what I like just because it was what I saw everyone else doing.”

“Well that’s cool, but I’m not a movie or a book.”

“No. You’re this incredibly cool, funny, exciting, sexy person who I love being around and who has me thinking about all sorts of things I hadn’t considered.”

“Ok. How would you feel about a midnight picnic at an old shack I found near the river?” She grinned.

“Will you hold my hand if I get scared?”

“I promise.”

I gave a little laugh and stepped closer to her, cupping her cheek in one of my hands and marvelling at how perfectly it fit there. Unable to resist the temptation, I leaned in and pressed my lips softly against hers. And immediately, a delightful shiver ran through every part of my body.

When we separated, she gave me an almost coquettish smile and laced her arm through mine, steering us out of the locker.

“You know,” I mused, “you don’t seem really surprised by this.”

“I’m not,” she responded with a wink. “I knew you’d come around.”

#shotzi blackheart imagine #shotzi blackheart fanfic #nxt imagine #nxt fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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dawnie1988 · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: So many thoughts can crop up when one is trying to make an important decision. For Birdie, it’s bringing up all the regrets she has in regards to the way she has chosen to live her life. Or, in which fear and complacency can be a slippery, downward slope.

Words: 4,656

Pairings: Platonic Dean x OFC (not actually named after sir jensen’s pup, just a name i’ve always liked)

Tags: Angst, One Sided Pining, Pity Parties and More Taylor Swift Song References Than Would Have Been Deemed Necessary

A/N: This is my entry for Sabrina’s - @winchesterxfamilybusiness - Make Me Swoon 250 Followers Writing Challenge. I can say with much certainty there will be no swooning going on here though. My prompt was: “If I knew it was going to hurt this much I wish I never laid eyes on him.”

Big, big thanks and love to the ever amazing @there-must-be-a-lock for taking the time to go over this and doing some big time beta work, not only saving any potential readers a nightmare load of grammar errors but also for the many helpful tips and suggestions along the way and helping to shape this into a more manageable and thought out piece. Seriously, this thing was nearly 10,000 words of nonsense before she started dusting her magic over it. You’re incredible, and I adore you 😘

=======

Athens, Ohio - 2011

- can i come by?

The text had come in about an hour ago, just as Birdie was ushering the last patron out for the night. She didn’t have the time - or the emotional strength - to deal with it at the moment, so she did what she did best: ignored it.

She took her time wiping down the counters and table tops, washing out all the glasses and drying them with care. She stacked all the chairs on top of the tables, took out the garbage and emptied out the cash tills, counting and recording that night’s take. She finished up her nightly routine by double checking that all doors and windows were locked and secured before turning off the lights and making her way up the old creaky staircase to her loft above the bar.

After allowing herself several moments in the shower to wash the day off, Birdie slid into some soft sweats and an old Mickey Mouse sleep shirt. She grabbed an apple to munch on, as well as the stack of papers. She needed to make a decision, and was quickly running out of time to do so.

She settled into her favorite overstuffed chair by the window that overlooked the city, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the night, before skimming through the contract in her hands for what felt like the hundredth time.

A month ago, a lawyer had come into the place (Jacob something or another the Third) inquiring about buying the bar from her. He worked for some mid size fast food chain that was looking to expand. She had scoffed at the idea in the beginning, told him she wasn’t interested, but he was a persistent little weasel, that was for sure. He kept in touch and eventually got her to the stage of accepting the very contract she held in her hands to look over.

It was a fair offer. In fact, it was more than fair, which had made her leery at first that she was getting screwed somewhere. But she had visited three separate lawyers, and after combing through it, they all agreed there were no secret loopholes, just a company who badly wanted a specific location and were willing to pay extra to get it.

Jacob what’s-his-name would eventually call back, giving her a whole speech about how he could appreciate what a tough decision this must all be for her, but that they would need an answer by the end of the month or else the company would officially be withdrawing their offer.

She had two days left and was nowhere closer to a final answer than she was when he first brought the proposition to her. Every time she felt like she was leaning one way, a new thought would crop up that would have her tilting the other way. On the one hand, this was a lot of money they were talking about. If she wasn’t responsible for this place any more, maybe she could finally take a chance on the little flower boutique she had silently dreamed about owning since she was a teenager. Every time she started thinking like that though, she would immediately start spiraling down the rabbit hole of how this bar was her home.

Except… was it really? Was it honestly her home, or just a place where she worked and lived? How much of it all was just the obligation she felt to her Uncle to keep the place going?

It was never meant to be a permanent thing. She had just graduated college with her MBA, the only thing she ever did in her life that she was truly proud of, the only thing that required hard work that she ever stuck through and completed. The courses were grueling, but she pushed through, mostly motivated by her father insisting she’d never last. Well, she had shown him.

She refused to end up like him; it was what fueled her through it all. Her dad had gone bankrupt three times, every time he tried, and ultimately failed, at a new business venture.

And not only did she complete the courses and graduate, but she ended up Valedictorian of her class at Ohio University.

She had been undecided on where she wanted to work afterwards, still riding the high of actually earning her degree and halfheartedly submitting résumés just for the hell of it and to get some feelers out. It was her Uncle Grant who stepped in to help out while she worked on getting a real game plan together.

He was the original owner of this bar, a decent sized roadside style place in the city. From the outside it wasn’t the kind of place that really grabbed your attention, but it always supported a large gathering of misfits.

The deal was pretty simple in nature. He was sixty-one, with two bum knees from a nasty motorcycle accident five years prior. It should have killed him and almost did. It was getting increasingly harder for him to take care of the place, despite his little staff of two, and retirement was looking more and more like a better idea. But he was dead set against the idea of selling the place. So, he presented her with the prospect of taking over the majority of the office and business side of things.

“Put that fancy degree of yours to good use.”

That’s what he had said. And of course he would need her to pitch in with the more physical, daily tasks that came with running the place. For that, she could stay in the small loft above the bar. Plus he even supplied her with a small salary, just enough that she could take care of necessities. All under the table, of course. He was very against mixing family and taxes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get her by until she moved onto her next phase in life.

It was a pretty sweet deal. What was not to like?

Except, her next phase of life never really came.

She found more and more things that she quite enjoyed about running the bar. The mundane practices were almost like a form of meditation for her: preparing things every morning to be ready to open by 4:00pm, and tedious office work. It lulled her into a sense of security, that one thing she always needed to have in her life in order to function like a real adult. Sure, her Uncle’s name was still on everything, but for all intents and purposes the place was hers. And when he died in 2007 from liver failure, it became hers entirely. She never knew he had a will, let alone that he intended to leave the place to her.

It was now her name on the lease, and her responsibility to make every call and decision.

She never meant to stay forever, but she became seduced by the comfort of knowing what to expect. Year after year passed and it became easier to stay with the known than to venture out, to try something new just to fail, to crash and burn. Then she’d have to come crawling back to all the jeers about Miss Smarty Pants thinking she was too good to stay here.

Birdie took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before blowing it out slowly, trying to calm her racing mind. As her thoughts started wandering in circles again, so did her eyes as they landed on her phone she had tossed on the side table when she first came up.

- can i come by?

Such a simple sounding question. It should have an equally simple yes or no answer, but it wasn’t simple. Nothing about Dean Winchester — about her and Dean Winchester, to be precise — was simple.

Their history began nearly ten years ago and all the dirty, dark secrets she had learned about him since only complicated things more.

She was still just getting her feet wet working for her Uncle when this boy came strutting into the place: young, oh so tall, with a pair of enchanting jade green eyes, a smile she was sure could charm the pants off of just about anybody, and a whole lot of arrogance.

The cocksure attitude, like the world was his oyster, was enough to keep her from transforming into a drooling, giddy mess. She managed to ask him his order without making a fool of herself.

There was some minor chit chat while she fetched his first beer of the night. She had definitely never seen him around before so she hit him with her standard ‘coming or going? business or pleasure?’ questions. It would take years for her to peel back the many layers that made up one Dean Winchester and learn the true nature of his illustrious family business and what he actually did for a living.

They kept in touch through it all, good, bad, and the ugly, and he was her truest constant in life, after the bar of course. It was during his last visit, however, that things changed drastically and for the worse. At a time when he needed a friend the most, she had ruined it by putting him in jail for something he didn’t do. All because of her history of backing out.

=======

2010

Birdie was awoken in the middle of the night by the all too familiar rumble of the Impala. Groggily, she stumbled out of bed and over to the window to take a peek outside. She was already making her way downstairs when his first knock came, so much softer than usual. The moment she unlocked and opened the door and got her first good look at him, even bathed in the night’s shadows, she could see how utterly broken he looked, how close he was to cracking.

In that moment she just knew. He didn’t need to speak a single word.

They had finally won the war, on their own terms, but it had cost them dearly. It had cost him Sam and she didn’t know how, or if, he ever would be able to recover from it.

She grabbed his hand gently and pulled him in before relocking the door. As she turned back around she saw that he was still just standing there, at a loss. With a hand on his back, she guided him over to the bar where she fully enabled him to drink his sorrows down. Or try to numb them up some, at the very least.

One of the very first things Birdie had ever learned about him was that he wasn’t the fondest of talking out his feelings, and it was always best not to push and just to let him open up on his own time. So she didn’t try to talk him through things, didn’t try to recite lovely sounding messages of time will heal and Sam was in a beautiful, peaceful place now, that he had single handedly raised the world’s greatest hero never known. She just continued to let him drink in peace and kept a hold of his hand. And when she reached the point that she could no longer refrain from hugging him, she allowed him to hold onto her like a lifeline, even when it felt like she could feel every bit of his broken heart in that crushing hold.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered the soft apology several times, alternating between kissing his temple and running gentle fingers through his hair. His grip tightened every time the words passed her lips.

She eventually got him dragged up to her loft with her.He lay down while she settled in behind him, playing the role of big spoon, continuing to hold him as tightly as she could, as he ultimately gave in to his tears and anguish. He held her left hand tightly in his own over his heart and she placed her forehead between his shoulder blades, silently crying along with him.

As morning came around, when they finally decided their grumbling tummies needed to be attended to, he held her in place a moment longer, bringing their still joined hands up to his lips to breathe a kiss over her knuckles before releasing it.

It was a quiet affair, their usual eggs, bacon, toast and coffee combo being picked at and pushed around by both, forcing small bites down here and there.

“So,” Birdie ventured out hesitantly. “What…what now?”

She gave a wince at how casual the words came out, but it went unnoticed by Dean as he was still staring intently at his plate.

After several moments of near suffocating silence for Birdie, he finally answered.

“Gonna head to Lisa’s.”

Birdie suddenly felt like time had frozen.

“…Lisa?”

“Yeah, the one with the kid I told you about before. In Michigan.”

There was nothing but silence for a few moments. Dean finally looked up at Birdie to see the slack-jawed expression on her face.

His own face drew up in confusion. “What?”

She tried to get her mouth working, but her tongue felt so heavy now, trying to block the onslaught of words that wanted to come spilling out.

“I…” She paused to clear the forming lump at the back of her throat. “Why are you going there?”

Dean tilted his head slightly and cleared his throat before answering.“Sam.”

Birdie raised a questioning brow, urging him to elaborate, even though he was clearly uncomfortable. She wasn’t feeling very concerned about his comfort level at the moment.

“I…promised Sam that when all this was over, that I’d walk away, try to live a normal life for once.”

It was like the air had been physically pulled from her lungs.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t spending such a painfully raw and intimate night together just for him to hit the road to another woman the moment he had a chance. But then, what did it matter? He wasn’t hers, she certainly wasn’t his, they had never had that sort of relationship or even discussed the possibility of one. She knew it wasn’t fair, to harbor any bad feelings or ill will towards him when she never once tried to divulge the deeper feelings and emotions she had developed towards him over the years. Why should he be blamed for something he never had any knowledge over?

“It ain’t like I got any place else to go.”

That one sentence snapped something inside of her that was long out of her control before she had time to try to reign it in.

“Here!” she all but shouted, slamming her hands down on the counter and actually causing him to flinch. “You idiot, you could have stayed here!”

He held his hands up, almost as if to placate the raging storm of emotions that seemed to be building within her. With his chin dipped down so he could capture her line of sight fully, he slowly asked the one question he was unaware would send everything into a full on tail spin.

“Why would I stay here?”

She threw her hands up in exasperation, “For me!” she let out in what could only be described as a cross between a grunt and a sob. She turned away from him when it all dawned on him and the realization hit.

Years and years of feelings pushed aside and pining from afar, revealed in two simple words. She wiped angrily at her face when she felt the wet trails beginning to track down her face. “You would stay for me,” she concluded, not able to face him fully in her ultimate admittance.

The ensuing silence was near deafening, the loudest she had ever heard in her life.

Of all the ways for this to have come out in the open, why did it have to come out like this? Every beat of silence, every second that went by that wasn’t filled with the sound of his gravelly voice, was all the confirmation she needed: she had been right to stay silent all these years.

And yet, there was still that glimmer of hope that had been buried down deep within her. The hope that one day this would happen unexpectedly, except in that version it would be like the movies. He would make some overly grand gesture of kissing her silly before informing her that he was just as crazy about her as she was about him, at which point they would laugh at how stupid they had been for wasting so much time, before vowing to make up for it every day for the rest of their lives together.

But this was no movie. It wasn’t a fairytale in disguise, she wasn’t the princess he would sweep off her feet and lead her up the stairwell, and she would be getting no happily ever after. There was no changing this ending.

“Bird, I…"

She raised her eyes slightly, watching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and admiring, even now, how beautiful he looked. The early morning shadows peeking through the covered windows were dancing across his face in a near mesmerizing fashion.

He looked utterly lost again. "I never knew…”

Birdie had to close her eyes against the sting of fresh tears building up, not able to stand the shame and self loathing she could already detect in his voice. He was putting this on himself. Classic Dean. He saw her hurting and instantly took ownership of it. She hated that. She hated that he was blaming himself for the mess she had caused.

It was bad enough this was happening at all, but how selfish could she be for letting it play out now? After everything he had just lost, she was fulfilling her duty to him as a friend by pulling the rug out from under him, making him feel guilty for something that (by her own design) he knew nothing about? What kind of friend was that? She wasn’t worth any more grief than what he was already dealing with.

“You should go,” she mumbled.

He was running a hand over his face when her words halted his movements completely. "What?”

“You should go,” she sniffed, attempting to gather herself as she busied her hands, getting out the little bowls from under the counter that would later be filled with nuts and pretzels. “You’ve got a pretty decent drive ahead of you,” she continued, as she then stacked up their dirty plates. “If you leave now you should be there in time for dinner without even having to break the speed limit. Maybe you can even find a nice scenic route to help decompress…”

She had nearly made it to the kitchen when he cut off her path, taking the plates from her and placing them out of the way before laying his hands on her shoulders to keep her in place.

“No Birdie, we…we can talk, we should talk, and…”

This time she stopped him by placing a hand over one of his.

“No, Dean, really. You should go. It’s fine.” She did her best to keep her tone light, to smile as best as she could, even though it felt more and more like she was about to crumble.

He grabbed her chin then, forcing her head up so she would have no choice but to actually look at him. She could see on his face that she was nowhere close to coming off as ‘ok’ and she scolded herself for it, wishing she could be as good as he was when it came to turning off the emotional switch. She looked him in the eye, shrugging it all off with an air of 'what can you do?’.

“It’s fine. Go. Go do something for yourself for once. Take a break big guy, you earned it.” He still looked torn, like he wanted to stay and fix things, or like he felt like he should stay. She gave him a wobbly smile. “Please.”

She gave an internal sigh of relief when she saw the resignation finally color his features. He didn’t try to say anything else; they both knew it was a moot point. Instead he pulled her in close, in one of his patented bear hugs that she always cherished so much. They were always like a cocoon of warmth and safety and everything good. Birdie could physically feel him trying to transfer all of his own feelings through that one hug. To let her know how much he truly loved and cared for her, even if it may not have been in the same vein as her.

When he eventually pulled away, he left a lingering kiss on her forehead before backing away and slowly making his way to the door.

Birdie’s mind whirled the whole time.

Don’t go. Stay with me. Pick me. Turn around.

The closer he got to the door the heavier her chest felt. Could she really just let him leave like this? Why couldn’t she ask him to choose her now? Why couldn’t she ask him to try to make things work with her? Why shouldn’t she?

This is a mistake. Don’t let him go. Don’t let him leave like this.

Just as his hand was on the doorknob, her voice broke out to stop him.

“Dean.”

He turned around, waiting to hear what she had to say. And the words were right there on the tip of her tongue, ready to be let free, when suddenly she thought of Sam. That’s why Dean was doing this, to fulfil some sort of dying wish to his baby brother, and that’s what stopped her. Who was she to try to infringe on something like that?

No one. She was no one.

“…drive safe.”

Something unclear settled in his eyes. He dropped his head momentarily before throwing her a weak smile and walking out the door.

The sound of the Impala’s engine starting and fading away would haunt her for a long time to come.

=======

That had been roughly a year ago. A long, lonely year filled with the occasional call to catch up. Her unintended declaration may not have ruined their friendship, but it certainly changed it. Now here she was, mind bouncing back and forth between the documents in her lap and the phone in her hands, trying to decide what to do.

But she already knew what she was going to do. There was a part of her, subconsciously, that knew from the very beginning what she would do in regards to both situations.

She would fold. She always did.

She always put the bar first and she always put off taking a chance in any aspect of her life. She was a creature of habit. It was simply easier to go the path of least resistance, because the idea of failing or losing something was far too terrifying. She’d rather sleepwalk her way through a life that was comfortable enough than risk not having the security of a roof over her head. She wasn’t brave enough to really take a chance in any area of her life.

It didn’t make the regret and longing hurt any less, though.

The worst part of it was that it wasn’t even that hard of a fix. It wasn’t as if she was in her twilight years, too old to start over… not even close. It just always came back to the fact that she was too much of a chickenshit.

Her parents’ mistakes and failures had ingrained a fear of uncertainty within her, as if it was printed in her very DNA. She knew that was why she clung so desperately to the guaranteed security of Dean’s friendship and why she always bailed at the last minute when it came to taking a chance on her own dreams. She needed that safety net of a sure thing after watching her mom and dad fall without one so many times.

Plus there was the obligation side of things. That was something Dean had always understood. Even when he would try to encourage her to do something that would truly make her happy, he still empathized with the idea of feeling like you had to stick with and honor your family. They were peas in a pod in that sense. Her uncle had generously given her this place, all so she would be set in life and so he could keep his beloved bar in the family. Wouldn’t it be ungrateful of her to sell it off now herself? To her, it felt like a slap in the face. One she didn’t have the heart to make.

She glanced around her little loft, eyes falling on the corkboard that was filled with postcards Dean had sent her from every city and town he visited. They were all the standard ‘Greetings From..’ type that you could pick up at any local gas station. She tried to imagine not being there and she couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine not hearing that creaky sound of the old stairs as she walked up and down them each day. She couldn’t imagine not being able to observe the vast amount of colorful characters she met while working. It may not have been the life she wanted or would have chosen, but it wasn’t a bad one by any means.

As her uncle would always say, why fix what isn’t broken?

But maybe it wasn’t about fixing things, maybe it was about enhancing them. Once more her thoughts drifted to Dean. She’d bet he was still up. She wondered if he ever did this: perched himself in a chair somewhere by a window where he could look out over the night sky, thinking about her in some way like she always seemed to be doing.

Maybe she shouldn’t answer this time. Maybe it was time to give up the ruse of being fine with the way things were. She’d come close once, a drunken night with her mom that loosened her lips just a little too much.

“If I knew it was going to hurt this much I wish I never laid eyes on him.”

That’s what she had said, but as much as Birdie wished it was the case, it simply wasn’t true. She didn’t understand it, how compelling he could be. How his smile could light up your world for a while, how he could make you feel like you were the most important thing when he gave you his undivided attention. How she could tell him absolutely anything, regardless of how silly or stupid she felt about it, and he would still make her feel like the old cardigan that nobody else wanted but that he still appreciated. Or how his very existence made her feel whole, somehow, even if it wasn’t in the way she truly desired. She didn’t understand it, but she knew she needed it as much as she needed this bar.

The sudden beep of a new message alert brought her back to the real world. She lifted her phone again to look at the screen.

- Bird, please

He rarely called her Bird.

She had learned over the years it was like a safe word of sorts for him. If he called her Bird, it was his way of sending out the S.O.S and asking for help. It meant he really needed her. And wasn’t that what friends were for? Wasn’t that what she had been telling him for ten years now? If he ever needed anything, just call.

This was him calling.

Birdie rose from her chair and headed to her dining area, tossing the contract in the garbage bin before typing out a quick message.

- i’ll leave the light on for ya

#make me swoon #sabrina's 250 followers writing challenge #supernatural fanfiction #dean x ofc #platonic relationships #angst #one sided pining #life regrets #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #an easter egg hunt of taylor swift song references #obligation is a dirty word

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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: Changes - part six Word count: ±5000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part six: Zoë remains one step in front Dean, which annoys the cocky hunter. As new details about the case unravel, both Winchester brothers find out that the independent woman is not planning to share. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish & @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

Dean squints when he steps into the light. A clear blue stretches out across the sky, the bright color gradually turning paler as it closes in on the horizon. He’s outside in the parking lot crammed with cars; the desk clerk wasn’t lying when he said he was fully booked. The place doesn’t have a sinister feel to it anymore like it did last night, allowing the hunter to let his guard down on this caffeine-deprived morning. The older Winchester brother needs a fix and he needs it badly. Sam drank all the instant coffee and he refuses to drink that shit from the machine in the lobby.

He expected it to be chilly outside, but the sun feels pleasantly warm. Sam woke him up, turning up the volume of the radio completely during the drum solo of a Guns ‘N Roses song. Not because his little brother likes that particular music, but he does like to watch Dean bolt upward in bed. Payback, because the older Winchester can’t deny that he pulled a similar prank on his brother more than once. Honestly, he’s glad Sammy is starting to mess with him again. It’s been a while since they acted like siblings. The joke was a good wake up call, too, he has to admit, but he still feels hungover: wrecked, tired and in desperate need of a cup of coffee, or several.

Traffic rushes by, most of the cars and trucks entering the city of Rochester. It’s a big town, big enough for people to disappear in without others noticing. For a moment, he thinks of those the shapeshifter already took. Sam found a string of at least three disappearances and that conclusion was drawn from the information he had access to offline while Dean was driving up north. These people could be anywhere. Dead? Probably. Going to die if they don’t find that bastard’s hideout fast? Definitely. But before he can work, he needs food, too. Dunkin’ Donuts, now that would be a treasure in this town.

When he asked Sam where Zoë was, all he got was “out”, followed by, “she’s already getting us lunch” when Dean grabbed his wallet and intended to leave. He went outside anyway, in need of some fresh air. His shoulder is throbbing, shooting daggers through his arm whenever he moves it, but as long as he keeps it still, it’s not too bad. In the bathroom earlier, he did peel the gauze back slightly to check the injury, and he has to admit that he was impressed. He might not be able to stand Zoë, but she did an awesome job removing that bullet and sewing him back together. Plus, the painkillers she offered are a God’s gift.

Slowly, he strolls towards his car. The pitch-black Chevrolet Impala blinks in the sun, chrome glistening. Dean smiles; what a sight for sore eyes. He’s honored to own the car Dad gave him a while back. Not just because she’s such a joy to drive, but because it was Dad’s first car. He kind of owes it to his old man to take good care of her. It’s what he expects him to do; to look after the family. “Hey, Baby,” he greets his Chevy, letting his fingertips glide over the trunk. “Since when have we reached the phase that you call me ‘baby’?”

Dean looks over the top of the Impala and finds Zoë’s Harley parked on the other side, but he can’t spot the owner. When he moves around his car he finds her, laying on her back underneath her bike. “Who says I was talking to you?” Dean returns, leaning against the hood. She crawls from under the Road King and judgmentally observes him for a few seconds, then she grabs a socket wrench and slips back under. “Right, men talk to their cars. I forgot they do that,” she nags.

Dean grins and decides not to respond; it’s still early and he’s not sharp yet. The rhythmical sound of the bolt being turned sounds like music to his ears and he has the sudden urge to pull his tools out of the trunk and get some work done himself. But Baby is fine, she doesn’t need any TLC right now. “What’s wrong with your bike?” Dean asks curiously. “I was in a bit of a hurry last night, probably hit a speed bump. It’s just the gasket, nothing serious,” she explains, keeping her eyes on the exhaust. “And what’s wrong with you?” he rephrases his question. “Excuse me?” Caught off guard, she pauses, but doesn’t make an effort to get out from under her Harley. Dean doesn’t bother to repeat himself. “You heard me.” “There’s nothing wrong with me, Shortbus.” Zoë continues tightening the bolt, faster than she did a moment ago, annoyed about the fact that she doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “Then what is that bandage doing there?” Dean asks smartly. Startled, Zoë sits up and hits her head hard against the chrome outlet of her bike, causing a loud bang. Cursing like a sailor she lands back on the ground. “Ow! Fucking hell!”

She didn’t realize her shirt crawled up. Dean smirks at the string of strong language, but hides his smile when she surfaces from under the bike. Irritated, she pulls down her buttoned shirt to hide the gauze through which a little bit of blood has formed a perfect circle in the shape of a bullet wound. She uncomfortably pretends like neither he nor she saw it and disappears under her Harley again. Dean, of course, isn’t going to let it go. “Did Sam shoot you?” “What?” “Last night he fired two bullets. Did he shoot you?” Dean repeats. The huntress scoffs. “Ha! Your little bro isn’t that fast on the draw.” “I’m not kidding,” he states seriously. “Someone apparently was.”

She gives the bolt one last turn and appears from under the bike, this time without hitting her head. Annoyed, she looks up at him, lightning in her brown eyes. Zoë is nowhere near admitting to him what went down. Shit. How the hell is she gonna talk herself out of this one? “Don’t worry, Sam won’t get the credit,” Zoë comments snarky, as she grabs a dirty cloth and cleans her hands, looking away. “If he didn’t do it, who did?” he interrogates, clearly not accepting a smart answer. “What does it matter? It’s nothing serious,” she mutters, getting up. “It is. You got shot, damn it,” Dean argues. “So did you. How’s that shoulder by the way?” Zoë quickly changes the subject, but Dean is smart enough not to take the bait. “No - no - no,” He shakes his head and grins. “I’m not gonna fall for that one. My shoulder’s fine, thanks, but you’re still answering that question.” She sighs; seems like there’s no way out of this. “It’s not that bad, it was a clean shot,” she assures, still avoiding Dean’s question. “Did you get the bullet out?” Dean asks, almost parental. Zoë narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I got the bullet out.” “Who shot you?” he asks again, slowly this time.

Zoë doesn’t answer and saunters up to him, after which she leans against Dean’s Chevy as well. Her hair, still damp from the shower she took earlier and seems black. Despite the crappy night, her natural tan gives her a healthy appearance. The only thing that gives away that she’s tired, are the slightly visible dark circles under her eyes. When she looks aside, she meets Dean’s gaze, who’s waiting for some kind of response. With a sigh, she gives him an answer. “The shapeshifter.” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, needing a moment to analyze her words. He doesn’t know which question he needs to ask first. “You ran into him?”

Zoë averts her gaze, debating her conscience. Should she tell him? She knows he will keep digging until he does, but she could lie, obviously. Oh, what the hell. She might as well give him the whole story. “Yeah, yesterday evening. I had an appointment with a possible next victim, this guy called Cliffer. Turned out the son of a bitch already shed into him,” she explains. “Wait… Cliffer? As in Terry Cliffer?” Dean double checks. She suspiciously tilts her head while looking at him. “Yeah.” “Shit.” He rubs his face, realizing what is going on. “You’re Sharon Evans.” “What? How the hell do you know my alias?” Zoë asks with a tone. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Sam technically did get you shot,” he starts off hesitating. “Beg pardon?!” she cries out, turning towards him, completely stunned. “We rang Cliffer around five yesterday afternoon, to meet up with him,” he admits. She stares at him as the missing links connect. She places a hand on her hips, switching her weight to one leg, radiating her attitude. “Let me guess! FBI?” “Yeah. He asked if Sam was Sharon Evans’s partner. We didn’t realize we were on somebody else’s case,” he admits. “You son of a…”

She swallows down another waterfall of curse words and turns around furiously. That’s why the bastard changed! She didn’t give herself away, those dumbass Winchesters did! It’s a bit of a coincidence that two federal agents call, being on the same case without knowing it. The shapeshifter was tailing Cliffer already, she was suspecting that, but when it learned about the appointments, it changed shape quicker than planned. The fucker knew there was at least one hunter in town. It was on to her! “Fuck!” she exclaims.

Furious, she turns away and walks back and forth between Dean’s car and her bike. Dean just follows her with his eyes, not saying a word. He knows that anything coming out of his mouth will only make her angrier, even if it’s just a smart attempt to lighten the mood. “What time’s that appointment?” “Five-thirty.” “Where?” “A bar. I’m not sure where.” “You don’t know?!” she snaps. “Sam knows. He made the appointment, not me,” he returns. Zoë rolls her eyes and forks her fingers through her hair, staring at the passing traffic for a moment.

“I don’t see why this is a bad thing,” Dean starts off, casually, but she doesn’t take it well. “You don’t see why this is a bad thing? It probably means the real Terry Cliffer is dead!” she hisses, lowering her voice when guests walk out the Motel Six. “You don’t know that. There could be two of them walkin’ around,” Dean argues. “The shifter doesn’t know that we’ve met. That gives us the advantage. It doesn’t know we know.” “What was your major plan then, Hannibal Smith?” she taunts. “I don’t have a plan. Like I said–-” “- Sam’s the geek, I know. God, seems like your folks saved the brains for the second child,” she huffs, turning on her heels as she crosses her arms firmly in front of her chest.

Dean glares at her, offended. Not that she notices, with her back already turned to him. She picks up the tools she used for the repair and puts them back in a small case, resting on the saddle. While she cleans up, Zoë tries to figure out some kind of plan, but if she’s not even sure who Sam actually made that appointment with, then how can she work out a strategy? Big chance that she’ll meet the shifter, but it could very well be Terry, so she can't actually go in guns blazing. Cliffer hasn’t been reported missing yet, even though he has a wife and kids. If he did disappear, they would have called the authorities and Zoë would know about that. Nothing is certain, which makes this job so much more impossible to work.

She stops what she’s doing and stares at the asphalt. Gears are turning in her head as she goes over every scenario. Dean observes her for a moment. “Did you eat?” he asks out of nowhere. “Or have coffee?” “No,” she answers confused; what does that have to do with anything? “Then how the hell can you think properly?” he wonders. She shrugs, only just now realizing that her stomach sounds like there’s a war going on inside. She could certainly go with a good latte macchiato to jumpstart her brain, too. It’s no fun to admit, but Dean has a point. “You’re right. I’m off.” Zoë throws her right leg over her Harley and lands in the black leather saddle. She picks up her old biker jacket from the handlebar and puts it on. “Can I come?” The way Dean asks is like a little boy would, innocent and hopeful, adding ‘pretty please’ with his green eyes without actually pronouncing the words. She chuckles and shakes her head. “Sorry, Dean. I fly solo.” Her engine starts with a satisfying purr instead of the louder sputter it produced earlier. Content, she smiles and puts on her helmet. Dean, on the other hand, looks at her just like that same little boy, disappointed, even though he tries to hide it. Without another word, she turns the throttle and exits the parking lot. Just before she turns on the parallel road to the 52 highway, she glances over her shoulder with a smirk from ear to ear. “Thanks for lunch!” she shouts, overruling the sound of her Harley.

Puzzled Dean watches her drive off. Lunch? What lunch? He feels his pockets, knowing he’s missing something. When the identical roar seems to come closer again; he looks up. The Harley Davidson isn’t exactly coming back, but drives up the ramp going to the city. She heaves her hand victoriously, holding his wallet as she drives by. Dean’s eyes follow her, his jaw dropping to the ground. That dirty little thief! She just stole my wallet! He gapes at Zoë, as she and her Harley merge into busy traffic in the distance. How could she…? When did this…? Stunned, he scoffs. Un-fucking-believable. He, one of the best goddamn hunters in the world, just got pick-pocketed. While shaking his head he turns around and walks back to the lobby, muddling softly. “Son of a bitch.”

An hour later, Zoë slips her key in the lock of room 82 and walks in like she owns the world, a straw coming from her iced latte on-the-go firmly between her lips. “Finally!” Dean complains. He made himself comfortable on the bed with his shoes on the bedspread again, sitting up against the back wall reading a magazine Zoë doesn’t want to know the content of. Sam is behind his laptop, not surprisingly. The older of the brothers smiles happily when he sees the Taco Bell symbol on the paper bags she’s holding. It might have taken her a while to get back, but at least she brought the good stuff.

Without responding to his comment, she throws him back his wallet without Sam noticing, who is occupied by research. Dean catches it with his left hand and answers her victorious grin with an unintelligible mutter. She sets down a small tray with two more coffee containers. “I didn’t know how you guys like your coffee, so I brought you both an Americano,” she says. “Francis over there prefers a half-caf double vanilla latte,” Dean comments, wiggling his eyebrows at his brother, who on his turn glares at him and takes his coffee. As if Dean hasn’t eaten for days, he attacks the burrito, quickly tearing away the paper wrap and taking a big first bite. Zoë isn’t surprised by his manners. Sam, however, can’t help but stare at his brother for a moment and clears his throat, disapprovingly. His sibling doesn’t seem to be bothered at all and lets out a satisfied ‘mmm’. “This is good,” he comments with his mouth full. “Thanks, Zo,” Sam says, after which he also takes a bite of his lunch. “Don’t thank me,” she nods at Dean. “He’s the one who paid.” The younger brother frowns and looks over at Dean for an explanation. Dean and paying the bill? That’s new. He doesn’t need to observe him for long before Dean stops chewing and his facial expression goes blank. Uneasy, he looks away and swallows his bite. Zoë watches him, too, smirking like a cheshire cat. “She - uh,” he pauses, studying his taco for a moment. “She kinda… stole my wallet.” Sam almost chokes on his food and laughs out loud, the action earning a lethal glare. He then continues to look the huntress up and down. “That explains the new jacket.” Dazed, Dean looks up. New jacket? What new jacket? Then he spots the black leather Harley Davidson bomber jacket on Zoë, brand new by the looks of it. “You didn’t,” he reacts, shocked. She grins at him, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I did.” He grinds his teeth, trying to keep calm. “How much was it?” “Not sure, actually. I didn’t bother to check the price tag when I slipped your card,” she returns, utterly satisfied. For a moment Dean just stares at her, his upper lip nervously twitching. What would that jacket be worth? 400, 500 bucks, maybe? “Oh, don’t be such a cheap jerk about it,” she comments, when she notices his expression, as if he has eaten something spicy yet disgusting. “You have at least a dozen more credit cards hidden in the trunk.” “How the hell would you know that?” Dean snarls at her.

As she takes a bite of her burrito, she looks up, digs deep down in her pocket and tosses him his car keys. While she casually continues with her lunch, Dean stares at the keys in his hand with his mouth agape, trying to figure out how the hell she got those as well. Sam has a hard time keeping a straight face, and who could blame him? There’s no finer entertainment than this: Dean is getting played. “You touched my fuckin’ car?” his brother hisses. “Obviously. I need to borrow this, by the way.” Zoë holds up a demon protection amulet. “Give that back, Zoë,” Sam demands, trying to be strict. “What else did you take?” “Some herbs, nothing expensive,” she admits, carelessly. “You fucking thief. What did you take, Sullivan?” It’s Dean who rises to his feet, holding his hand out to collect the stolen items. Reluctant, Zoë reveals a dried vine of Viburnum from her inner pocket. “Gardener over here -” Dean nods at Sam, “- went through a lot of trouble to get ahold of that dead plant you have there. I’d give it back if I were you.” “No. I need it,” she decides a matter of factly. Sam narrows his eyes at the huntress, trying to read her. Why would she need that herb? He stares at it, two dried out plants tied together with a double shoestring. It only works for one thing… “Not for yourself, I hope?” Sam asks, carefully. “A case I’m working on the side, actually. Can’t find the damn plants anywhere,” she clarifies. “Keep the damn twig, but I want the amulet back. Get your own supplies.” Dean ushers Zoë to hand the item over, which she does with a sigh. He snatching his coffee from the table and returns to the bed without thanking her. In fact, he’s not happy at all that she has been sniffing around in his car. The silence that follows is awkward, even for Zoë, and she decides to change the subject.

“I reckon you updated Sam while I was out?” Dean nods, taking a sip of caffeine. “In detail.” “Let me get this straight.” Sam, seated on one of the chairs by the table, leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The shapeshifter knows you’re a hunter.” “It does, but it didn’t know that at the time of the meeting. It knew one of the callers was out to kill him, but for all it cared, I could have been an FBI agent. The fucker shot me anyway,” she elaborates, finishing her drink and tossing it in the trash. Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What’s your point?” “Her point is that if we go to Beetles Bar, pretending to know nothing, it won’t take any risks. If the shifter shows instead of the real Terry Cliffer, it will try to kill us both,” Sam understands. “You guys are not going in,” Zoë makes clear right away, taking a mental note of the bar’s name that Sam just mentioned.

“So, what then? Lure him out and shoot the bastard?” Dean suggests. “Not until I’m sure it’s the shifter, not Terry,” Zoë replies, as she walks over to the fridge. Two confused faces follow her as she opens the door and looks inside. “You’re not making any sense at all,” Dean returns, puzzled, after which he apparently gives up on the conversation and props his feet up on the bed again. “You might actually have made an appointment with the real Cliffer guy, not with that chameleon. No one would be able to tell, unless you shine a flashlight in his face,” she explains, as she takes out three beers.

Sam looks back at Zoë, who beckons one of the bottles to him, but he rejects it. Dean takes both the beers without hesitation. “You’re serious? You haven’t even been up for two hours,“ Sam scolds at the older Winchester brother, astonished by the both of them. “It’s happy hour somewhere,” Zoë defends, puts the bottle against her mouth and takes a swig, earning a grin from Dean. “Want anything else, Sammy boy? Some juice, or milk perhaps?” she coos cheerily as if talking to a child. Dean snorts, almost choking on his beer, but when Sam shoots daggers at him, he quickly takes another sip.

“Don’t call me Sammy,” he warns the huntress, continuing their discussion on the case. “So, there is a possibility that we might actually have a meeting with Terry Cliffer–-” “Okay, stop there for a second. Let me make something very clear: there is no ‘we’.” Zoë leans on the table, her knuckles resting on the surface. Her body language is strictly business all of a sudden; apparently she’s not very happy about Sam and Dean joining in on the case, especially not without her permission. Dean eyes her as he sits up. “You could use our help, Zo.” “Help?” She scoffs. “Thanks to the big ‘help’ you’ve been, I couldn’t finish the case last night!” “That happened, sorry about that. But as long as we’re here, we can offer a hand. Besides, we have an appointment with Cliffer,” Sam argues. “I don’t care. This is my hunt. I’m going to that appointment myself,” she clears up. A quick glance at the clock tells her that it’s a little past three. She still wants to dig up more information on her guy. The boys better get going. “No, you’re not. That’s our appointment,” Dean bounces back. “Seriously? You really wanna fight me on this?” she returns snappily, pushing herself from the table and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “That appointment that you scheduled fucked up my entire case! I was here first and I’m gonna end it!” “Oh, come on. How old are you? Five? Haven’t learned how to share yet?” Dean chuckles with an attitude, adding fuel to the fire.

Before Zoë can counter him, Sam comes between the two hot-blooded hunters. “Knock it off, both of you. It will be easier to catch that shapeshifter with three hunters than with one, Zoë. Why don’t we go there together? You lay low and when we find the shapeshifter, we shoot it. We know he’ll probably be in the bar anyway, either as Terry Cliffer or someone else.” “No,” she decides without any consideration. “I’m gonna deal with this alone and I do not need your help.” “I can see that,” Dean comments, nodding at her abdomen, reminding her of the bullet wound that’s covered by her shirt. “Who’s fault is that again?” she snaps. “I’m gonna say it one more time: I fly solo. I don’t do teamwork, certainly not with you two. End of discussion.”

She takes one last sip of her beer and sets the bottle down on the table with a loud bang. “Who do you think you are, ordering us around like that with your ‘end of discussion’? Our dad?” Sam bites back, defensive for the first time today. She freezes at the comparison and turns her head. The boys can see the fury burning in her eyes, as if they just lit the fuse of a bomb that’s about to explode. His comment stirred something inside of her they should have left alone. “I am nothing like your father!” she hisses. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean questions, offended. “Exactly what it sounds like, Winchester,” she counters with a tone. “What did he ever do to you? He exorcised that evil son of a bitch that was wearing you to the prom, for fuck’s sake.” Dean gets up and steps towards her, clearly not too happy about the way she’s talking about his father.

Trying to not lose her cool, Zoë chuckles sarcastically, looks away, and places her hands on her waist. “You owe him,” Dean pushes, halting before her. “I do not owe him a fucking thing,” she snarls fiercely, staring him down. Their eyes battle, waiting for the other to look away, but both Dean and Zoë are determined not to be the first. Her anger towards John Winchester radiates from her; the brothers can both feel it. They struck a nerve, that’s for sure. “I want you out,” Zoë declares without even blinking. “And I’m serious.”

Dean's jaw tenses as he grids his teeth. “Fine.” With a sigh, Sam gets up from the bed and grabs his duffel, Dean already on his way out. The younger brother doesn’t feel like leaving her alone on this case, but Zoë clearly isn’t going to change her mind anytime soon. “If you need us-–” “- I won’t,” she immediately intervenes. “If you do, we’re going south.” He leaves a card on the bed. “Don’t bother, Sam. The stubborn bitch won’t call us anyway,” Dean responds, holding the door.

She ignores his words, annoyed by the slightest sting that his bitter voice leaves. In a quick glance, Zoë sees two phone numbers written down on the card, but she doesn’t intend to pick it up. Sam looks over his shoulder, but he isn’t angry with her. His eyes ask her to please reconsider, but all she returns is a cold gaze. The door closes behind them and the brothers walk down the hallway. “Unbelievable,” Dean scoffs. “What a fucking waste of time.” Their footsteps echo through the hall as they pass the front desk. Sam nods at the younger guy who took over for the day when they exit Motel 6, and enters the parking lot. The sun is still shining and shimmers on the cars passing by on the 52 highway, tires rush over the blacktop. Dean halts on the driver’s side of his Impala.

“Where to?” he asks, opening the door to get in. “We’re staying in town,” Sam decides before he sits down in the passenger seat. “What? No! We have better things to do, Sam,” Dean argues, still mad at the huntress. “I know we do, but I have a bad feeling about this,” Sam admits. Dean sighs. “Here we go again with that feminine intuition shit.” Sam rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t respond to his words. He can’t understand why, but somehow he has the urge to look out for Zoë, almost like it’s instinct. Unnecessary, of course; she has been fine by herself for four years. Why should today be any different? “Let’s just go. You said something about a possible case in Iowa yesterday? If she can handle this, why bother to stick around if we can hunt something else?” Dean reminds him. “One night. We book a motel, check on her, and if she nails it, we leave. She doesn’t even have to know we’re there,” Sam suggests. “I thought you were determined to find Dad?” Dean looks aside at his brother, waiting for a response. “I still am, but we have no lead, not even a single clue where he is,” Sam points out. “Hey, that’s what I’ve been telling you, but it didn’t stop you from looking. You were the one who was all, ‘I gotta find Dad, it’s the only thing I can think of,’ Dean bounces back, imitating his voice. “And now you’re ditching him for some chick?” “I’m not ditching him for some chick!” Sam denies. “Ah, come on. You like her and you know it,” Dean carries on. “I do not like her, Dean! Jess just died, damnit!” he exclaims.

Dean looks away and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. He knows he went too far, so he keeps quiet and turns the ignition. When he flips the key, the V8 motor under the hood growls, impatiently waiting for Dean to back up and hit the road. “You said it yourself: Dad doesn’t want to be found. I don’t see how it’s a bad thing to spend the night here, unless you have some kind of lead I don’t know about,” Sam suggests. “Fine, whatever. As long as that motel has a bed. I really need to get some sleep.”

He puts his car in reverse and looks in the rearview mirror as he guides her out of the parking spot. The shift of his body causes him to grimace, pain cutting through his shoulder. “Feeling alright?” Sam checks. “Yeah, just tired. I need more painkillers, that’s all,” he mutters. Sam takes out his phone and calls a booking agency he had listed in his contacts earlier. As the call goes through, he sighs. It’s going to be a difficult task to find a room with that poker event in town. He waits for someone to pick up on the other side, meanwhile wondering why Zoë got so worked up about their father. Dean has a point; John saved her from that demon, so how could she possibly despise him? Something must have occurred; maybe she crossed paths with him later on and John did something to upset her. She wouldn’t be the first to cross blades with him, after all.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part seven here

The Sullivan Series tags: @a-gir1-has-n0-name @destielhoneybee @fookinghelljensensthighs @heartsaved @idksupernatural @laphirablack @magssteenkamp

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phobiadeficient · 5 years ago

Note

any fem mercs (if you like that idea ofc)

heavymedic time based exclusively on the fact that there’s that one like canon concept design for fem!heavy that looks like a black rosie the riveter with a really sick gun, and cards on the table? she’s real hot. and yes the fem!soldier designs are also hot but i could literally never choose between them and that heavy design won favorite by a landslide. that said their appearances are left largely up to interpretation in this and they’re still german and russian because i didn’t wanna make outright OCs. anyways

It brought Heavy an awful lot of joy, seeing Medic like this. The usually crisp and professional doctor, there in her pressed coat and clean glasses, not a single hair in her bun out of place, reduced—elevated—to such a complete mess.

Her face flushed, and her eyes foggy, and her mouth open and gasping.

There was the misconception that Heavy’s size somehow related to her ability to do finnicky, precise work. That was not the case. She spent much of her time fine-tuning massive weapons, where even the smallest misalignment could send bullets careening wide or barrels spinning out of place and breaking the entire gun. She knew very well how to be careful, how to be precise. And she used that skill to its fullest on her Doktor, the love of her life.

One massive thumb circling her clit in gentle motions, two fingers buried deep and moving in slow rolls and curls that made Medic keen, worked up and oversensitive and somewhere treading that fine line between desperate for more and desperate to be free of sensation. Heavy’s other hand mostly moved to soothe her, rubbing circles against her stomach, up her arms, occasionally cupping her breast when she started to drift to draw her attention back to the moment.

“One more,” Heavy said softly, leaning in to kiss at Medic’s thigh a few times. “Doktor has one more.”

“I can’t,” she gasped in return, even as her hips bucked, her knees shook and trembled. “Heavy, Gott, I can’t—!”

“You will,” Heavy replied firmly, curling hard, squeezing one breast at just the right pressure to make Medic arch, her lips parted in a lovely “o” shape. “Just let go, Doktor.”

She sped her movements as Medic started rolling joltingly against her fingers, paying better attention to her clit as she drew closer, and it wasn’t too much longer before Medic came one more time with a soft, halting gasp.

Maybe one day Heavy would get her to let go fully, to vocalize and moan to her heart’s content, unashamed. Already she was making progress—it wasn’t often that Medic would let Heavy lay her down and pamper her like this. Usually she was the one taking control, leading the scene, hooking Heavy up to all sorts of different things and watching her with no small amount of delight. Heavy loved it, obviously, she loved every second, but it was refreshing to have a change of pace.

When Medic was done, Heavy gently drew her hand away, wiping it off on the towel she’d placed nearby. Her fingers had gone a bit pruny, but that was to be expected. She spent a few moments giving Medic a cursory wipe-down, making mental note to do a more thorough job later.

Medic murmured something in German, still dazed. A few seconds later she repeated it in unsteady English. “That was incredible, Heavy, thank you,” she managed, breathless. A pause. “Would you like me to…?”

Heavy shrugged. “Is not big difference,” she said. “Is about Doktor tonight.”

Medic sat up with great effort, and it became that much more obvious how much disarray her hair had fallen into, hanging around her face, sweaty and messy and, in Heavy’s opinion, beautiful. The mascara had smudged at the corner of one of her eyes, and it made Heavy smile. “I make you feel good because I like to, meine Bärin,” she said, still a bit short of breath but recovering by the moment. “I enjoy it.”

Heavy smiled. “Then enjoy yourself,” she invited, spreading her arms.

Medic leaned forward, drawing Heavy in further with heels at her hips. She pushed her shirt up and off, gently holding onto Heavy and starting to kiss across her skin, getting a feel for what Heavy wanted just then.

“And I’ll admit,” Medic hummed, gentle into her sternum, “I have been dying to try out a new project I‘ve been working on. Off record.”

Heavy had learned to be excited whenever Medic brought up a project she’d been working on off record. So she moved to help Medic to her feet, and Medic took a moment to steady and reorient herself before moving over to her sets of various boxes and cabinets, rummaging through one for a few seconds before producing something and walking back over.

“If you would strip and get on the table, please?” Medic asked, sounding a little smug. Heavy did so without question, spreading her legs to allow Medic between them and leaning back to get comfortable as Medic turned to one side and briefly wiped the thing down with some sort of cleaning thing she had on the tray with other medical implements. “Would you mind if I restrain your legs, meine Schatz?” she asked.

Heavy gestured for her to go ahead, albeit frowning with mild confusion. “Why is this?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Well, I tested this on myself, of course, and the reaction I had was, er…” She searched for the right word. “…Significant.”

Finally Medic had her restrained, ankles secured to the corners of the table. She then promptly glanced over the little thing in her hand for a few moments then moved to position it over Heavy’s clit. For a moment she paused, glancing around for some kind of lube, before just shrugging and dragging two fingers up through where the majority of Heavy’s slickness was settled, making her hum happily. Once Medic seemed to be satisfied, she worked with eager yet clinical hands to position everything just so.

“Ready?” Medic asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Of course,” Heavy said.

Medic turned the thing on, and Heavy’s world went white.

It took maybe ten seconds for Heavy to come, every muscle going taut, rocking in desperate motions against the powerful, delicious suction that seemed to be trying to pull her soul out of her body. Medic pushed her over the edge all the faster as she slid two fingers in and crooked them just right, and Heavy, for a moment, was worried that she’d blacked out. When the stars stopped dancing in front of her eyes, she was left shivering, panting, ankles aching, and fading back into view was the grinning face of Medic. Belatedly, playing over the previous minute or so in her mind, she realized her aching ankles were a result of her legs jerking hard, hard enough that she was sure she would’ve kicked Medic if she hadn’t been careful. It was no longer on her, and she stared at Medic with wide eyes.

“What is that?” Heavy panted, first in Russian before correcting to English, torn between extremely aroused and a bit terrified.

“I’ve yet to decide on a name,” Medic said, tone breezy and casual. “But I think it’s safe to declare this test a success.”

Heavy nodded absently, shaken to her very core.

“You got me off, what, four times?” Medic asked idly, tracing a shape against Heavy’s inner thigh with slick fingertips. “I think I’ll get you to a nice, round six, hmm?”

Heavy just nodded again mindlessly, lying back, the conflicting mess of emotions settling into simple yet powerful arousal as Medic went to set the toy up again, grinning like a manic.

Her hair was still a mess, and it made Heavy smile for the moment before her world became nothing but sensation and breath.

#//heavymedic #//fem!characters #//bondage #//teasing #//tenderness

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shaylybaby2032 · 6 years ago

Text

Let Me Be Your Lighthouse

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit/18+

Pairing: Gabriel x OFC

A/N: Please do not copy my work to any platform without my permission, even if giving credit.

Warnings: Eventual smut, physical/mental abuse, angst, fluff, language

Summary: A Duke of Hell wants to use Gabriel for his own nefarious plans and makes a deal with the Empty Enitity to bring the Archangel back from the dead. But, when Gabriel escapes, the Duke must reach deep into his arsenal to try and track him down. Not long after Gabriel's great escape, Sam and Dean race to save a fellow hunter who has been captured by demons and, after rescuing her, convince the woman to let them help her get rid of the demons hot on her heels. While the two occurrences seem unrelated at first, they may have more in common than any of them realize.

"A wise man once told me, 'family don't end in blood.' But it doesn't start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family's there; for the good, bad, all of it. They got your back, even when it hurts." -Dean Winchester

Chapter 1: Unexpected Return

The full moon hung low in the night sky over the large patch of deserted dirt in Fort Collins, Colorado that had once been an attempt at a cornfield. The former owner of the land hadn't expected this particular patch of land to be so deprived of the nutrients required to grow grass, much less the crop he had staked his financial well-being upon. He had become quite aware of the losing battle when the ground had all but spit out the yellow kernels as black and hollow husks. If he had been aware of the door that laid deep below the surface of the ground he had been trying to grow the plants in, he would probably have gone running for the hills, or the nearest church.

Unfortunately, there was no way he could have known that the very energy seeping into the ground making it volatile would find its way in to his own mind during the single year he spent trying to make the decision to dump all of his money into the plot a worthwhile choice. There was no way he could have known that exactly one year after he first set foot on to the place that he would be sitting in the local mental institution staring blankly at a wall mumbling about a void no human was ever meant to see.

When he died less than three weeks later, the bank had put a “For Sale” sign on the land. It stuck up from the ground until the elements faded the bright writing away, and it became one of those properties that fell through the cracks as it shuffled around in the system of more appealing purchases.

That was, until almost a decade later, when a man in an expensive five-piece suit walked into the bank asking to speak with the president of the establishment. The man was charming enough to disarm anyone he was speaking with in a way that, had anyone really been paying attention to the ease in which it happened, would have made them fear for their very souls. They hadn't noticed, however, and before long the engaging man with professionally short midnight hair and piercing, dark brown eyes had the female bank president completely enthralled.

It wasn't the sharp and attractive features of his face that drew her in. No, she was far too smart to be taken in by a pretty face and a fancy suit. Years of dealing with business men and women had sharpened her skill of rifling through bullshit and pipe dreams. It was his confidence that drew her in at first, and it slowly mixed in with an attribute she couldn't quite describe. After having checked the credentials he had given her, she discovered he had more than enough money to pay the offer he had presented to her for the property. It was an offer that was more than quadruple the listing price.

While she couldn't see the appeal of the dead piece of land that sat on the outskirts of her town hidden by brush and now overgrown woods, she had finally accepted his offer. When he smiled his approval, her stomach dropped to her feet. The gesture had sent a sense of unnerving through her that had her hair standing on end, and could only be described as wicked. He hadn't given her a chance to go back on her acceptance of his offer, and he grasped her hand in a handshake to seal the deal. She had fought with everything she had not to jerk away when she came in contact with his cold skin. The connection made an overwhelming sense of dread crash over her so hard that she could have sworn the light in the room hit his eyes in way that made them appear to be deep black orbs, threatening to drag her down.

As the suited man walked out onto the moonlit field, that same wicked smile was painted on his face. After all these years he had found the doorway, one that he was sure God had loathed having to make after his Archangel had fallen and created those first dark beings. His eyes flashed to black again as he pulled a glass jar of dark red liquid from a pocket inside his suit jacket. He walked in a circle as he poured the thick substance onto the ground in the shape of sigils that predated even the earliest Sumerian cuneiform. All the while he chanted a language long since dead enough to not be in any written form. When he had completed the circle, the ground beneath him began to rumble and he stepped outside of the markings just as they began to glow with an eerie black hue.

Thunder rolled above his head and lightning lit up the sky as the dirt within the circle began to shift and swirl. A thick tar like substance started to bubble up from the dirt, jerking and spasming as it was drawn to the center like metal to a magnet. The substance pooled and started to build on itself, slowly forming a humanoid shape. With another crash of thunder, the vile liquid crashed back into the ground to reveal an exact copy of the suited man standing in the center of the circle with pure loathing etched into his features.

“Eligos,” the copy growled, addressing the man that summoned it. “To what do I owe the annoyance of being called on by a mighty Duke of Hell.” it's voice held a disgusted tone as it mocked the being in front of it. “Had I been sleeping when you called I would have dragged you down to my domain on sheer principle, so I advise you to tread lightly.”

Eligos bowed respectfully as he spoke. “Oh great being of the Empty, please, pardon my intrusion, but, I am in need of your assistance.”

“MY ASSISTANCE?!” the Empty Entity barked. “WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WOULD WASTE MY TIME WITH THE LIKES OF YOU?!”

“Because I will make it worth your while,” Eligos said cooly, not even phased by the primal shout that had come from the being in front of him as he straightened his posture. “I have discovered that you know a good deal when one presents itself.”

The Empty Entity regarded the Duke with interest, though it's ire was still prominent. “What is it that you want, Eligos. My patience is already thin. Don't make it worse.”

“The Archangel, Gabriel.”

The Empty threw it's head back in a spurt of laughter so sinister that the wildlife around the area, had there been any dumb enough to wander close, would have scurried away in haste. “Why would I even entertain the idea of freeing an Archangel?”

“Because I offer two of my sixty legions of demonic soldiers for him.”

The Empty scoffed at his bargain. “Twelve thousand demon souls for an ARCHANGEL?! Even one as broken as Gabriel is worth far more than that.”

“Then name your price,” Eligos insisted, his calm exterior never faltering.

“What use could you have for an Archangel with low grace and a hefty dose of PTSD? Your superior really did quite the number on him. But, you know that. Asmodeus confided in you and you alone about his pet, among other things.”

For the first time Eligos’ still presentation faltered as his eyebrow arched in questioning.

“I receive the memories of each being that comes to my domain,” the Empty explained before he could ask. “Asmodeus was sick, even by my standards. I will only ask one more time why you want one of his broken toys.”

“Gabriel's low grace makes him vulnerable and open to... persuasion.”

“I see. You understand how devastatingly wrong darkening an angel can go, correct?”

“I have the means to control him once he's mine.”

The Empty crossed it's arms over it's chest as the being contemplated the request made by the Duke. “I want half.”

“HALF?!” Eligos spat, his tranquil demeanor completely falling. “You want HALF of my army?!”

“Yes,” The Empty confirmed. “A hundred and eighty thousand demon souls should fit the bill.”

Eligos snarled as he bit back on the expletive words on the tip of his tongue. He took a second to center himself again before he spoke. “Deal.”

“Not quite. You still need to...what's the saying? Ah, yes, sweeten the pot.”

“What else could you possibly want?!”

“Oh, you know exactly what I want.”

Realization crashed down on to the Duke and he glared at the entity before him. “You know I can't give you that.”

“I'm well aware of the rules, Eligos. I am, however, the one that had to agree to them all those eons ago with that pompous idiot that plagued the universe with his perverse creations. I am also very much conscious of your connection with what I want. If anyone can make it happen, it's you. Or...do you doubt your control over the abomination?”

“No!” Eligos spat. “She will do as I say. But, only after I have Gabriel how I want him.”

“Fair enough,” the Empty said as he closed the distance between them and extended his hand toward the demon Duke.

Eligos grasped his offered hand and shook. Thunder crashed as lightning streaked the sky, the sound causing the ground to shake. Swirling black smoke filled the air above their heads as the sound of desperate screaming ripped around the area. With another clap of thunder, the black cloud was sucked into the circle on the ground and disappeared beneath the dirt.

***

Gabriel sucked in a harsh breath as his eyes shot open. Pain seared through his skull as his blurry vision started to focus on... nothing. A complete black void surrounded him, yet somehow he laid on a sturdy surface. He jerked to a sitting position as he clutched at his chest, searching for the wound that he was sure had ended his life. He was shocked to find his body free of blood or the hole he knew he should have. He was certain he had died. Wasn't he?

“Yes, you are definitely dead,” a voice drawled from behind him.

A voice he knew well, and the sound of it took him completely off guard as he scrambled to his feet to whirl around. He then came face to face with... himself?

“What the hell?” Gabriel whispered.

“Not exactly,” he watched the other him say. “Just your friendly neighborhood primordial being.”

It finally dawned on the Archangel with whom he was speaking to. “You're the Empty Entity.”

“DING DING DING! Give the angel a prize!”

“Why am I awake?” Gabriel asked, then rolled his eyes as a thought occurred to him. “Winchesters. What have those idiots broken now?”

“Oh, trust me angel, you are going to wish it was those boys that bargained for your broken being.”

The next thing Gabriel's mind registered was the feeling of being thrown to the ground as his body forcefully coughed up the dirt that had somehow found its way into his lungs. Slowly he started to realize there was a breeze. There had been nothing but stillness in the Empty and the sudden change had his head jerking up even as his coughing persisted.

He was back on Earth.

His Earth.

He was alive.

Why?!

That's when fire erupted in a circle around him, flames he quickly recognized as holy fire. A growl rose from his chest as he pushed himself to his feet, facing the figure that was now illuminated by the flames. Rage rushed through the Archangel's system at the sight of the Demon Duke.

“Eligos,” he snarled.

“Gabriel!” Eligos retorted with mock excitement. “So nice to see you up and moving, though I think I preferred you chained with your mouth sewn shut.”

“I swear I'll incinerate you where you stand-”

“And how do you plan on doing that while you are trapped in holy fire with low grace?”

Gabriel's eyes flicked up to the sky at the dark storm clouds that had moved in. He turned back to the Duke with a smirk on his face. “I do believe it looks like rain.”

As the last word left his mouth, mother nature smiled on him and the first drops of rain started to fall. They landed on the fire with a sizzle that caused the flames to jump.

“Only a matter of time,” Gabriel continued. “Even low on grace, I'll have no problem doing away with you.”

Eligos barked out a laugh as he gestured to the Enochian symbols around the outside of the fire that the Archangel had missed in his anger. He studied the symbols closely for a moment. They had been altered with dark magic, a sinister power that he hadn't seen since before Lucifer had been locked away. His stomach dropped as he realized what the Duke intended to do and his eyes shot back to him.

“You see, Gabriel,” Eligos started, “that fire won't matter once I've darkened what little grace still resides within you, because then you will be mine to control.”

“NO!” Gabriel shouted, frantically looking around for a way to deter the Duke's plan.

“Yes!” Eligos said as an evil cackle started to flow from him.

He started to chant in a language that was a mix of Enochian and Latin, causing the sigils around Gabriel to glow and the holy fire to roar to a size that towered over his head. Immense pressure punched into his chest, sending him to his knees. He could feel the magic seeping through the fire and into his vessel. He fought against the parasitic force with every ounce of strength he had, but he could feel it invading into the very sense of who and what he was. Could feel it twisting around his grace, forcing the shadow of his large wings to blaze forth into existence. The flames licked and sighed at his shadowed feathers and an idea formed through the suffocating pain it caused. He had no choice. He couldn't allow himself to become what this magic was trying to drag him towards.

He wouldn't allow it.

With a renewed strength he contributed to the pure adrenaline of the moment, he reached behind his back and grasped at his own wing. His fingers knotted into the soft shadowed feathers, and with one last breath to accept what he was about to do, he pulled. With twisting and wrenching motions he jerked on his wing with all his might, the pain exploding into his being and blurring his vision. A feeling like magma being poured into his vessel stampeded through his body, making his throat constrict and his feathered appendages jerk of their own accord almost like they were trying to escape. He was vaguely aware of Eligos’ failed attempts at coming through the amped holy fire to stop him, but when the base of his wing separated from not only his vessel but his very being, a scream of agony ripped from his lips that sent the ground trembling. The blur of his vision turned to complete darkness for a split second before he pulled himself back from the edge of unconscious by pure will alone. He wouldn't succumb and let this demon win. Not again! Not ever again! Eligos crashed to the ground as Gabriel started the same process with his other wing. When it, too, was torn from him, both wings burned to ash as his grace shot out from the gaping wounds in his back. The ash and grace swirled around him, dousing the flames with a force that sent the Duke flying through the air out of sight and leveling everything within a twenty mile radius.

There was silence, then, as his grace shot into the sky and vanished.

Gabriel was left lying flat on his stomach, gasping for air. The wounds on his back had somehow been healed, but he still felt the agonizing emptiness from what he had done. His skin was covered in a thick layer of sweat as nausea rolled through his stomach threatening to spill the bile that his stomach now created. His body trembled as he forced himself to roll to his back, trying to control his breath and attempting to grasp what he now was.

Human.

Chapters 1 through 3 are up on Ao3. Continue reading here...

#gabriel spn #gabriel #gabriel x ofc #gabriel smut #gabriel fanfic #gabriel supernatural #spn fanfic #spn #supernatural #fanfic

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 6 years ago

Text

Qi Flows for Her

Chapter Eight

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC x Bucky Barnes | Word Count: 5425 Warnings: Violence, swearing, slight angst

Celine woke to find Peter lightly tapping away at his keyboard. “That doesn’t look like homework.”

He jumped and hit the escape button, shutting down the game he’d been playing. “I was done! Well, as far as I could,” he muttered.

She laughed softly and pushed the blanket away to sit up. “Friday? Increase lighting to normal levels.”

He smiled at her once the lights brightened. “You look better. Are you feeling better?”

“I am,” Celine nodded, rising from the sofa to wander over to the desk near the window and retrieve her phone.

“Good. You were out for a while.”

When she picked up her cell, Celine realized just how long awhile was. “Hmm, longer than planned. Let’s give Logan a call.”

“Really?” Peter squeaked.

“I did say we could call him so you could get more information.” She grinned at Peter when he squealed and jumped to his feet. Chuckling softly, Celine scrolled through her contacts until she found Wolfman and hit the call button.

It only rang once before he picked up. “What?”

“Well, hello to you too,” she snickered.

“Darlin’, you’ve got weird timing.”

“Why’s that?” she asked as someone banged on her door. “Hold on a second. Someone’s at the door.”

Peter beat her to it and opened it wide. “Oh! Oh, man!” he gasped, shock and excitement and a little awe rippling from him in waves.

Celine only shook her head as she hung up the phone. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

“What did you expect would happen after chuckin’ your guts all over the place? The Professor sent me to make sure things were going okay, and to make sure you were feeding as you should,” Logan muttered as he eyed Peter. “Who’s the kid?”

Celine crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “The kid is Peter, and he was the reason I was calling you. He has questions about the Devil’s Brigade. Be nice, Logan. He’s a good boy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Logan, Wolverine, sir.” Peter swallowed thickly and held out his hand.

Logan arched a brow but accepted, gripped Peter’s hand and pulled him closer. “You smell like…” he frowned, “something other than human.”

“I’m Spider-Man!” he squeaked, then slapped a hand to his mouth.

“Peter, it's fine. Logan’s good at keeping secrets,” Celine assure the boy while sending Logan a warning look.

“Mm,” Logan grunted. “That makes sense. Stronger than expected.” He released Peter’s hand to stride across the room, wrap his arms around Celine, and lift her off her feet to swing her in a circle. “Little girl! Missed you.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Wolfman! Put me down.”

“Excuse me, but I must insist you put Ms. Ena down,” Vision stated as he walked through the wall.

Logan’s claws sang when they erupted from his knuckles. “Who the fuck are you?”

“So cool,” Peter whispered.

“Logan,” Celine huffed. “You know damn well he’s Vision. Vis, I’m sorry about him. Everything is fine here.”

“I’m afraid it is not, Celine. Your friend broke in and bypassed all the tower’s security to get here.” Vision took another step forward. “He will need to come with me.”

“That won’t be necessary, Vision,” Steve said walking in the room through the still open door. “Logan. You could have come through the front door. Stark’s pissed about all the locks.”

“Rogers.” He tilted his head. “Where's the fun in that?” Logan mumbled. “And as you’re all sitting around twiddling your thumbs while Hank figures out what the fuck we’re dealing with, I thought I’d come check on our girl and see how she was doing. Seein’ how she hasn’t been feeding as she should, we’re going to be taking a walk.”

“Celine?” Steve very nearly growled. “Have you got something to tell me?”

Celine elbowed Logan in the ribs. “I was fine until earlier today.”

“What happened earlier?” Steve asked, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

“She got sick, Golden Boy. Happens when she lives in this writhing cesspool of negativity. Shit, I can smell it all over the place,” Logan growled.

Three sets of eyes landed on her. “It’s not that bad. Logan is overreacting. I had a private session with Tony today, and it dug up a lot of… mixed emotions.”

“She got sick. So sick Charles noticed. How come none of you did?” Logan demanded.

“I did!” Peter piped up, only to have Steve glare at him. “I mean… I-I came to talk to her about something and noticed she wasn’t feeling good, so I made tea… and just… sat with her.”

“Next time, Peter, if you notice someone isn’t well, you should be informing Bruce,” Steve scolded gently.

“Well, if that’s all? Me, the kid, and Celine are going to take a walk, have a coffee, and talk a little history,” Logan stated, then looked at Celine. “After she puts on some clothes. Wrecked my favourite damn shirt,” he grumbled, pulling on her sleeve.

Celine rolled her eyes. “We can just as easily go chat in the lounge, Logan. Or sit here and talk. Peter’s the one with the questions.” She had no desire to fight with him or have to explain about “house arrest" when it came to light she couldn't leave.

He frowned at her, his brows pulling together into a deep ‘V’ then cleared suddenly when Logan gave a grunt of agreement. “Better to go out later anyway.”

“Are we going out somewhere?” Wanda asked as she walked past Steve into the room, appearing unconcerned by Logan's claws. “Is there a reason we’re all gathered in Celine’s room?”

“Apparently, Celine’s not been feeling too good, but didn’t bother to tell anyone,” Steve grumbled levelling his less than pleased glare at her.

“Celine was sick?” Wanda gasped, then frowned.

“Ugh!” Celine threw up her hands and slapped Logan in the back of the head. “You bloody narc! I had one incident! One! Both you and Charles are overreacting. Look, I had an emotional and personal conversation with Tony. Occasionally the negative sticks, and I have to throw it up like cheap booze. It happens as an empath. Nothing to worry about.” Glaring at Logan, she poked him in the back of the fist. “Put those away before I show you what real claws look like.”

“Don't start with me, sweetheart. You ain't in no shape to be taking me on.” Logan shook his claws at her.

“Don't make me prove you wrong, Howlet,” Celine purred allowing her hair to curl before walking away. “Play nice with my teammates.”

***

Steve waited until her bedroom door shut before turning his focus to Logan. “How bad was it really?”

“Bad enough to draw the Professor's attention, so pretty fucking bad.”

“And how often should she be eating?” Steve asked.

“Twice a week, minimum. She can go a week max if she's had a real good feed. Charles wants an explanation. This is unacceptable. Living in this metal tower with all your... fluctuations, she should be feeding every two days. Why isn't she?”

Completely aware Logan had yet to put the claws away, Steve didn’t move from the doorway. “She didn't tell us it had to be so often.”

“Why would she have to? It takes no more than ten minutes for her to get what she needs. Less time than it takes me to eat breakfast.”

Peter flinched and looked at his feet. “House arrest.”

An angry growl rippled from Logan's chest. “The fuck did he just say?”

“He said house arrest, Logan. And if you're going to be a pussy about it, then go home.”

Logan turned on Celine so fast none of them could move in time to intercept him. In jeans and a cozy white sweater, she still looked ridiculously sexy to Steve’s mind.

“Why the fuck are you under house arrest!” he bellowed, marching across the room.

“Because of who I am. Or have you forgotten, Logan? Has it been so long since last we fought together you've forgotten my true face?” she asked, her words soft compared to her harsh smile.

He froze mid-step before taking the last one into her space, finally sheathing his claws. “That's no excuse. You're a better X-Men than nearly anyone I've worked with before. This was meant to be a collaboration, not a hostage taking!”

“He’s right.” They all looked to Tony standing in the doorway beside Steve. “Scruffy, good to see you again.”

“Watch it, Bub. You and I both know your fancy suit is no match for my claws,” Logan sneered.

Tony held up his hand. “You can’t fault us for being cautious. New powers coming in from a faction we've crossed less than friendly paths with? We needed to be sure she was above board. We’ve done that. Celine, I'm sorry we didn't trust you earlier.”

“I understand, Tony. I'm sure if it were one of you going to Mutant Central, the others would be cautious as well.” Celine nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Logan and Peter have some history to discuss.”

“But we are going out tonight, yes?” Wanda asked excitedly.

“Sounds good to me, Wands,” Tony smirked. “I'll get the VIPs going. You in, Scruffy?”

“Alliance or not, I will punch your teeth down your throat,” Logan growled. “I'm in.”

“Man!” Peter sighed. “Being underage sucks.”

“Doesn't last forever, kid,” Steve chuckled and patted Peter's shoulder. He cast a last glance at Celine before leaving, his heart heavy in his chest when she wouldn't look at him.

***

Most people wouldn't think it to look at him, but Logan had far more patience for kids than he let on. Case in point, he sat and let Peter lob question after question at him, and when Peter asked if his friend Ned could join them, Logan had given a grunt and a shrug.

Celine snickered softly in memory, for Ned had arrived panting and huffing from the elevator, having jogged from the subway, to stop and stare in fanboy awe at Logan.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolverine, sir,” he’d said, the excitement on him so bright in his aura Celine couldn't contain her giggle.

Which of course drew Ned’s attention. “Oh, my God…”

“And you didn't believe me,” Peter chuckled. “Ned, Celine. Celine, my best friend, Ned.”

“Didn't believe you about what, Peter?” she asked, already well aware of the adorable puppy crush.

“He said you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen,” Ned breathed. “He was right.”

Peter blushed bright red. “Be cool, man! Jeez!”

“Peter is very sweet to say so,” Celine smiled kindly. “But you should ask your questions of Logan before you must go home.”

While she hadn't left them completely alone, knowing Logan could get descriptive when left unsupervised, she’d moved into the kitchen area to peruse the shelves and begin tugging various ingredients and bowls from the cupboards.

“I hear we're going out tonight because of you.”

The hard voice only had Celine breathing out in resignation. “Actually, you can thank Logan for that. He's insisting, but then I am famished so I could use a bite.” She turned to face Natasha and smiled a baring of teeth which exposed the small fangs she usually kept hidden.

Natasha took a step back, disgust written on her face. “Keep your needs to yourself.”

“They won't be a problem anymore as Tony lifted my house arrest.”

“What?” she snapped. “What did you do to him?”

Celine rolled her eyes and turned back to her task. “Nothing. He made the decision all on his own.”

“I don't believe you,” she hissed.

“Problem?” Logan growled from the opposite doorway.

“No,” Celine stated firmly.

“Funny. Cause it kinda sounded like Red, there was accusing you of something. You got a problem with my girl, sweetheart?” he snarled.

“Logan, it's fine.” Celine’s look was a warning he knew well to heed.

“If she’s yours, maybe you should take her with you when you leave,” Nat said coldly.

Logan crossed the room in a leap Celine was unable to intercept and had Natasha pinned to the wall in a breath. Two of his three claws were embedded in the wall to either side of her neck, while the third slowly extended until the tip pressed to Natasha's throat.

“Now I know you've got a problem with Celine. But you see, red, you aren't dealing with no Avengers here. We aren't like you. We're a little more… animal than you're used to.” He inhaled deeply. “See, I can smell it on you beneath all that fear. The hatred wrapped in jealousy. Celine is beautiful, powerful, and better than you. Stronger, faster. I bet it just burns in your belly how much better she is.”

“Logan, that's enough,” Celine said, lacing her voice with power. His words weren’t going to win you any points with the woman.

“I don’t need your help!” Natasha snapped.

A flash of silver was all the warning Celine had before she plunged her knife into Logan’s shoulder. He grunted, growled, and let his middle claw press a little deeper.

“That was real, real stupid,” Logan said, his voice a deadly whisper.

Celine threw her hands out and wrapped him in threads of gold. She gave a hard jerk and threw Logan across the room, sending him tumbling over the kitchen island, scattering flour and dishes everywhere.

Natasha dropped into a crouch, her bloody knife still in her hand.

“Get out of here!” Celine snapped at her when Logan lurched to his feet with a roar.

“He's crazy!” Natasha shrieked.

“You don't know the half of it!” Logan growled.

When he launched himself over the island, Celine leapt to intercept him and sent the two of them crashing into the refrigerator as Peter and Ned filled the doorway.

“Logan! Don't make me knock your ass out!” Celine bellowed.

“Natasha, no!” Peter cried.

Celine’s head whipped up in time to take a glancing blow from a frying pan. It rang her bell and shattered the hold she had on her chi, sending it bursting into fireworks around her.

A shot of webbing went past her face when Peter sealed Natasha’s hand to the wall.

“Lo… Logan,” Celine murmured, her vision beginning to darken.

“Fuck! Celine!” He grabbed her as she folded in half.

“What the hell is going on?”

Steve’s voice came from a distance, resounding like it was in a barrel, but all Celine could see were Logan’s scared eyes.

“Feed!” he demanded.

“No…” she whimpered.

“Celine you're grey! Feed, goddammit!” He shook her hard.

“Rogue,” she whispered.

Logan closed his eyes, and his aura changed. The dark colours of anger, hatred, and rage softened as he forced his mind to think of Rogue, the woman he loved and lusted after.

Then he sealed his mouth to hers and Celine moaned as she fed. It was like ambrosia, so delicious, his emotions so strong, but when she tried to pull away, he grabbed her face.

“Don't you dare half-ass this, little girl. You know I'll be fine.”

Once more he sealed his mouth to hers and Celine fed another moment longer before forcing him to let her go. “It's enough. I swear.” Still, she clung to him for a moment, finding comfort in his arms, stability, and a sense of home.

“She gonna be alright?” Steve asked.

His voice was much closer, and Celine turned to see him, Bucky, and Bruce hovering near. Tony and Sam talked to Peter and Ned while Wanda worked on removing the webbing from Natasha’s arm with Vision standing sentry at her side.

Logan’s anger surged as he swiped his fingers through the blood on Celine’s temple. “Does this look like she's gonna be alright?”

“I was trying to knock your stupid ass out, not hers!” Natasha snapped.

Celine knew it was a lie but didn't say anything.

“There wouldn't have been a problem, to begin with, if you grew the fuck up instead of acting like a jealous teenager!” Logan barked.

“Enough!” Celine snapped, shoving from Logan’s arms to get to her feet. “Enough of this. Logan, go home. Tell Charles everything is fine and to stay out of it,” she growled emphatically.

“Little girl,” he snarled, his lip curling in anger.

Celine backed him into the fridge, her nose almost on his. “Don't make me make you, Logan. Thanks for the snack but get the fuck out of my way.”

“Celine,” he murmured, softer, gentler than before.

“My team, my problem,” she said then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Go home, please.”

He held her gaze for a long moment before giving a sharp nod. Then he turned hard eyes on Steve. “Captain, take better care of our girl, or you won't like what happens next.”

“Now that I know the truth of her needs, it won't happen again.”

Steve’s cold words might have made her flinch if Celine wasn't running high on Logan’s anger. She usually took on a few of Logan’s less desirable traits when she fed off him.

“Drink something,” she reminded Logan before turning to clean up the mess they'd made. “Water, not booze.”

She paid no attention to the fluctuations of concern in his aura when he stalked out past the others.

“Someone want to tell me why my kitchen looks like a war zone?” Tony snapped.

“I'm sure Natasha can explain what happened,” Celine said, refusing to play he said, she said with the woman who was already working to fabricate a convincing story.

“I'd rather hear it from you, dollface,” Bucky stated.

In a fit of pique, Celine sent her chi out in every direction, collected every shard of glass, every spec of flour, lifted the lid on the garbage can and slammed all in the rubbish bin. “Yes, well, be that as it may, I highly doubt my explanation of things will be any different from hers, and as I've now fed, there is little need for me to leave the tower tonight. So reinstate your house arrest if you wish, take the price of repairs from my wages, and leave me alone!”

She stalked out past Natasha, Wanda, and Vision, and headed for the roof.

It was all becoming too much.

***

“What the hell happened?” Steve demanded, turning on Natasha.

“Look, Celine and I were talking. Logan took offence to something he misinterpreted. He pinned me to the wall, I stabbed him to make him let me go, but it only made him madder. Celine ended up yanking him away and then got between us when he came at me a second time. I was trying to help when she moved, and I hit her instead.” Natasha shrugged. “I don’t think you should allow him back in here, Steve.”

Steve rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache brewing. “What did you say?”

“Pardon?” she blinked at him innocently.

He didn’t buy it. “What did you say to Celine that set off Logan?”

“I… I don’t even remember,” she sighed and held up her hands apologetically.

“You accused her of manipulating Mr. Stark into lifting her house arrest,” Peter said bitterly. “And you weren’t trying to assist anything! You were trying to hit Celine with that frying pan!”

Natasha shook her head. “I wasn’t, Peter. I swear.”

“I heard you! I was standing right there!” Peter pointed to the other side of the wall leading into the kitchen. “You’re always so mean to Celine. Mr. Howlet was right. You are jealous of her!”

“Peter, that’s enough,” Steve said, looking at the kid.

“No! I may just be a kid, but Celine has done nothing but be nice and try since she got her. You’ve been nothing but nasty and rude. She won’t even speak out against you when all of this,” he waved at the room, “happened because you walked in here and accused her again of being something she isn’t!”

“Parker!” Tony snapped. “That’s enough.”

Hurt flashed over Peter’s face. “Ned and I have homework.” Before anyone could stop them, the two boys turned around and left.

Steve could hear the ding for the elevator, announcing Peter and Ned were leaving the tower altogether. He knew Peter wasn’t fabricating a story. Peter didn’t lie, he was terrible at it if he tried, and there was that sixth sense of his. His “Spidey Sense” never let him down. If Peter was feeling something off with Natasha and Celine, then it needed further investigation.

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha murmured.

Tony glowered at her. “Don’t thank me, Romanoff. Did you really accuse Celine of manipulating me?”

She blanched. “Well, I… it’s just, you let her out of her house arrest. I thought we were going to do more checking before that happened. And discuss it as a group.”

“I’m fine with it,” Sam stated, crossing his arms. “I didn't agree with it from the start.”

“Neither did I,” Wanda agreed, and Vision nodded.

“Logan expressed his displeasure with her not feeding properly. Containing her to the tower was making her sick, so whether we like it or not, we’re not reinstating it. She was starving, Natasha!”

“Then why didn’t she say something?” Nat snapped.

“Why should she have to?” Wanda asked. “If you or I are hungry, we go into the kitchen and eat. Her kitchen is out there, and we were keeping her from it. That is not fair! She shouldn’t have to ask permission to feed herself!”

“Wanda’s right,” Bucky agreed.

“So we let her loose on the unsuspecting public to just suck them dry?”

They all gaped at her in shock, each of them stunned by her ridiculous statement.

“What the fuck, Natalia?” Bucky muttered. “We all watched her feed off Logan, who stood up and walked out of here no problem. She’s not some serial killer out there draining people of life like some evil vampire!”

Something angry and dangerous flashed in Natasha’s eyes. “That you know of.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Tony marched forward to stand toe to toe with Natasha. “I don’t know why you’ve got such a stick up your ass about Celine, but it stops now. If you can’t work with her, fine, I will see you transferred to Fury for assignment, and you can work with SHIELD directly for a while until you pull it together.”

Natasha gasped. “You’d choose her over me? After everything we’ve been through?”

“It’s not a choice, Natasha!” Steve snapped. “But I agree with Tony. Whether you like it or not, we need the Professor and his people. We need the allies. This conflict between you and her needs to end! And if you can’t put on your big girl panties and suck it up, then you need to go.”

“Wow,” she breathed, staring at the two of them. “Wow, I can’t believe you.”

“Believe it,” Tony stated. “So, should I inform Fury you’re in need of a change of scenery?”

She lifted her chin high. “No. I won’t be going anywhere. As the rest of you are clearly so far under her spell you can’t see the truth for what it is; I’m needed here to make sure when you do come out of whatever this is there’s someone here for you to turn to.”

She looked them all over with pity, turned on her heel and walked away.

“Holy fuck,” Bucky muttered. “Did that just happen?”

“Wanda?” Steve looked her way. “What do you think?”

She shook her head. “There is so much turmoil in her mind. She honestly fears for the rest of us, but why she is so wary of Celine is hidden from me. It is as if she has a wall I cannot get through protecting all her secrets.”

“Nat was watching Celine in the library today,” Bucky muttered. “And when I tried to talk to Celine, she did her best to separate herself from me as quickly as possible.”

Wanda nodded. “Celine wants to be involved. She aches to find a place where people see and accept her for who she is, yet something holds her back, but her mind is much more closed than Natasha’s.”

“I feel like I’m stuck in a stage drama and only have half the script,” Tony grumbled.

“I think we all do,” Steve sighed, eyeing Tony. “What did you talk to Celine about that made her sick?”

“I made her sick?” Tony gasped.

“Logan said she was “living in a whirling cesspool of negativity.” I’d kind of like to know why he’d think that.” Steve crossed his arms and stared at Tony.

Tony stiffened. “What we spoke of was private!” he snapped. “I don’t have to explain-” he cut himself off and sighed as he lifted his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to discuss this publicly, but her empathy has helped me… understand a few things better than I did. I need time to work through some things, Steve.”

Surprised by his honesty, Steve nodded. “Understood. You know if you ever want to talk, Tony, I’d be happy to listen.”

He dragged his hand down his face. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Bruce, who’d yet to say anything, poked a finger at the massive dent in the fridge. “Least I didn’t do it this time.”

Sam chuckled and slung his arm around Bruce. “That is true.”

***

Celine sat on the edge of the roof and let her legs dangle. The colder air and quiet with the sounds of the city muffled by distance helped calm her mind. She’d closed herself off to the others, preferring not to feel what happened in the tower, and was caught by surprise when Bruce came over and sat beside her.

“You’re freaking me out. Could you at least sit with your legs on this side of the roof?” he grumbled, making Celine chuckle.

Still, she swung her feet over and sat beside Bruce. He was always interesting with his dual auras. Usually, the Hulk’s lived more in the background, but when Bruce’s counterpart came closer to the surface, the heavy feel of a second person was more present as it was now.

“So, they sent you to see if I was going to throw myself off the roof?” she asked a little sharply.

Alarm filled his face. “Would you?”

“No, Bruce. I would be more inclined to walk away and disappear if I thought it necessary.”

He nodded, sighing a little as he relaxed. “I thought maybe I’d come see if you’d talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you and Nat.”

Celine closed her eyes and turned away. “There is nothing to tell.”

“Peter heard everything.”

She flinched but refused to speak.

“Look, Celine. I know Nat can be… hard. She’s had a life few would have been able to survive as intact as she has.”

A burst of laughter escaped Celine’s lips. “A hard life. Yes. If only I knew what that was like,” she said bitterly. “I like you, Bruce. You’re a peacemaker, and when peace is no longer an option, you are the hammer behind the final blow. But please, do not speak to me about Natasha’s hard life.”

“Then maybe you should talk to me about yours?”

She lifted her head and blinked at him. Celine had no idea what he saw in her eyes, but the Hulk was suddenly much closer to the surface. “Do I scare you, Bruce?”

“Not much scares me anymore.”

“Hm,” she nodded and looked away. “But I unsettle your Hulk.”

“He’s not mine.”

“Ah, and that is where you are wrong. He is more you than you know, and if harmony between yourselves is what you seek, then accepting that fact is your only option.”

“I thought we were going to talk about you?” Bruce muttered.

“You were going to try,” she smiled. A quinjet rose from below, hovered for a moment, and then took off. “Steve and Bucky?”

“Yeah. They got called out. Going to be gone awhile Stark said.”

Her heart clenched in fear for their safety and a little sadness at not getting to help Bucky tonight. She felt good after her impromptu dinner and knew she was in peak condition to work on his mind.

“They’ll be fine. No one works better together than Steve and Bucky. Those two are like twins,” Bruce assured her.

“They have complimentary auras. One easily blends with the other.”

“What’s that mean?” he asked. “There’s so little I understand about the, well, mystical nature of what you do.”

His curious mind made her smile. “Auras are unique to each of us. They tell no lies, only truth. You cannot hide the history of your life from those who can read and see auras. Steve and Bucky have lived singularly unique lives. What they went through during the war. How they both are men who have lived beyond their era. The love they share, the bond of such strong brotherhood. There is nothing Bucky would not do for Steve and vice versa.”

She held out her palms and allowed blue chi to appear in one and gold in the other. “When they are together, Steve’s aura will reach out to Bucky’s. Bucky’s will reach out to Steve, and they blend.” She brought her hands together, allowing blue chi to lick at gold until the edges of the colours mixed and combined and made green. “They mesh without overpowering each other. They are equals and very connected.”

“That’s… amazing,” Bruce murmured, his eyes wide as he watched her chi ripple and move.

“You have two,” Celine said allowing the chi to return to her hands.

“Two what?”

“Two auras. One for you, one for the Hulk, and they are even more blended than Steve and Bucky’s are. That is why I can say you are part of each other.”

“And why you don’t need me to tell you about Nat?”

Celine nodded. “I see people, Bruce. It is what I do. The good, the bad, the ugly.”

“And judge them as you see fit?”

There was no harshness, not condemnation, just curiosity. She knew he’d seen the recording from Stark’s suit when she’d judged the man on their first mission and nodded slowly. “Some would say it is not my place to judge. Others would say I should judge more harshly. But I am the guardian at the gate. I open the River of Life. It is my blessing and my curse. If not me, who?”

“You’re talking about the afterlife. What happens when a person dies? Styx is a Greek goddess, but what if that’s not what a person believes? What then?”

“The man who shot Peter was not Greek, yet when I tore open the way to the River of Life, his soul still went. I know only what I know, Bruce,” she murmured, holding up her hand when he made to ask another question. “I know there is a place, what name it holds is for each to decide. The Underworld. Hell. The Netherworld. Tartarus. Call it what you wish; each religion has their own version. But in that place, there are things there which would make even your Hulk afraid. So I open the way, hold back the darkness, make a choice, and send the soul on its journey. I have no knowledge of what happens when the doorway closes. Perhaps once the way is crossed, each returns to the place of torment known in their faith.”

“But how can you be so sure they deserve that fate?”

She looked at Bruce, allowed Styx to surface, and smiled when his eyes widened. “Did I not say I can see your life in your aura? I know, Bruce. I always know.”

“And me?” he whispered. “If you were to judge me?”

Celine raised her hand and touched his face, her talons lightly scratching on his stubble. Green had begun to fill his veins, but she soothed them both with a gentle sound. “You are worthy of life, Bruce, and so is the one who lives inside you.” She let her power fall away and patted his cheek.

He inhaled deeply and looked away. “I… I’ve…”

“Give yourself a chance, Bruce. You’re not the monster you think you are. I would know.” Getting to her feet, Celine tucked her hands in her pockets and headed for the stairs, leaving Bruce to his thoughts.

Next Chapter

#qi flows for her #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #x-men au #x-men fanfiction #crossover #steve rogers x ofc x bucky barnes

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kotolocke · 6 years ago

Text

Entry #03: Violet City.

Get ready boys, this is where the serious battling starts. And it starts with a big tower dedicated to a living vine. I love Pokemon. We’re gonna cover Lyra’s adventures in Sprout Tower, Route 32 and Violet Gym. But first—

—apparently Falkner gets some guy to stop people who haven’t beaten the monks at Sprout Tower? Violet City seems hella interconnected so expect a world-building post on that soon. Regardless, on with the show!

Sprout Tower.

Okay, first off, this place is so interesting? I always forget about it but seeing as this is a place Lyra visits early on in her journey it’s pretty significant in shaping her ideas of what being a trainer is all about.

She’s taking part in an ancient tradition, and she needs to honour it by making sure she trains her Pokemon in such a way that is respectful to them and the Pokemon handlers of the past. She also kicks these monks asses very hard. Who’s the training master now?

Of course, we’re in a new area so we’ve got a chance to get a new friend, so meet Plum!

I really need to stop forgetting to take snaps of Pokemon in battle smh. I may have cheated a little and waited until night to go into the tower so I had a shot at getting Lyra something other than a Rattata and as you can see it payed off! Back to Plum though, he’s a pretty dower Pokemon. Ghost-types tend to come in two flavours; extremely silly and playful, messing about with other Pokemon and people for their own amusement or serious and weary of others, sometimes even vengeful—people tend to be scared of them and this sometimes leaves them feeling bitter and lonely. Plum’s a mild version of the second variety, he’s sombre and baleful, preferring to wear opponents down with status moves rather than go on a full out offensive. He’s a little weary of Lyra and her party when he’s first captured but he also appreciates the fact he’s finally in company that’s obliged to be nice to him. Small mercies.

I’m not gonna cover the rest of the randos in the tower because they and their dialogue belong in a world-building post, so let’s climb on up to the top...

...Where Lyra has her second encounter with Silver. Or half encounter? Can it really be considered an encounter if it’s not clear if they saw each-other? They did in blog canon anyway, Lyra insisted he must have cheated because there’s no way a mean, useless trainer like him could have defeated a great sage, Silver told her to shut up because weak trainers and their puny Pokemon have no business judging others. Which causes the Elder to level this choice criticism @ Silver:

Which, ofc, pisses Silv right off.

So just to reiterate, early-game Silver’s an asshole, but this whole exchange kinda makes me wonder how uncommon Silver’s attitude towards Pokemon is? I’ll probably write a more in-depth world-building post about it later but as much as the games try to emphasise this ‘you should love your Pokemon!’ attitude, I don’t think many trainers really love their Pokemon with the same intensity I see Lyra loving hers? I mean HGSS in particular have a plot-line about how it’s actually not good to make Pokemon evolve before they’re ready but plenty of Gym Leaders and E4 members have Pokemon that are too low of a level to be at the evolutionary stage they are. I think Silver’s a very extreme trainer and very few people are as callous as he is towards his Pokemon, but. The Elder is absolutely in the minority of people who don’t think of Pokemon as “tools of war”—most treat their Pokemon decently, with respect, but they are primarily seen as living weapons that require a firm hand. Pokemon were once seen as enemies of man in feudal times and most people still don’t feel as friendly towards them as they would other humans.

Anyway, enough world-building, let’s talk about Lyra’s battle with the Elder.

If you couldn’t tell, this Hoothoot was legitimately the first Pokemon that gave me any trouble and I actually got kinda scared Nutmeg was gonna faint but ultimately it didn’t take too long to defeat him. In blog cannon this fight probably makes Lyra realise that she’s gonna have to get a little more serious about battling if she wants to make it as a trainer. She’s good at training Pokemon to unleash cool little tricks and strategies in battle but I think at this point in her journey she sometimes keeps Pokemon out for longer than she should ‘cause she wants to show off a cool trick she came up with. And, well,

seems to have worked on the Elder; he clearly likes her stuff!

Route 32.

Before Lyra goes ahead and does battle Falkner, she’s gotta get a little extra training in. Though the message still hasn’t quite sunk in, the battle with the Elder makes her realise she should probably try to toughen her Pokemon up a little should they get stuck in a tight spot again.

Now behold our potential new teammate from this area, a Bellsprout!

Unfortunately, Cabbage hit her with a crit Razor Leaf and she fainted in game. In blog canon she just ran off into the treeline and Lyra decided it would just be kinda cruel to pursue her. Hopefully she can just synthesise the damage off.

Now, it’s time for a t-t-t-t-training montage! A couple of cool things happen whilst Lyra’s training in this area. First up and probably most important—

—Pod evolves! At this point Lyra’s been on the road for around a week and a half so his pupation time is up and he’s finally a beautiful Butterfree! He’s very eager to try out some of the techniques Lyra, Cabbage & Nutmeg have practised; he can fly but he’s not got claws like Meg has so he relies on a combination of spores and powders (like Cabb) and special moves. Lyra earns Pod’s eternal love by basically letting him go ham on a bunch of wild Bellsprouts and scaring them off with a Confusion he lets loose while flying around in high-speed circles. Lyra did feel bad about that later but in the moment she was just happy to see her little man so excited.

Best!! Friends!!

Another member of the team starts to grow closer to Lyra at this point too; the newly caught Plum!

As previously mentioned, he starts off pretty gloomy and he kinda struggles to keep eye-contact with Lyra because he’s a little shy. He’s also not used to being out in sunlight; it doesn’t hurt him or anything but it takes a while for his eyes to adjust to it. But as soon as he realises Lyra’s highkey fascinated by him—Ghost-types are amongst the most poorly understood Pokemon and thus she hasn’t been able to read up on them much—and genuinely wants to work out how to put his weird ghostly powers to best use, he gets attached to her really quickly. He’s just never had anyone be so vocally supportive of him before! And all the rest of her Pokemon are so nice to him too??

Plum loves his new trainer so much!!

Violet Gym.

It’s time baby.

Hell.

Yeah.

There’s not too much to say about the trainers leading up to Falkner. They were pretty easy and one of them comments on the fact that Lyra’s mad strong. My headcanon that the protags are prodigies isn’t a headcanon lads, it’s just Facts.

See? Anyway the dojo-esque vibes in this Gym kinda made me wonder; are Gym’s called gyms because the trainers under the leader train their Pokemon there? Are they kinda like advanced Pokemon schools? Obviously the trainers have to be at least decent to be able to act as a leader’s gatekeeper but they’re probably there primarily to train under them. It’s definitely a topic for a worldbuilding post. Anyway that’s not important right now, what’s important right now is—

—Falkner.

Lyra had no trouble dealing with his first Pokemon, a level 9 Pidgey didn’t face up well against Lyra’s team of level 11s. Blog-wise, Scritches dealt with it very quickly by using a Quick Attack aimed at the ground to knock it out of the air.

But the level 13 (under-leveled!) Pidgeotto that followed was an absolute menace. It was absolutely the bulkiest Pokemon Lyra had battled against so far and that combined with it’s Roost move made it incredibly difficult for her Pokemon to get any damage on it.

completely

rased

her

team.

As the fight progressed, Lyra began to cotton on to the fact that there was something not quite right about this Pidgeotto. After a Pokedex scan revealed it’s odd level, she began to suspect that this wasn’t a Pokemon that Falkner trained himself. It took a highly skilled trainer to get a Pokemon to evolve and unorthodox (and sometimes cruel) methods to get a Pokemon to evolve before it’s reached a level of power that it normally would need to do so. And Gym leader Falkner might be, but highly experienced trainer he is not.

By the time her last Pokemon went down, Lyra was fuming mad and extremely anxious. She rushed back to the Pokecentre and spent the next six hours flying between panic attacks as she hoped and prayed her Pokemon would pull through and utter rage at the fact that a league official would use a Pokemon that they had not only not trained themselves but also potentially abused. When her Pokemon were finally stabilised and returned to her she was still pacing around the Pokecentre for an hour after, trying to work out how best to tackle Falkner in a rematch.

Eventually she decided that she had focused too intensely on raw attack power. If she was going to deal with a trainer who made use of some underhanded training techniques then it was only logical that she would have to get him back with some nasty tricks of her own. She and Plum were going to need to spend a little extra time training together, and I’ll be going into the details of it in the next entry.

#kotolocke.

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josiewinters1999 · 6 years ago

Photo

Superwho x Avengers x OFC(Willie) in Tribal!AU

Summary: Post Infinity War, the remaining Avengers need a safe place to regroup, what better place to do it than the ancient lost city hidden deep in the Gallifreyan forest?

Chapter 3: Day 1 pt 2

Words: 4226

Contains: IW spoilers, mentions of death, angst, cursing

A/N: Thank you all so much for your continual support with this fic. I say it’s getting a ton of support but really I’m getting like 30 notes per chapter lol. Honestly, to me, that’s great, I couldn’t ask for more. I hope I continue to get this support from you guys and I really hope that you’re enjoying this!

After all her new citizens were issued their food, it was finally Willie’s turn. She begins to make her way to the people with bowls of food but is stopped by a Gallifreyan voice, a soft yet mature one. “Kheromoksyl, if you don’t mind,” Willie hears her name and turns back to the High Priestess.

“Yes?” she answers in her native tongue. Unveiling a hand from her bell sleeves, the High Priestess beckons one of her followers over. Reaching into the bowl and pulling out a bread wrap, she hands it to Willie, “It would do me the greatest honor if you would allow me to feed you.” Bowing, Willie accepts the food, “Thank you. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated amongst me and my people.”

Seeming almost offended by this, the High Priestess leans back slightly, “‘Your people?’ These beings of white and black skin are not yours.” She looks to the sky and then reaches a hand to the center of Willie’s chest, “The Goddess gave you life and she beats her drums within you,” her hazel eyes stare with great seriousness at Willie, “with us.”

The High Priestess retracts her hand and hides it once more in her robe. Noticing all her followers stirring behind her, she looks to Willie one last time before almost spitting at her, “Don’t forget where your loyalties lie.” With that statement, she turns to her people and wanders off ahead of them into the woods, disappearing through the treeline.

Standing motionless for a moment, Willie ponders the words of the High Priestess. Are the Gallifreyans truly her people? The answer, of course, is yes. At least, that’s what Willie tells herself. A small part of her feels tied to Earth, and to Asgard- two places she’s spent a much longer amount of time than she has in these woods.

A deeper, more masculine, English voice pulls Willie from her thoughts, “Willie!” Sam Winchester shouts, waving her over. She shakes her head and pushes her insecurities aside, walking over to her friend.

“What’s going on?” She asks in a friendly manner, trying to cover up the turmoil inside. Sam gives her an almost knowing look before continuing, “Well, where are we gonna sit?”

Sam looks out over the ground around the bonfire. The suns had completely set at this point and the fire was the only light. Like a high school cafeteria, the people in camp had separated themselves into groups, all sitting in small clusters around the fire’s light.

Willie hums, thinking about where a good place to seat herself would be. She scans the clusters in the golden glow and finally sees one on the far side of the crowd. In this particular cluster sits Thor, Steve, Tony, Pepper, Bruce, and Natasha. Unwilling to search further, she decides that sitting with Thor would be fine enough.

Extending a free hand, Willie points to Thor’s cluster, “There.”

Making their way through the crowd, Sam and Willie walk past the other groups of people. Most of them were exclusively Asgardian, others exclusively Wakandan, but some groups, mostly single, young adults, had integrated themselves, eating their shared food in the bonfire’s glow.

Upon approaching the group, Willie can tell there was a conversation she had stopped. All eyes are on her, Steve and Thor even turning their torsos to see her.

When met with nothing but silence and awkward glares, Willie meekly asks, “Got any space for two?” Sam stands over her shoulder, nervously smiling himself.

Willie scans the group, eventually locking eyes with Tony, “Yeah, sure, go ahead.” He gestures to the large empty spot between Thor and Steve.

Before Willie can step to her right and nab the space next to Thor, Sam is sitting there. She looks to her left, at Steve. He glances away from her and back down at the food in his hand. Willie reluctantly sits next to the super soldier, feeling already that it’s a bad decision.

There is a thick awkward tension in the air. It was no doubt caused by Willie’s presence, and she knows this. It feels just like it did all those years ago, during briefings in Avenger’s tower when she’d waltz in half drunk and making a fool of herself.

“So,” Bruce finally speaks, “what exactly are these things Willie?” He lifts up his wrap.

Willie looks at her own, opening it to check her suspicions, “Well,” she begins, examining each bit closely, “it’s a bread wrap, obviously. This is a type of flat bread we eat a lot of here. It’s made from this grass that can be found just outside the forest,” she points to her left at the south end of camp, “right where the forest meets the wasteland.”

Bruce pushes his glasses up on his head, pointing to the wrap again, “Yeah, but what’s in it?”

Willie chuckles, “Well, there’s some meat from a yakchu, a creature that’s a bit like a deer. It’s got the body of one, but it’s head is shaped more a bird. It’s got a beak,” she raises her hand to clamp her fingers in imitation of one. “Then on the inside we’ve also got some basically Gallifreyan lettuce, not much nutrition but it fills you up.”

She finally rewraps her food before taking a bite, “Pretty standard ration. I used to eat them all the time as a kid. When the other warriors and I would go on long journeys through the lands, we’d take these.”

“They’re small, filling, and give you enough energy to hunt,” Willie chews her mouthful, memories of her adolescence rushing back to her. In her mind’s eye she sees flashes of red and silver, mixed with the sound of rushing arrows and the wounded cries of the things she killed. The memory is neither comforting or traumatizing, it simply is. However, it does evoke a sense of nostalgia, simply for being some of Willie’s oldest memories.

Natasha swallows the bite in her mouth, “Well, it’s good. Kinda salty but good.” Willie nods thankfully, the awkward silence immediately falling once more.

All the members of the circle, excluding Willie and Sam, glance at each other, exchanging knowing looks. Willie silently wishes she could finish her food faster and leave in time to save some face.

“So Bruce,” Tony asks, leaning over Pepper to talk to him, “You gonna bunk with Pepper and I?”

The scientist sighs, “I dunno. I don’t want to, you know… intrude, on you guys. I th-think it’d be better if you guys had your own space.” Tony only waves a hand in dismissal, relieving it of its job picking at his food, “Nonsense, we have plenty of room.” The last bit held a certain cynicism that Willie knew in an instant was meant for her to hear.

Sam leans over to Willie, whispering to her in broken Gallifreyan, “You hear that?” clearly referencing what was said by the billionaire across the way. She only nods, not lifting her eyes from her hands and the task at hand.

Despite his best efforts to keep quiet, Steve perks at Sam’s voice, “Can you speak Gallifreyan?”

At those four words, all attention darts to Steve, then following his gaze to Willie and then ultimately to Sam Winchester. Sam’s eyes go wide, shock and fear filling his face. He wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot for something so small.

“W-what?” He only stutters, gently brushing a piece of his damp hair out of his eyes.

Steve stares Sam down, his features almost hurt and his voice demanding, “Did she teach you Gallifreyan?”

Willie looks between the two men. From Steve’s anger bubbling inside him and Sam’s fear and nerves taking him over, she realizes the answer won’t be a good one.

Sam swallows nervously, “Um… yes?” he slowly answers, “She’s been teaching me on and off for about a few years now.”

His body going tense, Steve sighs, “I think I’m done here.” He stands, brushing his knees off, clearing the red dust from them before turning to Natasha, “I’ll see you in our tent. Goodnight.”

She mutters a quick ‘Goodnight’ in return and Steve marches off, leaving the tension in the air even thicker.

The humiliation making Willie uncharacteristically lose her appetite, she too stands, shaking the dust from herself and wiping her hands on her hips, “Come on Sam, I think we should turn in too.” She averts her attention to Thor, still on the ground and nearly finished with his food, “You’re welcome to bunk with us if you’d like, unless you had someone else in mind.”

She doesn’t, however give him any time to respond, and is marching off to her and Sam’s shared tent at the head of camp, Sam trailing behind her. He knows better not to question her now, despite the burning want inside him to do so.

As they walk away from the bonfire, the heat and the light both decrease. The moon has not yet risen fully and the land is dark, barely light enough to see the way through the field. The red ground looks like blood and the trees look black in this lack of light.

The two walk in silence, passing the rock Willie was perched on earlier in the day to welcome the new group to her home. Willie gives it a sideways glance, not thinking much of it but remembering her words to the people.

Had it not moved, she never would have seen it. However it did move, and it makes Willie double take. Sitting lonely and slumped on the boulder is a furry creature in a jumpsuit, clutching a small piece of paper.

Willie takes a moment to recall the name of this creature before calling to him, “Rocket?” Her sudden voice startle both Sam and the raccoon in question.

He turns his head over his shoulder, already knowing who beckons him. “Oh hey, blondie,” he says meekly, turning his eyes back to his paws.

Taking a few cautious steps up to the boulder, Willie lowers her voice slightly, asking in the kindest tone she can muster, “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

Rocket just shrugs, “I dunno, didn’t really want to mix in with the rest of them.” He pauses for a moment, “Not my kinda crowd…”

Sam and Willie exchange glances of pity. She steps up to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and muttering into his ear in Gallifreyan, “Go on, I’ll be fine.” The Winchester nods and taps her arm lightly before walking along, leaving her alone with the raccoon.

In the dark, it was hard to climb onto the boulder, much harder than it had been earlier in the day. After her short struggle, she dusts off her knees, smoothing out her combat pants and adjusting her belt so that her large knife doesn’t dig into her side.

“So how are you fairing?” she asks after a sigh. “With being here I mean,” she gestures out into the dark field. Rocket just shrugs, “Fine I guess, nothing I can’t handle.” He keeps his head down, fondling the small, flimsy object in his hands.

Noticing this, Willie leans in, the leather on her belt and her shoulder holsters squeaking, “Whatcha got there?” The raccoon leans away slightly, but less than Willie anticipated. He instinctively folds the paper in his hands, “Just a photo,” he reaches a paw to push Willie away, “Give me some space, would ya?”

She willingly scoots back, eyeing him as he brings the photo back out, carefully examining it with a fond smile. “Is it a picture of them?” Willie asks in a low voice, afraid of the answer she might receive.

Rocket darts his head up. He stares her downer, her eyes sad and old. She bites her lip and swallows nervously. For a minute, Rocket pitties this woman. He remembers Willie from a few hours before the battle, she lay on the table next to Thor, on the brink of death. It’s hard to believe she’s already up and moving like she is.

He takes a moment before nodding sadly, “Yeah.” A pale hands reaches toward the raccoon. Its long fingers were calloused, the knuckles scabbed over, and the nails dirty with red ground. “May I see?” Willie almost chokes on her words.

The photo is passed to her and Willie lifts it to her face, the darkness making the photo’s contents hard to make out. It is clear what’s in the picture, however. It’s all of them. All six of them; Rocket, Groot, the blue man, the bug girl, the green woman, and him. Peter stood almost all the way to the right, smiling brighter than Willie could have possibly remembered.

The raccoon watches Willie look at the picture as fondly as he had before asking, “How did you know him again?”

Willie chuckles and then sighs, “We go way back, Peter and I.” She rubs her thumb over him in the photo, wiping dust from his torso, “I met him back when I still did bounty hunting jobs. Gotta make money somehow,” she laughs lightly, “he always was so fun to be around.”

“That doesn’t sound like Quill,” Rocket sits up on the rock, adjusting himself into a more bearable position.

She just shakes her head, “No, he was great.” There’s a brief pause before she continues, “I was in such a dark place when I met him. He really helped me through a lot.” Willie sighs once more, brushing a piece of hair that had fallen into her face, “You never really understand how much a smile can make things better until you need one.”

With one last look at Peter’s smile she mutters to herself in Gallifreyan, “I’m sorry my friend.” She passes the picture back to Rocket, who glances at Groot before folding it neatly and stuffing it back in his jumpsuit.

Holding back a sniffle, she leans a hand up and nudges him gently, “You should go on to sleep. You need your rest. Thought of who you’re gonna bunk with?”

Rocket struggles for a moment to stand but eventually does, brushing himself off and sighing, “Yeah, Thor and I are sharing one with some guy named Bruce maybe. He was still on the fence about it.” He looks down to see more dust still clinging to him, “Christ, this shit is everywhere, how do you live like this?”

Willie chuckles, rolling off the rock herself, “You learn to live with it.” She lands on the ground with a thud. She turns around and looks up at Rocket, “Goodnight Rocket, sleep well and come to my tent if you need anything.”

The raccoon nods, still furiously dusting himself off, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The blond Gallifreyan only chuckles before marching off.

***

When Willie reaches her tent, she stands there for a moment, examining it. It feels so foreign to her and she doesn’t understand why. It was the same style of tent she slept in when she was in training to become a warrior as a child.

The thin red woolen fabric adorned with black patterns and fringe, the rope made from the same red fibers holding it down, it all brought back so many memories. The symbol of her tribe was plastered on the opening flaps; a black triangle with another, shaded in, triangle sitting inside it, nestled safely at the bottom. Two black lines stood up straight on both side of the triangles.

The symbol was one that represented so much of who Willie was. She isn’t sure if it represents who she is however. That is something that only time amongst her people will tell her. With a deep breath, she walks forward, pushing one of the flaps aside to enter the fabric structure.

Sam sits up straight. He was lying on the bed mats on the floor, staring up at nothing prior to Willie’s entrance and she can tell.

“Hey,” he says, unsure of how else to address her.

She comes in, taking off her belt and shoulder holsters to sleep, “Hey.”

Sam watches her, flicking his hair out of his face, “So…” he isn’t sure what to say but feels a need to fill the silence.

Willie grunts, “What?”

The Winchester crosses his legs, adjusting himself, “So how is everything? Alright?” Willie turns around, going to lay on her bed mat next to his, “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Her voice is flat and Sam sighs, “Willie, look, this isn’t your-”

“Stop,” she interrupts, “No offense Sam, but I don’t want to hear it right now. I get it, you’re going to give me the old fashioned Winchester, ‘This isn’t your fault and we’re gonna fix it together’ speech. I get it.” She lays down, arms folded neatly on her stomach almost like a mummy, “Now just let me sleep.”

He watches her close her eyes, settling in for the night. Sam sighs before laying on his side, turned away from her, “Goodnight, Willie.”

“In Gallifreyan,” she demands. He only huffs, “Yaratov myul.”

***

The sun shines down brightly on the green lawn. The wet grass glistens in its light, sending a cool, humid air into Willie’s lungs. She takes in a large, deep breath.

All the colors of Earth never ceased to send her into a state of awe. The blue sky, yellow sun, green leaves, brown tree trunks, white clouds. Everything was just so alive. She smiles, feeling the coolness of the breeze blow through her hair.

It’s been a long time since she felt this. This happiness that came just from looking at Earth. She was such a beautiful planet, why anyone would wish to harm her is a concept Willie can’t quite grasp.

Being on Earth made her feel free. Freedom from her past, freedom from who she used to be and all the mistakes she made. A freedom she intends to never let go of.

“Hey Wills,” Dean calls behind her back, locking the door of his black impala, “are you coming or not?”

Willie whips around, smoothing out the fake FBI suit jacket she wore. “Of course, darling. Just was admiring the view.” She smirks and walks up to Dean. He pulls her in by the small of her back, muttering in her ear, “Which view would that be?”

She leans back to look him in his green eyes, “The woods, you idiot,” she chuckles, straightening his tie, “Why would I need to look at you when I wake up to you every morning?”

Dean smirks back at her, leaning forward, “You little-”

A loud sound of skin smacking something hollow pulls them from their trance. Sam takes his hand off the hood of the car and scolds them, “Guys, we’re in the middle of something.” He takes one last look at himself in the reflection of the impala’s window, “You two can make out or whatever it is you do later.”

“Really, Sammy?” Dean asks, aggravated, “Can I not have two seconds with my woman? Two?”

“No, Dean, people are dying, we have work…” Sam trails off, Dean interrupting him periodically as they argue. Willie just chuckles, her love for her boys swelling inside her.

“Kheromoksyl,” a voice whispers to Willie from somewhere beyond her view. A panic sets in, her hearts racing faster than she can comprehend. “Kheromoksyl,” it calls again. She’s panting now, wondering who could have known to say that.

“Who’s there? How do you know my name?” She calls to the emptiness. “Kheromoksyl,” the voice is getting louder, but still no one is in sight.

“Kheromoksyl,” the voice shouts in her ears and she shuts her eyes in pain, the world going dark.

***

Willie’s eyes go wide, her breathing heavy but slowing the more she is awake. When she observes her surroundings, she breathes a sigh of relief. She’s in her tent, with Sam, on Gallifrey.

The images in her dream flash back to her as she begins to fully remember it. The dark red and black of the tent and the ground beneath her is a stark contrast to her dream. Life is always a disappointment compared to dreams. Dreams are colorful and everything you want, but real life is often bleak and lacks the color of paradise.

It feels for a moment, that Willie has woken up in hell. That idea, however, might not be too far fetched.

Feeling hot for the first time in centuries, Willie takes off her long sleeved green top, leaving her in a black sports bra and her cargo pants. Sweat slickens her body and she suddenly feels choked in the small tent with Sam. Glancing at his body, she watches him rise and fall, sound asleep.

With a bit more difficulty than she was expecting, Willie stands. She quietly takes careful steps out of the tent, making sure not to let too much moonlight in while Sam sleeps.

Stepping back out into the camp, she pans her eyes around. The bonfire had died down, the field was deserted, and faint sounds of snoring could be heard if you really listened.

Willie looks to the west, toward the river. Since coming back to Gallifrey, she hasn’t seen the river once. The river that played such a huge part in her childhood had laid univisited. Feeling herself already walking to it, Willie slips into the treeline.

Walking a faint beaten path, the blond soaks up all the sounds of the forest. The northern breeze rolls through the trees, singing its song to Willie on her pilgrimage. She wanders deeper into the woods, the clearing becoming farther and farther away.

Up ahead the river presents itself. She was long and winding. Her water was a red, slightly murky, color. The slope of the mountain where she was born kept her running enough to be clear but she was still calm enough to not make too much noise.

The treeline ends where her banks begin, the ground sloping into her gradually and darkening with moisture. The river wasn’t too wide, either. She was only about 300 feet at her widest point.

Unlike the people that drink from her, the river is gentle and loving. Willie remembers taking solace in knowing she was there. Approaching her now is by far the easiest thing Willie’s done in a long time. There was no question or doubt in her mind this was right.

She steps towards the waters, hearing a squishing sound beneath her. Willie looks down to see her boots sinking ever so slightly in the mud close to the river. Willie walks back up to dry land, eagerly untying her laces, tucking her socks neatly inside the shoes once they’re off.

Practically running to the water, Willie feels a rush deep within her come back to life. It’s the rush of being someplace familiar, a place you know better than anything.

Upon reaching the ends of the banks, the blond takes a step into the river, allowing the water to cover her ankles. In that moment, she forgets everything, all is lost in her mind as she concentrates on only the feeling of the river, her river, hugging her softly.

The moment ends however, when Willie sits in the mud, feeling the buttons of the pockets on her pants dig into her thighs. This small thing is a big reminder of why she’s here. If only it were as simple as was in Willie’s small moment of clarity.

Picking up a small stone next to her, Willie turns it over in her fingers, swiping the mud from it. With her mind lost in thought, she continues turning it over.

Don’t forget where your loyalties lie. The words of the High Priestess ring in Willie’s ears. Of course now that she’s back where she belongs, things would go back to the way they used to be. Right? Why would she think any different? Just because she’s been away from home for 1300 years doesn’t mean that she is suddenly absolved from her duties to her home. She took an oath to protect the city and its people.

But what of Earth? What of Asgard? Does she not have a duty to them? Surely just because they aren’t ‘her kind,’ doesn’t mean they are less deserving of her protection or care.

The questions swim through Willie’s mind. A frustration begins to grow within her, and this time, she can’t punch her way out of it.

Squeezing the now clean stone in her fist, Willie reaches an arm back and throws it. The stone flys out over the river before jumping against its surface three times. On the fourth touch, it sinks into the current, surely being swept away by the river’s gentle hold.

With a sigh, Willie looks up into the sky. The first sun was just beginning to rise. She didn’t realize she had been sitting there so long. Birds tweet in the distance, the symbol of a new day dawning.

Lifting herself from the mud, Willie walks to the dry shore. She reaches down to grab her boots, hooking the laces onto her fingers. Reaching the treeline, she gives one last look to the river, her only childhood comfort. Her chest heaves with a sigh and Willie turns, beginning her trek back down the path to camp.

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