#man here just have all my feelings this is a debrief before I vibrate out of my skin lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spideyspeaches · 4 years ago

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Vibrations per minute ↬ P.P

AN: Based on this post ehehe. (Also 223 followers?! I’m not crying you are ಥ‿ಥ Beta read by my baby sis @parkerpeter24 <3<3

➳ Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

➳ Warnings: smut (semi public), vibrator, minors dni

➳ WC: 1.8k +

➳ Masterlist || Taglist

Peter Parker was not who he looked to be. He was the kind of guy who impressed parents with his bambi eyes and A+ academic performances, but at the same time, he could be a little shit and tease the fuck out of you. For example-

Bets were a naturally occurring event in the Avengers compound, whether it was between Sam and Bucky about who could eat the most number of marshmallows in one go or between Tony and Peter on who could digest more amount of coffee in the least amount of time (both of which landed them in the medbay).

So maybe placing a bet with your boyfriend may not have been your most intelligent choice. You were a smart woman, you should have known better than to place a bet with Spider-Man, especially if the bet included cardio.

And now you were facing the consequences.

You were sitting in the post mission debriefing room, thighs clenched as you saw your boyfriend trying (and failing) to hide his shit eating smirk. You felt the vibrations inside you once again, a little faster than before. Suppressing a moan, you tried to glare murder at him without letting the others know.

Puffing your cheeks, you slid down the chair, hands folded on your chest. You were pretty sure your cheeks were blood red with the amount of heat you felt.

"Y/N are you sure you're alright? You look a little flushed." Steve asked, shifting to look at you from where he was besides You. He looked concerned.

"Uh- yeah- yeah I'm good. Just exhausted." You stuttered a response. Huffing, you tried to discreetly rub your stomach from clenching. A little whimper escaped your throat, which you quickly suppressed by picking up the glass of water and chugging down some.

Sam looked at you weirdly, the others not paying attention as Nick Fury asked them questions.

"Miss Stark if you think you're going to get out of debriefing because your little boyfriend and father are sitting here, you're wrong. Please pay attention" Fury said, looking at you with his pirate eye, before turning around and muttering, "I swear sometimes they behave like school children."

You gave Bucky and Sam a glare as they snickered.

"I'm sorry, I'll- uhh- I'll pay more attention. I'm just, my tummy hurts." You whimpered, flushing when you realised you had said "tummy" in front of the Avengers.

"Well you better take care of the tummy ache. Don't want you to poo all over here." Peter smirked, your jaw dropping at how rude the little shit was. How unfortunate would it be when he finds out someone had burnt his Kylo Ren special edition figurine?

"Fuck you asshat." You seethe, your glare intensifying when he increased the rate of vibrations using the phone app he was holding under the desk.

"Y/N, Peter, enough of this, now listen to what Pirate here has to say before he asks you to skedaddle back to your nursery." Your dad says, rolling his eyes at your childish banter.

You wanted to get out of there. Right away, because you couldn't take the shudders in between your legs anymore, or you would orgasm right there, in front of everyone.

So to get back at them, you raised your hand like you were in elementary school, asking the teacher for permission, "May I go to the washroom? I wanna poo." You ask innocently, smirking when Fury widened his eyes.

Averting your eyes to your boyfriend, you silently conveyed your message, hoping that he got what you were up to.

Ignoring the laughter of the babies in the Avengers' bodies, you stood up abruptly before he could change the settings anymore, walking stiffly to the bathroom.

"That was kind of mean of me." Peter finally said when you were out of his vision.

"Yeah kid, I would've kicked your ass if I didn't know that she would do it before me." Tony snarked, curling his lips and shaking his head before going back to the dossier in front of him.

"You should go and apologise to her Pete. She looked upset." Steve piped in, his disappointed eyebrowsTM showing their way.

"She's in the toilet and he's a horny teenager, you really want him to go right now?" Sam said.

"Ew Sam, get your gutter brain out of here!" Peter defended, not meaning what he said.

In fact he was going to do just that. The entire time during the mission, you had been teasing him one way or another, whether it was landing in certain poses or just touching him every chance you get.

The bet was just an opportunity for him to get back at you for leaving him hot and bothered, dreaming about you all night in that tiny lingerie with spider prints on them.

“Yeah Sam, get out of here.” Natasha joked. Before he could witness the counter arguments though, he left the room, leaving a very noisy meeting room and a very frustrated Nick Fury.

He found you in the bathroom stalls near the cafeteria. It was the women's bathroom but no one was around this time of the night, so he entered it.

He could hear your moans and pants, your arousal hitting his nostrils as he tried to hyperfixate on you. His jeans suddenly felt strained at his… web shooter area.

Opening the bathroom door, he clenched his fists. You were standing there, vibrator out of you and your finger inside, eyes scrunched as you threw your head back, not even noticing him enter.

"Why are you touching yourself?" He growled, smirking innocently when you jerked up, eyes taking a lustful look that sent his blood rushing south.

"It's your fault. You were the one who made me horny in the middle of those boomers." You gritted.

Your hand was poised on your waist now, legs still spread apart, your pussy on display.

Grabbing you by your ass, he picked you up and slammed you against the wall, kissing your jaw, "Just seeking revenge." He mumbled

"Oh oh Petey- revenge for what?" You moaned, arching your back as he undressed you, grabbing your now unclothed boob and sucking on one nipple, twisting the other with his fingers.

Moaning at the sensation of the cool tiles, you dug your fingers at his back, your wet pussy throbbing for a feel of his dick.

"You did it on purpose didn't you? Showing off during missions?" He sucked at your skin, leaving it tender and brushed, "you know how hot you look while you kick ass?"

He unbuttoned his pants, letting his dick slip out with his boxers. His length never ceased to amaze you, the thick organ making your mouth water. You imagined it slipping into you, your thighs slipping wider on instinct.

He saw the look you were giving him, his lustful eyes full of mirth and desperation. Without waiting any further, he slipped out a condom from his discarded jeans' pocket, sliding his dick into your wet entrance, your ass hitting the wall as he pushed into your walls.

Throwing your head back, you hissed as your walls clenched around him.

"You get, you get turned on when I kick ass?" You panted, grabbing his hair in desperation to the coiling in your gut, "Fuck I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna come Pete."

"Well what are you waiting for princess?" He nibs your ear, squeezing your breasts to his now naked chest. You shuddered at the coolness of his body, he's always been cold to touch.

"Fuck princess, feel so good." His mouth was slack, his thrusts getting harder as he shoved into you, "so tight for me. Enjoying my cock in your pussy eh?"

"Yes! Oh- I love it Pete I love it!" Hitting your head on his chest, you pinched his nipple, making him groan and hit your stomach, the slapping sound echoing in the bathroom.

"Say it louder pretty girl"

"Why?" You whined, "I should get back to you for using the vibrator but I'm having too much fun."

You groaned, Your eyes scrunched when his thrusts started to slow down, his senses too overloaded to work together with his stamina.

"Yeah you're needy aren't you?" He said, out of breath from your little meet. He set you down, wiping off your cum using the tissue paper, flushing it off in the toilet.

He took a minute to just admire you. Your body was shining from sweat, your breath coming out in short pants. You were completely naked, breasts out to the display. He flushed when you smirked at him, you had caught him staring. Not that you minded.

"My beautiful girl." He said, voice husky from strain as he closed the distance between you both, holding you in his arms.

You laid your head on his chest, rubbing your cheeks against his pectorals. You could hear his racing heart, chuckling when you saw heat rising up his chest to his neck and then face.

"Why are you blushing? We literally just fucked." You laughed, tracing circles on his collarbones. He looked ethereal from where you were standing, perfectly sculpted by a skillful sculptor.

"Because you're amazing and I can't believe you're my girl." He said.

"Mmhm,” You nodded against him, “Also, do you always keep a condom in your pocket?"

__________••☆••__________

There were many reasons as to why you keep around Peter, and one of them is that he's an amazing chef. Living with his aunt and uncle, he and Ben had been the main source of home cooked meals, because Aunt May was never good at cooking.

You saw him standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while he hummed to some melody. You didn't mind, you could stare at him all day. Thankfully, none of the Avengers were awake yet (but they would be. They're huge fans of his food)

"Morning." You smile, wrapping your hands around his waist, placing your head on his back.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, moving around as you clung to him like a koala. Giggling, you wrapped your legs around his waist, jumping on his back like a potato sack.

"Mmhm, the best sleep I've had in a long while." You mumble, words muffled by his back.

"Is that so?" He asked.

"Yup."

Hearing shuffling noises, you quickly jumped off of him, fixing your t-shirt and sitting on the dining table.

You saw as Steve and Sam entered the kitchen, Natasha soon following suit. Clint had left for his home early that morning, wanting to meet Laura and his kids as soon as he could.

You smiled at each of them, nodding a good morning and helping them sort a plate.

You were arranging the plates when you heard a choked gasp. Alarmed at the sound, you looked up at Steve's horrified expression, looking at where he was pointing a finger.

"What?" You asked, biting your lips.

"That- is that a hickey?!?"

Slapping your neck, you let the plate clatter on the table, ignoring Peter's scrambled replies. You saw Bucky entering from the corner of your eye, unable to formulate a coherent answer.

"Oh my god, Bucky they totally fucked yesterday!"

Page dividers by @cicicantblog

#peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #spiderman x stark!reader #spiderman x you #peter parker x stark!daughter #stark!reader #avenger!reader #spideygirl writes

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joestarwhore · 4 years ago

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Risotto Nero - A Price to Pay

{Being the only girl in the Bucci Gang has its perks. Your familia loved you, & were fiercely protective- but what’re they supposed to do when another Capo decides to have you to himself? He’s gotta have you.}

{one way or another.}

_____________________________________

“Bucciarati were almost to Napoli, should I head straight for the city or the safe house?”

Fugo’s sharp voice woke you from your nap. You & the team have been traveling for days tracking three stand users who’ve been smuggling contraband out of Passioné’s grasp. So far, the trail has led to Napoli- and to make it worse, no one knows what they look like. But luckily, you had the name of the man in charge of the operation.

“Go to the safe house. They’re not going to move anything in broad daylight, & we haven’t been able to stop for an actual break.” Bruno circled the location on Fugo’s map. “We can spare a few hours.”

You looked to your right to see Mista asleep against the window, drool slowly coming out of his mouth. You would’ve laughed if you had any right to, with the glimpse of yourself you caught in the rear view you were surprised no one woke you up with a camera flash.

You stretched your neck side to side, your movements slowly bringing your body back to life. You could hear Giorno, Abbachio, and Narancia gently start stirring to life as Bruno continued to talk about the location, not being able to keep in their loud ass yawns. Well, honestly, that was only Narancia’s problem.

Bruno swiveled the seat to face the back, his perfect black bob not moving an inch while he does it. “Now that we’re in Napoli, it’s time to be debriefed about our current situation. Would one of you please wake Mista?”

Abbachio wasted no time to slap Mista in the back of the head, causing Mista to lurch forward with a yelp. His hand immediately went to the back of his head as he whipped around towards Abbachio. “What the hell, you dumbass!! What was that for??”

“For debriefing you idiot, pay attention.”

You giggled, resulting in a hearty “Shut up!” from Mista. After Bruno’s scolding, he started to explain the facts.

“The intelligence we received stated that the man controlling the contraband operation is a Capo. His name is Risotto Nero, the leader of La Squandra. He’s been known to defy the Familia before, so it’d make sense that he would be the one running this show.”

Bruno’s face slowly grimmed as he continued, pausing after he spoke. “While he is a traitor to the Familia, he is also one of the most powerful Capo’s in the organization. Not just because of his title, but because of his stand.”

The tension grew substantially.

“What’s his stand, Boss? Does anyone have an idea?” Narancias question rung in the air like a bell.

“No. Because no ones lived to tell about it.”

The chill that ran down your spine was unnerving. No one knows what his stand is?? No one has even the slightest idea?? How can that be?

“Boss, how’re we supposed to find this cazzo when all we have to go on is a name?” you ask, “How’re we supposed to defend ourselves against a stand that no one has ever beat?”

“By keeping your stand close. Giorno’s Golden Wind can sense life, and Narancia can track anything that breathes. Abbachio’s Moody Jazz could very well be our ace in the hole, if we can simply find where he’s been- but that’s hard to do when you’re following a ghost.”

God, that wasn’t reassuring.

Soon, Fugo’s road rage landed you at the safe house, a 3 story cabin in the middle of the woods. Mista’s excitement blossomed as soon as he saw the giant flatscreen through the window, everyone else’s did when they finally got to leave the stuffy ass van.

Abbachio helped you out of the car, letting you hang on to his arm until you’ve cracked all the bones you needed to feel relief. “Thank you Abba, I’ve been needing to do that for a while now!”

Abbachio threw you a smirk. “Yeah yeah don’t get gross on me.” He could throw up any facade he wants- you see right through his badass tough guy wall. You gave him a grin back, & grabbed your duffel bag out from under your seat. You looked back to see that the other boys had already made it inside, Bruno & Giorno already setting up the radio & laptops to start working.

Bruno def wasn’t playing around when he was looking for a place to buy. This was the nicest cabin you had ever seen, pure dark wood walls with marble flooring, a grand staircase with a BEAUTIFUL bay window?? Capo DEFINITELY had perks.

***************

[3:33 AM]

You bolted awake as thunder and lightning surrounded your bedroom. Your mind frantic as the open curtains revealed howling winds and light flashing through the skies.

You took some deep breaths and calmed yourself down. It’s only a storm, nothing to- why was your door open?

Adrenaline started to churn in your stomach as you swung your legs over your bed. You stepped carefully towards the hallway, peeking down to see that everyone else’s doors were open too. You tip toed down, peering into Bruno & Abbachio’s rooms, seeing them both empty; and upon further inspection, so were Giorno’s and Mista’s. Narancia and Fugo’s following suit.

Where the fuck is everyone, and why are you not with them?

You back tracked down the hall, your legs shaking as you slowly walked down the stairs.

Were you being attacked?

The lightning lit your path down the stairs as you kept your eyes peeled for anything out of place. As you came down to the first platform, the stench of blood overwhelmed your senses, making your eyes grown wide and your hand go over your mouth and nose. This cannot be real, why is blood in the air??

“You know when I first saw you, I thought you were an angel among the saints & sinners of Napoli.”

Your hand gripped the banister as you stood in defense, looking everywhere for the source of the deep voice. Who was that?? Where the fuck is your team??

“& Then I saw Ghiaccio getting in a fight with another Mafioso. I thought it was just one of Bucciaratis boys, but oh was i so close yet so wrong.”

You slowly made your way down stairs, “I guess your a big fan of mine then, quite a shame I can’t see where you are for such occasion.”

A deep chuckle resonated through the estate. “Our life together will be wonderful, I am very sure.”

“The fuck are you-“

Your stomach dropped.

The blood. The gashes. The gore.

All of the boys were hanging by their hands, bloody chains protruding from their wrists and connecting them to the ceiling. Blood oozed from Fugos mouth, while Narancias unconscious form clearly had a broken nose and extreme loss of blood. They all were simply.. hanging by a thread.

“Jesus fucking Christ.. you’re fuc-fucking kidding..”

Invisible hands hold onto your sides as your body freezes in shock, the pressure and heat of them telling you they were quite large. Your heart beater out of your chest as you felt a muscular set of abs press against your back, those hands weaving over your chest to hold down your arms.

“Do you see, Amore? Do you see how powerful I am compared to them?” Your eyes tore away from the bloodied boys, closing them as tightly as you could. “When I saw how powerful you were and how you carried yourself, I knew we were soul mates. I had to have you. I had to have your body, your mind,” His hand rubbed gently against your clothes crotch, shooting heated adrenaline to your core, “& your pretty little cunt just full of my kids.”

Your cheeks turned violently red as you staggered to breathe. “Who..are you..”

Lips pressed against your temple as a deep chuckle vibrated your body. “Darling, I’m the whole reason you’re out here.”

Your heart froze.

“Risotto?? It’s you?!”

Suddenly two black clothed muscular arms appeared around you, one of them tilting your chin back to reveal two black and red eyes staring straight at you. “Surprised, Cara?”

You started to panic, the danger of your situation settling in. Bruno, Giorno, all of the boys, were out of action. There was no help for you, and you couldn’t summon your stand like this. Was this simply the end? Was he just saving you for last for his sick fantasy??

“Please.. what do you even want from me??”

Risotto put your hands behind your back and tied them together. “What I’ve wanted since I saw you; a life. With just you & me.” He placed you on a chair, kneeling before you with his hands tracing you and your skin. Your breath hitched as he ran over certain spots, his eyes growing darker and darker the more you react. You had to do something, you couldn’t let your family be killed over someone’s obsession over you.

“I’m going with you whether I like it or not, right?”

Risotto chuckled a humorless laugh. “A smart one! Oh i like that, I like that. Maybe our kids will get that trait.”

Dread sunk in your stomach. There’s no escape, is there?

“If I go with you, willingly with no struggle- will you allow me to use my stand on them so they atleast don’t die of their injuries?”

Risotto stared at you, looking for any sign of betrayal, but he wasn’t gonna find anything. You knew there wasn’t a way out, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance in hell against him. Atleast if you can save the boys, there wouldn’t be any death.

“Fine. But one slip up, Amore, and I’ll make your condition worse than theirs.”

Risotto unbinded your arms, helping you stand up and get your balance again. You walked towards the boys until you were a few meters away from them. You could sense their shallow breathing from your powers, you knew if you were gonna do this you had to act fast.

“Iron Maiden.”

A steam punk victorian girl emerged behind you, wielding a glowing white scythe, its jet black hair flowing behind her.

“Scythes Blessing.”

Iron Maiden hovered to the front of you, your scythe glowing bright white as it swung a mass of energy towards them all. Their wounds mended together, the blood returning to their bodies. After the act was done, the boys passed out on the floor, surely to wake up in a few hours.

“Now, we start our life, my sweet angel.”

Tears silently went down your cheeks as you turned to the beautiful, evil man. His eyes showed a softness towards you as he extended his giant hand. Your dainty one took his, holding it as he led you to the door.

“Where are you taking me?”

Risotto swung open the huge doors to reveal the storm still actively raging, his matte black sports car in the circle drive. “Home, cara. Our home.”

You hurried to get in his front seat, Risotto closing your door and going to the drivers door. He got in, revving the car to life and pulled the car out of the drive way. Risotto placed his hand on your thigh as he took you away from the estate. Your heart hurt for your boys, but this was for the best, right? Atleast this way they’re safe. They’re safe.

“Say your goodbyes Cara. Your life starts over with me.”

“Only me.”

#jojos bizzare adventure yandere #n/s/f/w jjba #vento aureo #yandere jjba #yandere risotto #la squadra #risotto headcanons #risotto nero

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may-day-voice · 3 years ago

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Prom Night Lights - The Beginning

Katsuki Bakugou Timeline | 172732014

please do not repost, but you have permission to reblog :)

• Watch/ Listen on YouTube: https://youtu.be/8SB9fJZ5a7s

• Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1112396862-katsuki-bakugou-pro-hero-au-172732014-prom-night

It was supposed to be a simple day. A simple, normal day filled with anticipation and excitement. The day when you stepped into the real world outside from the safety net. But you never prepared for what was to come, for the hurt that would inflict, for the dark to overshadow.

You weren’t prepared for your heart to break.

You grabbed hold of hands that grasped onto your fingers, hanging upside down in the air while maneuvering yourself a safe distance from the crash site. Out on patrol with fellow interns turned into a rescue mission when a massive traffic incident occurred in one of the most populous intersections in Musatafu. Cars and trucks were mangled or destroyed, billowing smoke into the air while emergency personnel made headway in tending to the wounded.

Meanwhile you floated towards the borders of the intersection, carefully dropping a casualty towards medics on the scene. Your hands were covered in blood and soot, having to pull those who were trapped within the metallic wreckage.

“That’s number three,” you called, still dangling aimlessly in the air.

“Impulse! We need help here!” Called a fellow intern from amongst the crash site.

With a click of your ankles, you landed onto the ground to push yourself back into the air, soaring towards your teammate above the fire and smoke. His large hands lifted part of a car, revealing a young woman in the crash, her eyes searching above while she breathed erratically.

“Don’t know how long I can hold this up,” warned your teammate, his usual stoic gaze now concentrating on keeping the mangled car lifted for access to the woman below.

“Here, grab my hand,” you ordered, floating slowly into the maw of the wreckage while reaching for the woman inside. The look in her eyes caught yours, finding the fear written all over them, terrified.

A slip of your teammate’s feet caused the car to creak, almost snapping onto you from above, your hands immediately pushing against the heavy wreck in reaction. Your eyes searched in his, concerned about the situation only to notice he found his footing again.

“I’m okay,” he reassured, holding the car back once more. “Go.”

You drew back to the woman, spotting her body recoil back inside in fear. With a deep breath, you slowly floated back in, hanging upside down with your hands outstretched towards her. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” you coaxed, your open palm inviting her in.

Slowly, her shaking hand reached out, grabbing hold of yours. With both your hands securing her grip, you slowly floated out from the hole, taking the woman with you, her weight pulling at your arms before you spotted her feet clearing the maw.

“Let go now,” you called, watching your teammate finally relieve himself from the strain and the piece of metal crash into the wreckage that trapped a casualty.

Two hours. It took two hours to help clear casualties from the crash site. The aftermath left you and your teammates to be checked out by medics before being discharged from the incident, followed by your supervisor Kido back to the agency for a debriefing on today’s activities.

It felt like a quiet day, which was good for the most part. You scratched two hours of the day, plus another hour for debriefing and cleaning up. It allowed less strain on your body, and more focus on other events you had penciled in ever since-

“Man, you? A plus one? Lucky,” spat a classmate of yours inside the locker rooms. “I would kill to get past those gates.”

“You really don’t mean that,” you replied in jest.

“Oh no, I do. Truly, happily.”

“Have you figured out what you’re dressing in?” Spoke another, the same one who helped you on the rescue. “You should talk with him about that.”

“Coordination is key,” chirped the other.

“Guys, it’s a first time thing, okay?” You reassured. “They’re in the middle of graduating right now for all we know.”

“But to be invited to a prom of all things in UA? Whoever is the event coordinator is a genius.”

The vibrations of your phone caught your ear, spotting a text message appearing on your screen. A sneak peek of the message was the usual - an ETA for tonight. That was all. You noticed the messages were getting shorter and sharper with your beau. It has been over the past year. Still, being the final year in UA was probably a stressful time for students from across the board. You had felt the pressure yourself at your schooling.

“You think if I could catch Todoroki’s eye maybe-“

“Stopping you there,” interrupted one of your classmates, his drowsy aloof eye staring at the other. “He’s probably taken.”

“You don’t know that!”

“He talks about someone from his school very frequently. I think he’s taken.”

Another buzz from your phone caught your ear, checking the screen to spot a message from someone unexpected. Eijirou Kirishima’s name was emblazoned in the text box with a video attached. Watching your classmates bicker between themselves gave you the perfect opportunity for you to view this message without their attention, opening it to reveal the stage of the graduation. Perhaps this was very recent, considering the time of day it was before a familiar blond student walked up to the podium. You couldn’t hold back your smile, watching Katsuki Bakugou be congratulated on his graduation day, and turn irately towards the camera following Kirishima’s loud and rambunctious celebratory yell from the crowd.

“Did your beau send something juicy?” Chirped your classmate, turning to find a coy smile on her face.

“What? No!” You deflected, placing your phone away. “I gotta make tracks anyway.”

“You better take photos or it didn’t happen!”

You waved both of your teammates goodbye, hoisting your backpack onto your shoulders to add more weight to your less than convenient gravity. Stepping out of the agency, you tapped your toes before making your way towards the tall white gates of UA. Despite the lack of information you gave to your teammates back at the agency, you had already picked out your formal wear. You had planned to make a day of UA’s graduation for their students, knowing your own from your establishment was happening first thing tomorrow morning. The more time you could spend with the city’s foremost Pro-Hero candidates equaled sacrificing one night of preparation for your graduation, at least you convinced yourself as such.

Everything had been planned ahead of time, thanks to your beau’s meticulous need for timing. However, you had other plans ahead of his own, ones you had announced to him during his plans which, to your dismay and unsurprising predictability, did not please him. Reassurance wasn’t his strong point, and you’ve learnt it wasn’t yours as well. At least when trying to ease his passive aggressive tantrums.

Another buzz of your phone caught your attention again from those thoughts, picking it up to find a text message from Izuku Midoriya of all people.

Can’t wait to see you again! You’re on the way?

Actually, I’ll be another 20 minutes. How was the ceremony?

It was great! Everyone’s excited here at the dorms. I’ll be setting up Gym Gamma for tonight, so meet me there?

And Kaachan can’t wait either.

You chuckled at the words, wondering how Bakugou must be feeling after today. It made you wonder about the months leading up to today. In fact, it seemed a bit odd, watching him at the agency being almost cold and aloof, answering you in short and distancing himself half of the time. Again, UA was a prestigious academy. You thought the same way that the stress must be getting to the students.

Further fact, that short text felt like-

Yeah, I’ll meet you at Gym Gamma. Let Bakugou know I can’t wait either.

Lately it had been this way, communicating with other students rather than Bakugou himself these past months leading to the end of the school year. You’ve heard from Midoriya, Kirishima, even Denki Kaminari spoke to you a few texts here and there. Bakugou however had gone dark some of the time. You recalled a few times in your second year having constant late night calls with him, some of those nights being a saving grace when the both of you were too busy to just stop for a coffee or a shake. But nowadays, he had been-

Hey! You coming over soon? Kaminari is practically begging for a player two on his team.

I’ll be there. Just stopping by somewhere first. Maybe another 25?

You better hurry up. Bakugou’s practically wiping the floor with him in this game.

Well, another thing to slot in, but nothing that detracted from your original plans. With a smile, you continued on your walk to UA, hands on your straps while you felt the strain on your shoulders once more.

——

Soon, the familiar white gates appeared. As per usual, you stood by the entrance, waiting for some time before being verified to enter the grounds. It took a while for this process. At first, you were accompanied by your beau when he came along to invite you, or when he had to make it for Management classes. However, over the years, it became an infrequent visit with the Hero students. Lately though, it was between how quickly the guards could phone a friend. Even more so, it was less your beau, and more so one of the Hero students, whether it was Midoriya, Kirishima, or even Shouto Todoroki of all of them. It used to be Bakugou, but even he had been slow to answer.

After being granted entry, you immediately made your way to Gym Gamma, watching the large group of students prepare for the night. You had not seen so many fairy lights in your life while they were being strung up high across the pathways and into the auditorium. It was a mess, but it was organized chaos while you traversed between wandering students and piles of decorative materials for the festivities to follow.

“Midoriya!” You called from across the auditorium, spotting the green-haired boy ahead. His eyes turned towards you with a smile, lightly jogging his way through the auditorium.

“Hey, how are things?” He asked with a hug, his large arms engulfing you.

“Pretty good, we were in the middle of a rescue mission in the city,” you replied with a smile. “But that’s all the excitement today.”

“You’re not excited about tonight?”

“I mean, yeah, of course I am! Congratulations! Think I can collect my clothes?”

“Oh, right, I don’t have them on me because of everything happening right now, but they’re at Heights Alliance.”

“Then, why did you ask me to come here first?”

“I wanted to say hi.”

You chuckled at his reply, happy to see Midoriya well. There had been some controversy with all that happened throughout the years, things that you felt were considered taboo, however, stories came with time. You noticed the extra scars across his body, also recalling the scars Bakugou had received during Musatafu’s darker times. The worry that drowned you was immense, only subsiding after months of silence, and that one phone call from Todoroki surprisingly.

With a goodbye, you left Midoriya to his devices in the auditorium, leaving him behind for Heights Alliance. Eventually both shoulders felt sore from the weights in your backpack, deciding to only hang the bag from one shoulder and feeling your toes scraping the ground. According to the predetermined ETA, you had a few hours to spare. Still, it felt like you had very little time left until you stood before Class 3-A’s dorms. Midoriya had explained he left your formal wear with Bakugou, who by his description of the event, reluctantly agreed. With a heavy sigh, you made your way up the stairs, only to bump into somebody walking out from the dorms.

“Oh sorry!” You blurted.

“No, you’re good!” Quickly piped the student before they walked away from the stairs, lightly jogging towards the large pathway towards the school. You watched them take flight, trailing with a dress suit on their shoulders only to shrug it off and continue into the dorms, knocking on the door.

Luckily, that student left it ajar.

“Hello?” You called inside, spotting very familiar faces by the lounges in the foyer.

“Yes! My player two!” Yelled Kaminari, quickly running up to you and pulling you inside. “Kaachan keeps whipping my ass!”

“That’s because you suck, Dunce face!” Growled Bakugou, his red eyes flashing towards the door before they laid on you.

“You made it just in time. Kaminari was getting desperate,” voiced Kirishima with a toothy grin.

You nervously giggled while being dragged inside, noticing how careful Kaminari was to keep your feet on the ground. It had been a couple of years now, but ever since that scare, you figured Kaminari had learnt his lesson. Otherwise, by the way Bakugou was, it came as no surprise that Kaminari was just being more careful around him. You smiled at the irate blond before Kaminari handed you a controller, soon convincing Kirishima to join in a game of teams. It was a whirlwind of a greeting, suddenly being sucked into a game of wits and fun with the Hero students. It was the release you needed filled with laughter, for at least a good hour losing to Kirishima and Bakugou.

After admitting defeat and a quick conversation with the students, Bakugou led you to his dorm, taking the elevator up to the fourth floor. The ride was silent, leaving you to wonder what was going on through his head, stopping yourself a few times to speak until the doors opened on his floor. From the corner of your eye, you noticed a familiar dual-haired student speaking with another by the stairs with quiet voices before being led to Bakugou’s door, watching Bakugou unlock it-

“Congratulations,” you finally spoke, catching his ear. “I got to witness your graduation, kinda.”

“What do you mean?” He asked gruffly while allowing you in.

“Kirishima sent me a video.”

“That Shitty Hair sent it to you?”

“I thought you knew.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Please don’t.”

A grunt escaped Bakugou’s lips before he made his way to his closet, pulling out your outfit already packed in a large box. You smiled up at him, taking the box from him and placing it on his bed.

“Thanks Bakugou, I really appreciate it,” you warmly said while you opened the lid.

“What are you doing?” he asked with genuine confusion.

“Getting dressed.”

“Here?”

“Well, Midoriya offered to help but since he’s been put on the event committee I have to do it in your room.”

“So the nerd was going to dress you?”

“Do you want to help me?”

The look on Bakugou’s face was one of confusion, anger, and frustration - a fairly normal reaction for the most part. However, unbeknownst to you, he felt a flush of heat wash through his cheeks. This was never discussed between Midoriya and himself when he agreed to hold onto your outfit for tonight. In fact, the getting dressed part was never mentioned. His thoughts held his focus until he glanced your way, already stripping off your shirt.

“Wait a goddamn minute, Lightweight!” He yelled, stopping you from stripping any further. “At least, let me turn my back on you.”

You soon found Bakugou’s back indeed turned to you, looking out his window instead. You couldn’t help a small giggle before you walked up to him, grabbing hold of his wrist. “I just need your hand on my shoulder,” you reassured, placing his hand across the crook of your neck. “Just ground me. I won’t take long.”

Bakugou grumbled under his breath, but still kept his eyes outside of his room. Every movement you made caused his fingers to slip on your skin, feeling the tension in your muscles. He figured you had that backpack on for some time to keep you from flying away, but he also felt something else other than that. The short amount of time you spent with everyone downstairs gave him an odd feeling. Even the elevator ride up to his room was tense. Bakugou knew he hadn’t been keeping contact whether at the agency or on call, but today he saw something that you wanted to say.

It bothered him.

“Okay, you can let go now,” you said, allowing Bakugou to release his fingers and turn around to see you now fully dressed in your attire. What surprised him the most was that you were on the ground without any apparatus to hold you.

“Bracelets,” you explained, showing off metallic braces on your wrists. “And anklets. It took a while for support to come up with something practical for social outings.”

“Um… you look… good,” he complimented, taking you by surprise.

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so. Anything that’s good for Lord Explosion Murder-“

“Shut it with that name! It’s Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight!”

You giggled again, finding the joy of pushing his buttons sometimes before you noticed the time - close to the ETA.

“I’ll see you tonight, God Dynamight?” You asked with a smile. All you received was a scoff, enough of a response from Bakugou before leaving his dorm room and heading for the elevators. On the way, you walked past Todoroki, greeting with a quick hello before disappearing into the elevators, eager for the night to start.

Bakugou couldn’t stop this feeling that had him aloof and frustrated. He had tried to tell himself otherwise, focusing on his studies and his credentials to become a certified Pro-Hero. But with every phone call, every text, every passing moment he saw you, something stirred. It felt good, but it was wrong. You were with someone else - that Management student - that he knew did not treat you with the respect you deserved. The number of late night phone calls were proof of that, and yet, you still stayed with the man.

He couldn’t fathom your choice. And he hated it.

“Are you busy?” Asked Todoroki by his open door.

“Does it look like I’m busy?” Spat Bakugou.

“No.”

“What is it, Icy-Hot?”

“Are you going to do something about it?”

Bakugou eyed the dual-haired man, filled with anger from his thoughts, but silent without a scoff or a grumble. “What’s it to you?” he questioned with a sneer.

“We all know he’s bad news,” continued Todoroki. “Nepotism at its best.”

“Look who’s talking Half-and-Half, son of the Number One.”

“The point is that he’s rotten, never worked a day in his life, and was given a silver spoon. All signs of an arrogant, spoiled, hand-fed individual. And he doesn’t deserve them.”

Bakugou turned his glare onto Todoroki, noticing the seriousness in his eyes before he walked away from the door, leaving Bakugou with his last words. The blond stood in his room, contemplating on Todoroki’s words and the number of conversations to and fro about this feeling. He knew that the Management student was a bad egg, someone undeserving, yet he knew he couldn’t actively try to convince you. Even though he had time and time again called your beau a moron, it wasn’t enough.

For once, he hated not being direct over these years.

He grumbled while he rummaged through his closet, pulling out the outfit Kirishima had picked out for him for tonight. Perhaps seeing you later would ease the tension headache that persisted.

——

Night fell across the sky with the dying light of oranges turning into purples and the stars twinkling in the clear. The number of students that made their way to Gym Gamma came in waves, including the Hero students who came as a group. Despite his friends trying to persuade him to join, Bakugou advised he needed some time to get ready, earning a teasing jeer from Kaminari. Bakugou cared less about what words were shared, preferring to keep himself hidden after a majority of students had made their way to the prom planned for their graduation.

He was left to his thoughts, hoping that you had already made your way to Gym Gamma with your date for the night. He didn’t want to see that picture of you in his arms, knowing you chose him. That frustration brewed, coming to terms with his want of asking you to the event for months, and not going through with it.

After some time to his thoughts, Bakugou made his way, walking alone on the grounds of Heights Alliance. The quiet was deafening despite the loud music catching his ear ahead in the auditorium. He felt trapped in this emotional limbo, desperately needing to do something to satiate his need to see you. Pulling out his phone, he located your number, immediately texting without any hesitation.

I’m expecting a dance.

He smirked, feeling some sense of pride in himself, and hopefully reprieve from his own emotions until the sound of a phone caught his ear, one that immediately received a text. Bakugou stopped, turning towards the entrance of the school lecture halls, past the shoe lockers that lined the room. The closer he made his way, the louder the sobs, finding your cries echoing in the empty halls.

“Lightweight?” He called, catching your attention before you quickly tried to wipe away the tears that stained your cheeks.

From around the corner of the stairwell, you found him climbing towards you, his red eyes glaring at the sight of you sitting on the stairs, leaning underneath the railings.

“What did he do?” He quickly snapped.

“Nothing,” you spoke through your tears, attempting to calm yourself down. “He did nothing.”

“Like hell he didn’t!”

“No, Bakugou, just-“

“I’m gonna kill him.”

You saw a rage unlike anything you had seen in the blond. Despite your emotional state, you had gotten used to Bakugou’s anger, even understood it. But this was almost unspoken of, seering through his very core. Bakugou lost control. His own emotions spilled upon seeing you torn and worn, used and spat out as opposed to how happy you looked hours ago. Whatever frustrations he held, they were unleashed with a furious rage.

“He broke up with me,” you admitted, gaining Bakugou’s attention from the whirlwind of emotions he felt. “He didn’t want me to drag him through the mess that I am. I didn’t save enough. I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t-“

You held your head in your hands, trying to keep the tears at bay until you felt large hands grab hold of yours, pulling them away to reveal yourself to Bakugou, his eyes glaring into your red sore ones.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Asked Bakugou, his voice painted with a calm tone despite his gruff voice.

“… am I a Hero?” You asked, sniffling while your eyes looked away from his. “Am I good enough?”

Bakugou was surprised and yet confused by the question. He was still trying to understand his own feelings, this abrupt need to protect you everywhere you went despite your own independent and wayward nature.

“Five. I only saved five in two hours,” you continued. “And there were more bodies-“

You stopped your breath, holding your tears back from the thought, before the realization dawned on Bakugou. He had kept up with the news recently, a way to pass the time while waiting in his room earlier that night. An incident occurred in Musatafu involving multiple cars in a massive crash, and he recalled the body count.

He held onto your hands tightly, now realizing your hesitation to speak or start conversations. It would’ve been at the forefront of your mind, only masked by the smile you had all day for UA’s graduating classes. The next thought to follow left a bitter taste, wondering what that Management student must have said to you to think this way. With what Todoroki and he had discussed earlier that day, Bakugou could only fathom the disgusting nature of your interaction with someone who looked down at failures.

Tears continued to well up in your eyes. They wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t until you felt a large pair of arms hug you close, pushing you against the stairs but closer to his chest, engulfed in his embrace.

“You’re more than good enough,” whispered Bakugou in your ear, comforting your head against his shoulder. “You don’t need my approval or anyone else’s for that matter. You make that choice for yourself. You’re smart, you have common sense, half the time, and… you’re one of the few people I can talk to.”

He pulled you away, his eyes now glued back on yours while you stared into his, swallowing the words you just heard moments ago.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he slowly started. “You deserve better than that trash. You know I already call him a moron, because he is one. You-“

“You ground me,” you interrupted.

“What?”

“You’ve always grounded me Bakugou. You’ve kept me close. You’ve always looked out for me. Why?”

Bakugou choked, wondering what to say, almost feeling like he was cornered, surrounded by the emotions that had been drowning him for months. Was it right? Was this the moment?

“I’m sorry I asked,” you quickly quipped, trying to stand before you felt yourself pull back into Bakugou, his lips crashing into yours. It was a light kiss, despite the rush into it, almost hesitant on its touch before you eased into his rhythm. He was warm, tender, and it lit a spark that you wished would never stop while you held onto his neck. He pulled away slowly, caressing your cheek and embracing your breath on his, feeling every part of you while you sat by the stairs.

“You’re worthy to be a Hero,” whispered Bakugou. “And I’m proud to have you stand with me out there.”

“I’m worthy to be next to God Dynamight?” You asked with laughter breaking through your tears.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh.”

Whatever sadness that broke your heart was mended in that moment, by none other than Bakugou of all people. Still, for all those moments the both of you shared, you felt a bond with him, one that incited jealousy from a growing toxic partnership. He was an explosive light that brightened the dark. He was the warmth that healed the pain.

“Still, the God Dynamight will always keep me grounded,” you continued with a smile. “Starting from zero.”

“Just call me Katsuki, dumbass,” he inferred with a growl, causing another giggle to erupt from you. “How about you come to my graduation prom with me, Twinkle Toes?”

Today was meant to be a simple day, but it wasn’t simple at all. It was more than that.

It was the start of something wonderful.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #bnha fanfiction #bnha au #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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quietlyimplode · 3 years ago

Text

Hey @vancityfire13 have the bestest of days. Thanks for always being so kind; I feel very lucky to know you. Anyway. May the year ahead be magic.

“As long as she thinks like a man, no one objects to a women’s way of thinking.” Virginia Woolf. (Warnings for misogyny)

Five times Natasha looked across the room at Maria and had a silent understanding about things the others wouldn't understand (and the one time she didn’t) (kind of)

1/ text me when you’re home

Clint opens the door and puts his wallet and keys in the bowl. He know if they don’t go in there, they’ll be lost forever. He undoes his bow tie and his pants before looking across to Natasha who is standing at the door, typing something on her phone.

“What are you doing?” He asks, thinking she’s like nothing more to unzip her dress, step out of her heels and get into the comfy clothing.

“Just..” she stops, finishing typing and then putting her bag next to the bowl and throwing her phone onto the table. As it lands, it vibrates twice consecutively.

“Who are you messaging?” He asks curiously.

“Maria.”

Clint is confused.

“Do you message her often?”

Natasha sits on the couch, undoing her shoes that have clearly been cutting into her feet all night. Not that he ever would have realised.

“She said to message when I got home.” She pauses.

“I don’t think she knew you’d be with me on the mission.”

Clint blinks slowly.

“Why would she need to know when you’re home? Was it part of the mission parameters that you had to be home at a certain time?”

Natasha cocks her head.

“No?”

He grabs a water from the fridge.

“I don’t get it.” He tells her bluntly, passing it over.

“She wanted to make sure I was home safe.”

Clint thinks he understands.

“So like an early warning thing.” He questions.

Frowning, she takes a swig of water and passes it back to him.

“More like.. safety. If you don’t message by a certain time, she’ll know something’s gone wrong.”

Clint nods.

“She’s never done that with me before.”

The note is met with a laugh.

“You’re not a woman.”

Clint’s lost again.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

She smiles, he doesn’t get why she’s giving him her sad smile.

“It’s ok. It’s just one less thing you have to worry about. Now; unzip me.”

Clint complies, thinking on why women need to text each other when they get home.

It’s not until the next next mission where Natasha doesn’t get home on time, that he realises that the world isn’t always kind or accommodating to women as it is to men. He makes a note to himself to get Natasha to message him as well, liking that it’s an extra layer of protection for her.

2/ getting ready

“Why do you do that?” Steve asks tentatively, walking into the bathroom, to see where the two women are.

“What?” They say, simultaneously.

“Go to the bathroom together, get ready together?” He looks genuinely confused.

Making eye contact in the mirror, Natasha and Maria laugh.

“Steve.” Maria turns and looks at him. “As you got ready for Stark’s party this afternoon, what did you do? Shower? Get changed? Ready to go?”

Steve looks down at his clothing, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, why?”

Natasha turns back the mirror and continues to apply her mascara.

“To get ready, we need to shower, wash and style our hair, make sure our clothing matches, find shoes..”

“Make up.” Maria add in.

“Make up,” Natasha confirms. “It’s a process.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s too much,” he mumbles, “why is there all these expectations on women?”

Maria and Natasha shrug in unison.

3/ expectation of knowing how to handle children

Maria is happy for Cho, the newborn is so small in her arms, his tiny hands reaching up and curling back.

“Do you want to hold him?” Cho’s partner picks the baby up and prompts Maria, holding the baby towards her.

“Oh. No, thank you.” Maria smiles and tries not to look at the disappointment in their face as she takes a step back.

Natasha however, is cornered, sitting on the couch as she’s handed the baby.

Maria laughs at her as they make eye contact, and Natasha holds the baby under his armpits. Natasha shakes her head, and looks uncomfortable as Clint comes to her rescue, taking the baby and cooing as he makes baby noises.

Cho comes over and greets Maria, asking how she is.

Maria smiles. “How are you?” She asks, as Cho watches Clint move around with the baby. Maria can’t decipher the look on his face as he looks towards Natasha.

“Going well, all things considered. Sleep deprived, but we expected that.”

Maria laughs, “anything you didn’t expect?” She probes.

Cho thinks for a minute, “after birth pains. Croup. Cradle cap. Do you know babies can get blocked tear ducts? Cause I didn’t.”

Maria laughs again and shakes her head.

“You seem to be doing well though?” She asks tentatively as Clint hands over the grizzling baby.

“Why do people always assume that women just know what to do with a baby? Like that we just naturally know and like them?”

Maria pauses and Natasha approaches, handing her a blue cupcake.

“Uhhhh.” Maria isn’t sure what to say to Cho’s rant, whether she should be worried.

Cho acknowledges Natasha and continues. “They say it’s rewarding, and it is, but what they don’t tell you is, how much of a change it is, how you second guess everything and how much is just assumed because you are a woman.” She looks sadly at her son.

“I love him, but I miss my work too, I know how to do that.”

Maria looks over to Natasha, who she knows can’t have children, and then thinks of herself who isn’t sure she wants them, then across to Cho who has them and wonders on the expectations and judgments they’ve all had when talking of children; especially being in the work they are. Anger stirs as she knows it’s not a decision that’s not everyone gets asked of them.

4/ showing emotions

“Romanoff. Calm down.”

Natasha bristles.

“Excuse me?”

Fury looks at her and then looks over to Maria, who is also staring him down.

The women look at each other and Fury adjusts his position.

“You know how much we can do here. There’s no point in getting angry about it. We will have to wait and see.”

“With all due respect… sir, there is something we can do about it, and I’m proposing a way to get them out; if you’d just..”

Fury cuts her off by standing,

“Not at the expense of this agency, and yourself. This conversation is over, go home, calm down, and wait to hear from me. We will do something when the time is right.”

Natasha stands with him, face blank as she stalks out of the room.

“Sir. Wait.” Maria calls him back.

Fury stops and turns towards Maria.

“Not you too, Hill.”

“You didn’t even listen to her proposal. Did you even realise that she showed emotion in the debrief, stood up to you? Do you even know how much of a big deal that is for her?” Maria pauses, throws Natasha’s mission parameters on the table toward him. “Read it. I know you’re not one to back track on your word, but you know she’s going to do it anyway. Perhaps release the jet and weapons.”

Maria makes her way to the door.

“If it was Rumlow, or Bryce, or Barton, you wouldn’t have told them to calm down, you would have been as indignant as they are.”

She leaves hoping he mulls on her parting shot.

Natasha isn’t emotional in debriefs again for a very long time. Maria is though, playing devils advocate for missions she believes in. She hopes Natasha knows it’s ok, that emotions are powerful, and not just permitted for men.

5/ compliments

Natasha isn’t a stranger to compliments being thrown at her. Cat calls, whistles, back handed compliments, she’s probably heard them all. Clint even teases her, whistling when she’s dressed up, calling her beautiful and sexy. From him, it feels comfortable, fun and playful- there’s no expectation attached; when it’s others it feels heavy.

She’s returning from a honey pot mission, still dressed in high leather boots, short dress and hair piled up on her head.

She needs to find Clint or place to decompress, feeling on edge and knowing in herself that her window of tolerance is low.

Rounding the corner, there’s a wolf whistle. She sucks in a breath as she sees who it is and rolls her eyes.

“Fuck off, Bennett.” She says, irritation in her words.

“There’s no one better than you at those missions, huh? You look just right.” He raises his eyebrows and bites on his lip as Natasha feels her stomach drop at the uncomfortableness of his statement.

She’s heads into Maria’s office, hoping she’s not there, but it seems her bad luck is carrying through as she’s met with Maria staring at her.

“Romanoff?” The question is implicit.

“Bennett.” She pulls out.

Maria looks Natasha up and down, and motions for her to sit. Standing and moving away from her chair, she opens the cupboard on the left, and pulls out a hoodie and sweat pants.

“They’re clean, I swear,” she clarifies.

Natasha is already undressing as Maria moves to the door, locking it. She then pulls out cookies and sets them on her desk, an offering of sorts.

“Sorry he’s a dick.”

Natasha sits. “You don’t need to apologise for him.”

Maria nods.

Fatigue washes over Natasha. “Sometimes I feel like they just don’t get it. The difference in being a male spy vs a female one.” She sighs and grabs a cookie. It’s the first thing she’s eaten all night.

“I think they get it, I don’t think they care.” Maria scoffs.

“Maybe so.” Natasha concedes, and then thinks of Clint. “Some do, perhaps.”

Maria is silent.

“Does it ever feel like we are just typecast into roles? Like the expectations for us are so different to them?” Natasha asks, copying Maria and putting her feet up on the desk, now her shoes are off and feet are bare.

“Honestly? Yes.” Maria looks lost in thought, and Natasha has never considered the amount of hazing and sexism she’s had to endure to get to the positions she’s in.

They’re silent for while, neither wanting to break the quiet thoughts both are clearly having.

“I don’t think I want to do these types of missions anymore,” Natasha says softly, almost to herself.

Maria knows what courage is behind that statement.

“I’ll let Fury know.” She says, almost as softly.

Natasha nods and smiles, ”He won’t care. He thinks I’m ok with everything.” She’s almost despondent in her response.

Maria is adamant to make sure the request doesn’t go unheard. No matter what.

“That was then. This is now. It’s ok to have preferences. The fact that you know that; I think, is important.” She doesn’t add that she thinks Natasha is the brave for even saying so.

Maria hands Natasha her phone.

“Here.”

Natasha takes it lightly.

“I know you probably want to get home and shower. Clint should have his on him, I think he got released from medical about an hour ago, so should be around somewhere.”

Natasha nods, sending a message and then handing the phone back to its owner.

“I’ll get on the paperwork.” Maria promises.

Maria is looking at Natasha, wanting to know exactly what she is thinking, but she doesn’t make eye contact. Natasha’s eyes don’t move from a spot near the screen where the last ten minutes of her last mission is played out, recorded by Redwing.

Maria cringes as Natasha’s hair is grabbed and she’s thrown against the garage door, keeps her face stoic as the man laughs at her and calls her a bitch.

She hates that her friend is so often subjected to this brutality and name calling, and tries to catch her eye in solidarity.

Maria looks over to Clint, asking him silently if she’s ok.

Clint’s almost imperceptible shrug makes her worry more, what happened before Maria and Sam found her, fighting in the hanger.

The debrief is over within the hour and Natasha is out of there before Maria is even standing.

“Clint.” She calls, grabbing his arm for him to wait.

“I know.”

“Tell her if she needs to talk.” She knows Clint will be her first port of call, but she wants Natasha to know the option is there.

“Thanks.”

Maria gets home after finishing the paperwork for the last scoping mission, and feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.

“Clint told me.” It reads. “I’m home safe.”

Maria smiles, thankful she’s making contact.

“Sometimes, the others don’t understand. Message me if you want.” She adds in two pictures she’s changed into gifs, the first one of the street in Suzhou where they had the best dumplings and reminisced on all the food they’d like to try but didn’t have the courage.

The second of the snow covered town in Switzerland, where Natasha had bought a cake to celebrate, when Maria asked her what for, Natasha had just laughed and said to pick something.

Maria, unsure of Natasha’s stances on birthdays, had gone out and bought candles and then they’d watched as they’d burnt down in the low light.

The phone vibrates again.

“Cake tomorrow?”

Maria smiles.

“Sounds like a plan.”

#hbd friend #natasha romanoff #Maria hill #nat & maria #maria hill & natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fic #Maria Hill fic #my fic #clintasha #clint barton #black widow #hawkeye #Steve Rogers #tw misogyny #5+1 fic

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jennsmischievousmind · 4 years ago

Text

Chaos Therapy

Session #2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You were assigned to a field mission, with particulars co-agents, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. One mission turned into multiples. After each missions you are debriefed by a therapist, Dr Noach just as Sam and Bucky. Thing is, they don’t know that you are much more than an agent.

Warnings: pining, bit of angst, Buck/Sam bickering, violence (fights against enemies), mild swearing (still real bad at warnings)

Published: 2021-02-21 Completed: 2021-03-30

Mumbling your floor to the AI, you tried to relax but the door not closing triggered you. Hearing voices coming your way you understood.

“I don’t get it tincan, you got the new arm, the new haircut loosen up,” Sam Wilson came into view followed by Barnes, you would have never thought yet you got star-struck by his intense gaze when it locked on yours – Wilson got oddly silent for a second his look bouncing between the two of you until Barnes looked away and faced the door.

Wilson snorted “Guess we won’t talk about what just happened,” a smirk growing on his face.

Rolling your eyes you resumed your attention on the elevator transparent walls. Until you caught yourself glancing at Bucky’s back, inevitably your look followed his left shoulder to his metal well, vibranium arm, unfortunately, you could only see his wrist and hand. It’s not like you had studied all of the late Mr Stark’s researches on his previous metal arm and Wakanda’s report on the new appendage... The few golden lines you could see were mesmerizing, fingers itching to trace them you quickly shook your head remembering where you were. The elevator finally stopped at your level.

"Meeting at 6, briefing in the jet." You declared trying to focus on the mission at hand, accidentally brushing Barnes' left arm as you exit.

You were about to apologize but Sam intervened "Okay boss"

Smiling you lifted an eyebrow "I'm not your boss, but keep that in mind just in case."

You kept your eyes on Wilson who was nodding at your answer appreciating your repartee until the door was inches too close your eyes shifted to Barnes'. His eyes already on you.

“Fuck! You’re a professional for Stark’s sake, get a grip!” getting angry at yourself you head for the cave.

"Can you tell me more about the actual mission you had?'"

"It’s classified."

"Alright," she smirks "I see here that you had to use your field agent training? "

“Affirmative ma’am!”

"Weren't you supposed to assist and use your shadow IT skills,"

"Also, affirmative,"

“So, what happened?”

Tactical gears, the best part of field missions, hands skimming the gears sprawled out on the metal table, you couldn't wait.

‘You won’t be wearing that actually," the technician kicked you off your reverie, you frowned "Casual clothes, Kevlar under it, one gun, that’s it.”

The deceive expression didn’t escape the attention of the techs around the table. “It’s not always big guns and expensive gear”

“Yeah, I get that. Great…” you grabbed the gun and the Kevlar. Ready to meet your co-agents at the hangar. They were by the jet reviewing things with the techs.

“Agent Wilson, Agent Barnes.” You rearranged your top over your kevlar,

“Ok, hold on, please call me Sam,’

“Alright, then call me Y/N or boss.” he chuckled at your saying.

“This is tincan,” his thumb pointed to Barnes

"Uh" squinting at Sam, surprised by the verbal jab, you were unable to form any words.

Bucky sighed, throwing his bag in a corner of the jet “Your record is scratched, Wilson”

“Newsflash. We don’t use records anymore Buck!”

You stayed silent watching them bicker on the jet's ramp, taking mental notes. Bucky's jaw clenching every now and then, the never-ending smirk of Sam. How and why did anyone think it was a good idea to team them up?

“I already miss my cave.” You mumbled and passed by them, they both looked at you as you made your way in the tactic jet.

The briefing went smoothly, oddly, although seeing Barnes in tactical gear didn't leave you indifferent. Your mind yelling to get a grip while your eyes roam his geared up body. Now you had a full view of his vibranium arm, he caught you once or twice looking intently at it, each time you felt bad you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable or anything.

Few hours later, spent meditating and reviewing the mission in your head, avoiding the guys, avoiding Bucky, you ended up on one of the New Singapore islands. The tactic jet retreats back as soon as you three touched the ground.

“I go first, you come in after I made sure the target’s in, Buck in standby”

“Yeah, we know,” Bucky spoke, you could hear the exasperation in his voice.

Sam smirked at Bucky before rounding the corner leading to the underground club. There you were alone with Bucky Barnes.

"Are you two always like that?" you leaned on the concrete wall behind you.

He was standing straight, hands on his tactical belt "What'd you mean by that?" you tried not to stare as his look remained forward.

"Tough love and all.." your teasing voice made him glance your way. He hid a smirk and fully turned to you taking a step forward. “We’re working on that,” it was your turn to hide a smirk, and you thanked the dark alley for hiding the dusted red that had reached your neck at his closeness.

Minutes later Sam had called in the comm. Getting through the crowd you reached the bar where Sam was, clubs, forsaken places. He nodded at the back of the club where he had seen the target get out.

Making your way to the hidden office in the back, the dark and the loud music were your allies, scanning the room with one of the few gadgets you were allowed to have you were relieved to find it empty of human forms.

“Ok, 15 minutes” you called out in the comm’. Forcing the door, you look behind you before sliding it shut. Rummaging the all room you finally find the old metal case.

“I got the codes,” you were supposed to analyse them on site and then destroyed them but when you didn’t hear any of them answered you stopped “Sam?” silence “Barnes?” a distant crash followed by howls caught your attention.

“Y/N GET OUT!” Bucky's voice rang into your comm' not missing a beat you grabbed the case, slide the door open ready to run to the backdoor. “Oh!” you stopped dead in your tracks, a large man about 6 feet tall blocked the door. He eyed the case in your hand, you shrugged.

Pouncing on you, you easily dodged him as he was so slow, you ran to the main room instead, only to find Sam and Bucky fighting against a bunch of dudes.

“Subtle mission my ass,” you muttered to yourself, Watching them, you were genuinely interested in the two Avengers' fighting skills, missing the big guy coming behind you.

Grabbing your middle, trapping your arms against your body he lifted you as if you were a feather. Quickly refocusing you hooked your feet to his calve, balancing your weight against him he started to wobble backwards, his arms slipping up past your chest allowing you to elbow his floating ribs multiple times. He finally let go groaning, you took this time to kick his knee, he whaled staying down. Seeing the boys were still fighting and enemies still coming in you joined them. Back to back with both of them holding your ground.

“Buck you wanna clear the path” Sam snickered.

"Sure if you've got a great idea in mind involving your chicken wings go ahead," Buck retorted earning a death stare from Sam.

"I'm really deliberating leaving you here with them right now," you checked your gun’s mag.

"And how do you plan on getting out?"

“Close your eyes” the boys followed your request without any doubt.

You activated your anti-flash lenses with a press on your temple. Launching the tiny flashbang on the ground it exploded blinding everyone around you. Since the guys couldn’t open their eyes yet and you could clearly see the path you grabbed them both by the wrists and pulled them out, they ran behind you blindly for less than a minute until you reached the outside, stopping in the nearest alley.

The place was loud with cries, smokes evading the place brushing the neon lights creating a halo of blurred colours. Lost in the moment, the adrenaline rushing out you felt your right hand becoming colder in an instant, a low whirring and vibration coming from the vibranium wrist you were holding soothed your racing heart.

Sam had already escaped your grasp to check on the escape route. Quickly removing your hold you glanced at Bucky to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable but his face showed a different emotion. His gaze remained on his wrist where a second ago your warm hand was, brow knitted yet his look was soft, he clenched his fist and released it, he snapped out of it when an explosion occurred in the club. Time to run.

“If I knew we were about to run so much I wouldn’t have worn my best suit!” Sam argued, your lips curved into a smile at his annoyed voice.

In the jet safe and sound you tried to work on the codes but the two supposed-to-be grown-ups you work with were arguing about how the mission went wrong. Eventually, you tuned them out and send the files to the intelligence.

After giving back your gear to the assistant waiting for you in the hangar you turned to your co-agents.

“That was fun!” Sam tossed his suit jacket upon his shoulder “we should team up more often”

You scoffed “I don’t know about that”. Bucky came down the ramp his gear in hands, your jaw clenched at the way he looked so effortlessly good, it ignited something in you and you thought why the hell am I fighting this.

“Sam, Barnes,” you bowed your head slightly heading to the quarters' area, already writing the reports in your head, before needy thoughts cloud your mind.

“Bucky, it’s Bucky,” he called out, you spun fully, walking backwards “Bucky,” you spoke softly, the corner of your mouth quirked up, eyes entirely focused on him, his didn’t waver either. Rounded a crate disappearing from their view you bit your lower lips.

Sam nudged Bucky’s shoulder "When I said to loosen up, I didn't imply crushing on our new teammate,"

"Shut up,"

“And it was the first official mission with them?”

“Yes ma’am, … the intelligence thought the mission was a success, somehow. Against what I thought, they decided to team us up again,”

She nods, your answer exactly what she wanted to hear, she cuts the recorder.

“All is going well then” she closes her tablet, undoing the first button of her shirt feeling stuffy.

“I’ll be able to give you something more tangible in a few missions,”

SESSION #3

MASTERLIST

Published: 2021-02-21 Completed: 2021-03-30

I will be tagging Chaos Therapy now, since some of you might filter the TFATWS tags to avoid spoilers.

#tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #Bucky barnes x reader #Bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #tfatws imagines #Chaos Therapy

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alderaani · 4 years ago

Text

Embers

summary: After Umbara, Boil learns how to endure, and how to reclaim pieces of his brothers marching on | AO3 | series

warnings: canonical character death, grief, animal injury + mentions of animal death (completely not explicit, on the level of canon-typical violence).

a/n: finally another part of my 100 clone prompts - the rest of the series is linked above! i know there’s not much in canon to support Waxer being an animal lover, but i wanted to give Gree a friend to nerd out with and it’s cute. also gotta pay homage to @nibeul’s wonderful art here - while I wasn’t consciously inspired by it, it hits on v similar themes and is just beautiful like...that image of waxer holding up numa lives in my head rent free.

Insects swirled in a halo around his helmet. They swarmed around the seams of his blacks, too, attracted to the small beads of sweat there, to the tiny strips of flesh he couldn’t quite cover. The rising bites itched, rubbing where the edge of his vambraces met fabric, and the buzzing was enough to drive a man mad. Boil sighed, brushing them off half-heartedly and watching them billow angrily away. They’d be back. They always were.

In the reprieve, he fumbled at his belt for the viewfinders hooked there and brought them to his visor. As he spun the dial to within half a klik so that he could search the undergrowth, his thumb settled in the comforting groove where Waxer had dropped them and chipped the plastoid. He worried at it with his nail while he scanned, frowning.

It was too still.

Too quiet.

Had been in his head for weeks now, verging on a month, and he was still waiting to feel something other than crippling emptiness. There weren’t any dreams any more, none except for the oldest one they all pretended not to have; levelling a blaster against Kenobi’s head and pulling the trigger. Even that didn’t feel like the nightmare it used to.

Eventually he lowered the viewfinder, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the stifled sound of his own breath in the dense air. A faint, humid breeze stirred the leaves, sending a cloud of thick yellow pollen up towards the canopy. Boil blinked to bring up the filter diagnostic on his HUD, keeping his belly low to the ground to avoid the stuff as it drifted lazily overhead.

“Kid, you doin’ alright out there?”

He listened to the static hum of the comm line for a few moments, biting back the panic that crawled up the back of his throat when it dragged on just a beat too long.

“Apart from gettin’ gnawed on by the bugs? Just grand, Sir.”

Potshot sounded a little winded, but that was probably just the heat. Blacks self-regulated temperature, but only to the extent that they made sure you sweated evenly. It never used to be quite so bad; that had been the one thing Phase 1 armour had going for it, for all it was bulkier and less adaptable to varied terrain. He supposed the Republic had had to cut costs somewhere. Waxer would’ve been whining by now that his ass was so hot they could light a flare off it. Potshot was young enough that he’d never known any different.

“Good, you see anything?” Boil grunted, pinging his location anyway. There was no real reason for it; Potshot might’ve still been green but he wasn’t stupid, and he’d done well to keep up so far. Boil could stand being self aware enough to acknowledge that he hadn’t been the most welcoming, or the most patient with the new partner he’d never wanted. He wouldn’t have had any right to be overbearing now, but it was for his own comfort, however small and bittersweet.

“Nothin’ at all. That seem odd to you too?” Potshot said, as the surveillance holos he’d taken popped up. Boil flipped through them, earmarking a couple to show him how to improve the angle later. The important shit was all there - enough to confirm what he’d already suspected. No birds, no creatures, no fresh droppings.

Just the bugs, and the trees, and them.

“Yeah, it’s odd alright. Think we’ve found what the general’s looking for.”

Boil felt pressure around his right boot and turned, vibroblade in hand, to stab into the fleshy vine knotting round it. It writhed and retreated, leaving behind pitted, smoking trails where acid had started eating into the plastoid. He registered the damage with a dull sort of annoyance. It was something else to take care of later, a way to look busy and shape the silence. It would fend off the others and their offers of company, made out of pity he couldn’t bear to look at.

“Really? What’re you seein’, boss?” Potshot asked.

Boil glanced upwards to track the position of the sun; high, almost directly overhead. At the peak of the day this place should have been teeming. Instead the only tracks he’d found had been baked solid, and this wasn’t the shocked quiet that followed a stampede. It was stagnant, aging.

“This forest is in the centre of an old super-volcanic crater, right?” he asked, not waiting for a response. It had been in the mission dossier, alongside profiles of the flesh eating plants, the deadly pollen and the venomous creatures, all of it fenced into the sloped, unforgiving bowl of the terrain. It was the kind of forest that stuck in the mind. “And we know that something has driven the wildlife away.”

Potshot hummed, the comm muffling for a second as he shifted. It took a moment of bitter disappointment coiling in Boil’s belly for him to realise that he’d been waiting for a sharp quip that wasn’t coming. He swallowed thickly, wondering how it was possible to feel so wrongfooted while lying down. If he’d ever find his balance again. If he ever wanted to feel whole now that such a fundamental piece was missing.

Potshot groaned suddenly. “Kriff it, the factories we’re looking for are underground, aren’t they?”

Boil forced a chuckle, choking past the self hatred clawing up through his lungs. The kid deserved better, deserved a superior who didn’t constantly treat him like a ghost.

“That’s it, kid. Just like the simulations, eh?”

Potshot laughed, the easy sound making Boil’s throat seize in longing so strong his teeth ached. Waxer would’ve loved him, and that made it all the worse.

“Hardly. What do we do next?”

“Alright,” Boil said, lifting the viewfinder for one last look at where he could see slight fog rising through the trees. “You get your ass back to forward command and debrief the General, I’m heading in for a closer look.”

“ What? But - Sir! We’re supposed to be working as a team. I can’t leave you -”

“Sometimes working as a team means you do your duty and trust the others to do theirs.” He cut in, keeping his voice steady by force of will. Sometimes, it meant carrying on alone. Boil clipped the viewfinder back into place and prepared to move, even as Potshot continued protesting. Boil didn’t answer for long enough that silence fell on the line.

“...am I not performing to the standard expected, Sir?”

Potshot’s voice was soft, all vulnerable underbelly. Still so shiny, and Boil remembered feeling like that, like there was still a scorecard constantly on his forehead.

“No - kid -” Boil sighed, dropping his head forward. He’d never learned how to be gentle - it hadn’t ever come naturally, and there had been no reason to lose his sharp edges when Waxer had always been there to foil them for him. He felt sharper now than ever, full of shards that didn’t sit right, and fished among the pieces for something his brother might have said. “I trust you to have my back. You’re doing everything right. But...sometimes we’ve gotta think of the mission. We need more proof before we can move in, but the two of us get caught, command loses what we already know.”

“Can’t we just send a comm?” Potshot asked, his voice still tight and hurt sounding and he was fucking this up, shouldn’t have been trusted to try to fix himself without breaking everyone else wide open in the process.

“Don’t trust it not to get intercepted,” Boil said, which was only half a lie, and would have made Cody scoff at the back to front over-caution. “And it don’t all fit in a comm. They’ll need everything you can remember to plan the advance.”

Potshot sighed, but when he spoke again his voice was looser. “...Yes, Sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Boil said, feeling his own chest lighten. “If you don’t hear from me by 1100 then raise me on the priority channel.”

He listened until Potshot had stated a reluctant affirmative and clicked off the line, then bellied out of the undergrowth and headed further in, to the epicentre of the unnatural quiet. He liked the way his mind went silent on recon, how everything else fell away. It wasn’t quite the same, tilted just a little off axis, but similar enough to when it had been Waxer at his six that if he didn’t think about it, he could almost trick himself into believing nothing had changed.

Plus, the space was good, just for a few minutes, where he didn't have to pretend for anyone.

It was a quiet journey, for the most part, punctuated only by the steps he couldn’t quite muffle. His thoughts were broken some time later when he suddenly heard it; the distant mechanical boom of something deep underground. He quickened his pace, following the vibrations until the earth under his feet grew hot, the air shimmering unnaturally in front of him. It had been like this at Point Rain, when the sand baked and glinted, glass-like, under the blaze of the overhead sun. If he hadn’t known the super-volcano was very thoroughly extinct, he could have kidded himself that it was just the geothermal energy of magma moving close to the surface. A clever disguise. But not clever enough.

The ground sloped ever downwards the further into the bowl he got. He watched where he placed his feet as it grew rockier, stones and small craters acting like pitfall traps concealed by the moss. Boil pinged his scanner every minute, searching for Seppie probes as the terrain tapered, falling away into a green-rimmed yawning abyss. Set into the centre of it was a huge grate, the source of the searing air. Here were the factories they’d been looking for, exactly where he’d suspected. It was a muted sort of satisfaction.

He crouched at the edge of the drop, taking holos and transmitting them directly to the Commander’s HUD. Then he checked his chrono and sent an unapologetic follow up that he’d be late to rendezvous, seeing that 1100 was about to come and go. Then he minimised the comms on his HUD to flash for priority only; he’d get bollocked for being late sooner or later, but he figured it would be novel to have it fully in person.

Finally he turned, ready to start the rapid scale back towards the 212th's forward camp, when he registered a low, keening whine.

His blaster was in his hands within a moment, trained at the knee-high leaves. The sound came again, higher this time, followed by laboured panting.

He gently brushed aside some of the foliage with his blaster barrel. Dark eyes stared at him from between the leaves. They both froze. It was some sort of animal, obviously; a mammal, probably a predator. It was small too, with paws too large for its scrawny body and a dark, downy fur that rippled with every laboured breath.

Sharp teeth. A narrow muzzle. A long, whip-like tail.

A vornskr, Boil thought, and hated how readily the identification came, how readily he tensed in anticipation of the inevitable Boil can you see - do you know how rare -

He shook the memories away, of Waxer leaning precariously over the top bunk to wave some manual Commander Gree had sent him in his face, bleating about some animal or species that Boil couldn’t pronounce. In the present the vornskr pup cowered away from him, pushing backwards on thin, spindly legs. Deceptively powerful though, he’d bet.

The creature let out another whine and stumbled, an odd abortive movement. Boil pressed more of the leaves away to get a better look and swore when he saw the brutal metal trap closed around one of its small hind legs, paring down to bone. His blaster was up and trained on the thing before he thought much about it. Better to shoot it, put it out of its misery, than prolong its suffering. It was what they did as part of the cleanup sometimes; wildlife was usually pretty good at getting out of the active battlefronts, but there were always stragglers. The too old or the too young, mostly.

Creatures like this one.

The vornskr stilled, staring at him with those big, wide eyes as if it knew exactly what he was thinking. Boil swallowed. Waxer wouldn’t have let him shoot it. Waxer also wasn’t here now to stop him, but Boil felt his arm lower all the same, just a few inches before he pulled the trigger. The vornskr yelped as the trap hinges came apart in two neat halves and immediately tried to run. It didn’t get very far before it collapsed, panting again.

Boil sighed and shook his head, holstering his blaster across his back.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he tsked, shuffling closer.

He kept half an eye on the tail, remembering something about it being venomous. While being high off his ass on some unknown substance had the potential to make Cody’s dressing down more interesting, it might also kill him before he got there.

The vornskr growled as he leaned over it, baring needle sharp teeth, and made a snap at him when Boil reached out.

“Ah, give over,” he muttered, batting the attempt away. The little body was light in his hands as he lifted it, careful to let the injured leg hang out as he folded it into his chest. The vornskr made an odd, throaty sound and shifted, almost experimental. Then it huffed, and after a pause laid its head across his vambrace.

Boil rolled his eyes at the display, setting off towards forward command as soon as he was halfway sure he wasn’t in danger of losing a finger.

It was...nice, to have that little body cradled to him, reminiscent of better occasions when Waxer just had to stick his nose into every curious happening and inevitably adopted some struggling lifeform. However much Boil had complained, it had never steered them wrong.

When he got back to command it was to find Cody pacing the perimeter, Potshot perched on a crate nearby. The Commander’s bucket was under his arm. Boil winced. With Cody that was never an accident - usually so he could get the full weight of a glare in, the excavating kind he’d learned from Kenobi and then weaponised so that it pierced straight down to bone.

“Boss!” Potshot exclaimed, pushing off his seat. “You made it!”

“What time d’you call this?” Cody demanded, stalking over. “I was about to -”

Cody stopped short, gaze dropping to the furry bundle against Boil’s breastplate. Something in his expression softened and Boil felt in his heart, panicking as a lump rose in his throat.

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

Boil let his gaze slide downwards to a point far beyond, where two troopers were fighting over a tarp.

“Found it in a trap,” he said, his voice ragged. “Couldn’t - couldn’t let it die.”

He flicked his eyes back to Cody’s face and breathed through the grief and understanding he found there. Cody stepped forward and clasped Boil’s elbow.

“I’m sure Tranq will be able to do something for it.” A little upturn crept into the line of Cody’s lips. “Debrief in fifteen.”

Boil nodded and broke away, tipping his head to Potshot before clearing his throat roughly and popping his bucket off one-handed as he made his way to the medtent. The sun was warm on his face here, the air lighter. A butterfly flew lazily past and the vornskr lifted its head, tracking the motion with large, interested eyes.

Boil smiled, hoisting his bucket under one arm and daring to touch the creature's head with his freed hand. It wouldn’t ever bring Waxer back, but it meant something that this little life continued, because of the choices his brother would have made and all that he had been. Like the phantom touch of the sun still lingering in cooling earth.

It wouldn’t ever be enough. But, perhaps, it was just the right amount to cling onto.

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @iscream4clones @bad-batch-of-fics @battletales @majorshiraharu @dom-i-nic @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @lussyyung @whatanoof // join here

#clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #original clone characters #clone oc potshot #commander cody #212th attack battalion #the clone wars #star wars #the clone wars fanfiction #alderwrites

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lightspeed-lightspeed-lightspeed · 3 years ago

Text

How did it happen?

(Bucky barnes x Female reader)

A/n: (Tw: cat. If you don't like cats gtfo of here) Although it is narrated in third person, the narration gravitates more around Bucky's pov (sorta). This is gonna be quite lousy so have fun, I guess.. If you can.

"How did this happen?" he whisper-sighed. "How? When?" He asked himself as he was staring into the distance, absent-mindedly stroking the white ball of fur curled up on his lap. Alpine let out a soft meow as if answering his soliloquies.

But for real though, how did he fall for you? The last he checked, you both were calling each other names out of contempt. Y/n y/l/n was simply insufferable, he always thought. Where did your acts of annoyance start blooming into everything he now yearns for?

As much as he would like to hide behind the idea that these sudden, irrational feelings hold no reason and meaning- how could he? How could he hide from what he knows? from what he realized? He could lie to himself all he wants- Hell, he had been lying to himself all this time, ignoring the wisps of light that marked the warnings through the pavements of this path he was sauntering down. He was walking into love and he refused to know it.

He wondered how different things would be now if he hadn't screwed up in your last mission and got you demoted to the archive library duty. Of course, jeopardizing a high stakes mission by starting a quarrel during field action is a grave mistake, but still Fury was being a little too extreme by suspending Y/n off the field for a month. Bucky didn't really believe that any of it was his fault, according to him it was you who were being your impossible self on the field that day. But he did feel sort of bad for you now. Maybe what Bucky shouldn't have done, was to try and make it up to you by spending time with you in that desolate library. Truth be told, it was partly an excuse for wanting to be around you.

There he was again, his thoughts lingering around you. Recounting the events of day before yesterday.

( The day before yesterday )

"Did you find it?," Bucky's voice echoed through the aisles as he walked towards the base of the ladder you were perched on looking for an old file Bucky needed for his mission. "Not just yet," you mused.

The archives library was completely empty except for the two of you. The sound of his boots against the spotless vinyl flooring filled the room as he was pacing back and forth. Clack-tap, Clack-tap, Clack-tap, Clack-tap. He found the rhythm weirdly gratifying. And he could see you didn't. If something could get you to lose your cool, what's not to love?

"Quit pacing," you sighed, slightly annoyed. He started to stomp on even louder. Clack-tap, Clack-TAP, CLACK-TAP,CLACK-TAP,CLACK-TAP. Your breathing quivered with exasperation, as your shoulders hunched and fell in gliding motions. Just as gratifying, he thought looking at it.

"Quit pacing, Goddamnit!" You practically growled.

"No." He said, scrunching up a smile fighting it's way on his face. "What are you? obsessed? Mind your business," he shot smugly.

"You're making it really hard for me to, you moron," You muttered as he broke out into a grin. Annoying you practically counted as top-tier entertainment for him.

"C'mon man, do something," You cried.

"Do what?"

"Search for those godforsaken files, maybe. I honestly-"

"I am searching,"

"No, you're not." You huffed.

"I am, and I'm beginning to think the files are not in he-"

"Shhh" you cut him off. He shot you a questioning look.

"Don't you hear it?" you whisper-hissed.

"Hear what?" he asked as he reached for his weapons, falling into a defensive posture.

"There's somebody else in he-" before you could complete the sentence, you were screaming and everything was collapsing as you fell off the ladder yanking the racks down along with you, a daunting cacophony of heavy crashes and clamours deafening as you and Bucky were whipped by gravity, with absolutely no idea what is happening for a solid couple of moments.

"What the fuck just happened?" Bucky asked as he looked around, his pale blue eyes wide and gleaming with absolute confusion. The racks were all fallen, everything loosely covered with the papers lying around. The room had become a little darker. "I- um.." You started, "I... It was a cat.." you said frantically as you were still trying to shake yourself from the shock. "It was a what?" he asked incredulously. "A cat! I mean, It sort of jumped at my face, and I.. It sneaked up behind the rack... and I jumped and everything fell.. I guess..." You cringed at yourself. Bucky winced and looked around again and that's when he realized. You both were cornered against the inner edge of the wall. The racks had fallen in front of you into perfect forts, blocking your way out. He was practically stuffed against you into a crooked modicum of space. Your back was pressed against his chest, his leg pitted against yours. There wasn't a lot he could've done about that. He was trapped in there with you. But most importantly, he had never been this close to you.

His heart did parkours and cartwheels. He could only hope you don't feel how hard it was beating. Where were all these butterflies coming from? His breath hitched, he wasn't even sure if he was breathing anymore, although it was the last concern on his dumb-foundedly racing mind. He could feel the softness of your hair against his neck, he'd be lying if he said that wasn't the softest, gentlest thing he has felt in about the past seven decades. It smelled like an orchard of flowers. He liked flowers. Although he couldn't tell what flower it smelled like, he knew it would've been his favourite flower. It calmed him down, that was, of course until his eyes looked down. He could see the stretch of your dangerously gorgeous collar bones sparkling in your sweat above your dress's boat-like neckline. His atheism breaking at the sight of that sculpted divinity, he couldn't help but pray, "God give me all the strength you can to keep me from kissing that work of art." The quantum leaps between the intervals of his heartbeats weren't helping either. Oh, at this moment, what he wouldn't give up to be the brittle golden necklace cascading from the graceful steeps and lows of your neck to the flesh over your heart. He held back not of strength, but because of fear.

As he was trying to fathom where all these thoughts were coming from, he was interrupted by you glazing your body against his body as you were striving to reach for a way out of the current situation. The way you groaned softly as you tried to reach for the other side of the rack-fort did things to him that he never would have expected. He was practically petrified. You gave up after a few moments, your head falling back against his ribs due to the impact. "Oof," he said his breath tickling your neck, cooling the sweat enough to send chills down your spine. "I'm sorry," you quivered in embarrassment. "So... there's no way out unless someone helps us out from the outside," you reported. He sighed in reply. He was way too nervous right now to speak in words.

"Are you claustrophobic or something?" you asked.

"What?"

"No, your heart has been racing real loud for quite some time now."

"I.. um.. small spaces do that to me,"

"Huh" you huffed.

You felt the coolness of his metal arm against the heated skin below the back of your neck, it was very soothing. He had laid the forearm carefully at a distance from you, and you couldn't help but wish he would wrap it around you. You could feel the vibrations of his vocal cord against your ear lobe as he talked. You were glad he couldn't see your face flushing at that.

Eventually he was able to relax, his heart slowing down. Although the situation was still quite awkward, he was not sure if he was complaining. That's when he heard footsteps. Someone was coming to their rescue. The footsteps grew louder, and there he was.

"Noah!" You exclaimed as he stood in front of you on the other side of the rack-fort. "Y/n! What's.. going on?" Noah asked as he looked at the mess. "Ah, we're trapped. Can you help us out of here?"

~~~

"Thank you," you smiled as he got them out of there with the help of the floor service. "How did you find us here?"

"We had a date, remember? You didn't show up so I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh my god, yes we did. All this happened and It totally slipped my mind. Thank god, we did though," you chuckled, looking around, "Hey Barnes, This is Noah, he works in the communications department,"

"Hey, man" Noah greeted. Bucky gave him a half-nod and a mean look.

"You know, it's not exactly late. If you are up to it, we could still go grab some dinner," Noah said, giving you this innocent look that Bucky, for some reason, found revolting.

"Yeah? of course," You were all smiles.

Since when does y/n smile like that? What did she see in this guy? He doesn't even know the guy, so why does he hate him so much? He felt displeased with himself for staring at you and Noah, like, why did he even care now? Bucky had so many questions. The answer was walking out of the hall with somebody else, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He was standing there in the once again empty library, lost in the middle of the bustling race track of his thoughts. That was when he felt something tugging at his legs, pulling him out of the maze he was being consumed by. He looked down at his little rescuer with fur as white as snow. "Hello there," He called, gentleness taking over his voice as he squatted down to pet the little cat that was rubbing its ears on his shoe straps. "Where did you come from, doll?" he giggled, scratching it's chin.

~ ( Today ) ~

"You were a no-show at the debriefing. Where were you yesterday?" You asked as you plopped down on the couch in the kitchen Island, your arm resting on the back pillow, turning your head back and looking at Bucky toying with the cutlery on the counter. "I.. was in my room," he said pushing back a stray lock of hair. "Coffee?" "Yeah," you muttered.

As you turned your head you saw a little white cat hopping onto your lap.

"I found her in the library, you know, the other day.. after you left. Guess I'm her owner now, kind of," he said as he handed you the coffee.

"Aww, he made a friend!" You giggled as you scratched the back of the cat's ears. "Hello! Do you like that, you little troublemaker?" you chuckled as the cat warmed up to you with it's eyes closed.

Bucky was blushing like an idiot. You were not gonna lie, that shade of red made him look a little too cute.

"Has she got a name?"

"Yeah well, I named her Alpine. It's a good name, right?"

"Alpine!" you grinned, "It's a lovely name."

"What?" He asked, as you gave him a surprised look after sipping your coffee.

"The coffee is actually good," You said.

"Why, you didn't think I could make good coffee?"

"No, in all these three years, you've brought me coffee like 4 times, 3 out of which you put salt in my coffee and the one time you messed up the sugar real bad. On purpose, I suppose," you accused.

"To be fair, you deserved it,"

"Ah, there it is," you said.

Bucky couldn't help but stare at you. Here he was, sitting on the couch beside you, getting high of sorts on how close he was to you. He had been craving for it ever since the archive library. He locked himself in his room all yesterday, convincing himself that what he felt towards you wasn't real, although it only made more sense despite his inability to believe it. And here you were now, recklessly playing with his heartstrings. The image of a rogue strand of your hair caressing your temple, and your eyes becoming a softer shade of (y/e/c) as the sunlight fell on them vaporized the levee he built around the feelings he never thought would see the light of day again.

As if breaking him out of his trance, you said, "Ah, I'd love to hang around with you guys, but I gotta go. I said I'll be meeting Noah in a couple minutes."

"Right," he could feel his heart dropping for a second.

"Alright then... bye!" You called, and walked out of the room, as he watched your hair swaying to your stride.

And here he was, on the couch, wondering about what just happened. Alpine half asleep on his lap as he unconsciously whispered, "How did this happen?"

~~~~

21 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

someone to come home to | soldier!mitch rapp

word count; 9341

summary; mitch has spent his life looking for family, and finding one in the army, but now, he wants to settle down with you.

notes; this is just a super sweet fic, an idea I got while at work, my mind got to wandering and it came up with this.

warnings; reference to death, reference to gunshot wounds, reference to bombings, mentions of war, mentions of injury, that’s about it? I think we’re all good. minor references to PTSD.

With a relieved breath, Mitch flopped back down onto the mattress with his things dumped on, the other men seeing to have far more energy around him, and he was happy to sink into the bed that was already more padded than the one he’d been on for the last six months, his tour finally coming to a close as he let his mind wander to the even softer mattress that was waiting for him when he got home.

His deployment was finished, the set of tours he’d been given were over, a sign-up sheet for another batch still sitting in his pack, waiting for his answer on whether hew as re-enlisting, and he couldn’t even bring himself to think about that right now. His feet were aching from the boots on his feet, and he was still covered in dust and dried mud, some splotches of blood on his ripped clothing, patched up in the field, and Mitch had decided that if he didn’t see another green piece of clothing in his entire life, he would be perfectly happy with that.

He could hear everyone else shuffling around them, hear the bag dropped onto the bunk below his as the metal frame shook, and the leg hanging down over the edge was smacked roughly, eliciting a groan from him as the man below snickered to himself.

“Fuck you, Hurley.”

“Get your leg out of my space, and we won’t have a problem, will we?” He teased, and he hauled the limb up onto the mattress, the effort being far more than it should have been, and the room quietened down a little as those men around him began to filter out of the room, the volume dropping considerably as all their excitement was dragged away to the showers. They were freshening up and washing off, ready to spend the night at the nearest bar and strip club they could find, inevitably going to be dragging themselves through their debriefing meetings tomorrow and sleeping off a hangover on the train home.

Mitch didn’t have the luxury of sleeping on his ride home, because he was far too hopped up on the anticipation and anxiety of seeing you again. Six whole months had passed by, and four years since he’d met you, one fateful night at an army family charity ball, a pretty dress flowing right down to your feet, and you’d let him buy you a drink and tuck the flower from his suit pocket into your hair.

You were supposed to be just some fun for the night, but then you’d spent the entire night talking, and then he’d spent the entire rest of the week he was home with you by his side, and somehow, you had become his everything. It wasn’t just his unit going home, as far as he was aware, there were at least three other units all going home too, his being the last to arrive for the train that would be leaving tomorrow, and he was grateful to be the last, because he couldn't imagine having to wait a week for the others, being so close to you and yet still so far.

Mitch wasn’t interested in strip clubs and bars, he didn’t care about getting drunk or lap-dances, he just wanted to go home, and see you. He didn’t even want to unpack his bag, he was more than happy to simply lay there until he fell asleep, waiting for the morning to roll around.

“You aren’t going out with the rest?”

He tipped his head to the side, peeling his eyes open, unsure of when they’d even closed, a yawn pulled at his lips. Not even bothering to cover it, he simply shook his head, Stan leaning his arms on the edge of the upper-bunk bed, and Mitch propped himself up to look at his friend.

“Why not?”

“I have a girl waiting for me at home.” He mumbled, and Stan raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, so do half of the other lads.”

“Maybe, but are half of the other lads about to propose?” He scoffed, toeing the pocket of his bag that was still sitting by the end of the bed, and Stan reached over, a handful of letters coming out and he opened the top one up, pulling out the piece of paper that was folded up inside, a few pages of a ring brochure torn out, some circled, before one had been clearly chosen, stamped letters from the official company to accompany the ones handwritten on dirty paper form Mitch. “I spent the last six months writing with a company back home, getting a ring sorted out. They had it delivered here, I’m going to go pick it up when I have my shower, it’s waiting at communal.”

“That’s great, kid. What’s she like?”

He grinned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, and he was certain that Stan was going to regret asking the question, because the second he had opened his mouth, he couldn't stop the words. There was so much to say about you, about how much he loved you, and about how much you meant to him. You made him feel as though he had a purpose with you, he had joined the army because he had nothing, no family or parents, and so he’d found a family wherever he could get it. Ten years later, he was looking at the opportunity of making his own family with you, and so he certainly wasn’t going to risk it.

Stan was tough on him, he was the unofficial leader of the group, and while he was strict and mean, sometimes even a little bit of a bully, he was like the father Mitch had lost, taking him on and giving him someone to talk to when he really needed it, as well as someone to look up to. He knew Stan cared for him as much as he cared for Stan, and so he almost felt like he was seeking approval form him to be able to get married.

“I want you to meet her when we get back.”

“I’d love to, but only if you shower first. You stink, and I’m not going anywhere near you while you smell like a massacre in a gym.” Mitch’s face screwed up, lifting his shirt to his nose, the salty stench of sweat and the coppery smell of blood and ammunition filling his nose, and he backed away from the material, nodding in agreement.

“Fair enough.”

A hot shower would definitely help, he knew it to be true, and the call of hot steam and water was almost enough to make his head spin with joy, having been washing himself off with cold or lukewarm water for the past half a year, and so he shoved all the letters back into the front pocket. Rifling through for his cleanest set of clothes, he was taking them with him as he swiped his only towel, deciding it was still fresh enough, and he could wash properly when he got home, before groaning upon jumping down, his feet screaming out in disapproval at being in use once again.

The shower may be calling to him at this moment, but your face was flashing behind his eyes every time he closed them, calling him home to you.

The train ride had been only a few hours, and yet he’d felt like years, watching the scenery flash by as he moved from town to town before getting home. There was a ring in his bag that felt like it was going to burn right through the pocket, shining metal and a pretty diamond in the specifications he was sure were right, convinced he had remembered that the ring of his mother’s that he wore on his pinky was the same size you wore on your ring finger. The camo-gear felt too much, like it was too heavy now that he was no longer in a battlefield, the jacket stifling and the pants too baggy, the boots squeezing his feet and pinching angrily, the same way it always felt when he was finally allowing his guard to come down and to let himself relax, and he rested his head on the window, feeling the vibrations shooting through the cart as he

He was nervous to say the least, especially when he finally saw the station coming into view, the train beginning to slow down, and then the daylight was gone, encased by tunnels as darkness flashed by him for only as second, before artificial light took over. The men around him were waking one another up as they came about, and he rubbed over his face, trying to wake himself up a little more. Shaking himself off, the nerves he was filled with were replaced with excitement and joy, catching sights of the crowded platforms that were teeming with girlfriends, children, husbands and family of everyone who was waiting for a loved one to return.

It was busier than usual, all the extra groups he was accompanying making it harder for him to spot you, and he was out of his seat in a flash, bag scooped up in his arms and he was patting his pockets down for his phone, the device he still felt unfamiliar using again after all this time, but finding a text from you saying you were wearing a blue dress and standing under the ‘Arrivals’ sign, and that was all he needed.

He barely felt the ground between his feet, or the bump of shoulders against his, nothing seeming to matter as he weaved through the bodies, eyes fixed on the sign he could see, waiting until it was clear enough for him to catch sight of you. He watched as other’s reunited, tears and happy shouts filling the air, making sure not to trip over any dropped bags as they were discarded to allow simple embraces, and his breath hitched in his throat as he finally saw you.

Every time he went away he intended to take a picture of you with him, and every time you were together, the pair of you were so busy that he always forget to take one, and so he was only ever left with his memories to keep him company, and they did nothing to the sight of you he got every time he returned. Bright smiled and sparkling eyes, hair that whipped around you face as you dashed towards him, before you were finally in his arms.

Your body collided with his own, his bag hitting the floor with a dull thud, and his arms were sealed so tightly around you that he worried whether you could even breathe, but you were clinging to him just as tightly, and everything in his world seemed to slot back into place. Jagged corners and broken shards were coming together, piecing back into something beautiful and worthy, all because of you. The smell of your perfume, and the mango and coconut shampoo you loved so much, the way you clung to him as your body pressed up to his, he couldn't help the way his legs shook a little feeling entirely weak just getting to be home again.

“You’re home.”

He nodded, sniffling back his own tears at the sound of your cracking voice, but it was no use, because he was crying by the time he pulled away, letting out a seek laugh and wiping the water away from your cheeks as you stared up at him.

“You’re home.”

“I’m home, baby.” His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you in close enough for him to be able to rest his forehead to your own, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes when you leaned into him, rubbing the tip o your nose against his. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You whispered, letting him hear you say the words, a happy sigh leaving him as his heart burst in his chest, and his lips were on your own. A sweet, and slow kiss, needy as his mouth moved against your own slowly, and his hands held you face tightly as your own gripped at his shirt, before slipping to his waist so his body could press to yours.

He couldn't get any closer, and yet it still wasn’t close enough. He needed to be wrapped up in you, to have every part of you with every part of him. He needed to never let you go, and yet he had to pull back from breath at some point. He barely gassed, his head tipping to the side and hands manoeuvring your face, before your mouths were crashing together once again, a whimper from you silencing in his mouth as wet cheeks slid together.

His skins as stinging from the salt, and his lungs burning, lips raw and swollen and yet he couldn't stop; he just needed to know you were there, that you were in his arms once again. He needed to confirm it to himself, that h could go home that night with you in his arms, the weight on his chest being that of your body curled up to him and not a rifle sitting across his body, that the coolness in the room would be the breeze from the fan in the corner and not from the harsh winds that would bite at him when he slept outside.

Life was buzzing on around you both, bodies bumping into you occasionally, and he was forced to part from you, no matter how much he wished he didn’t the sight of your red swollen lips and wide eyes being something that was burned into his memories, and he dropped one hand, the thumb of the other stills stroking over your skin slowly.

“I missed you.” You whispered, and he nodded his head, returning the sentiment in quiet words, before pressing his lips to your forehead, and ducking down until they were resting together, noses brushing as you shared the air between you both. “You’re all scratched up, and bruised.”

You were pouting a little, and he cringed, automatically, bringing his hand up to rub at the still somewhat fresh scar on his shoulder. It hasn’t been too serious, though and out of the other side, patched up in the field and scabbed over before he’d made it back to anywhere that could do real surgery, but he hadn't lost any function, and he’d been lucky enough that it hadn't been his preferred arm, pink raised flesh in a small circle on both sides to show the injury for the rest of his life. “If that bothers you, then you’re definitely not going to like what happened or my shoulder?”

You raised your brows a little at him, and he dropped the edge of his jacket, letting you push the vest aside, and a gasp leaving you as you ran your finger lightly over the puffy flesh. “Does it still hurt?” He shook his head, watching as you leaned in to place a kiss to the skin, eyes watering a little, before tugging his jacket back up and adjusting his collar, swallowing thickly as you tried to control your emotions.

“Are we going back to your place or a hotel?”

“I actually have other plans for us, I sold my place a couple of months back.”

“You sold it?” You hadn't mentioned anything about it in your letters, and he dipped down to grab his bag, his hand finding your arm, fingers dancing along your skin until your fingers were lacing with his own, and he lifted the back of your hand up to his mouth to press kisses to your knuckles as he waited for your explanation.

“I wanted to move home. My dad’s farm is getting out of control, and I want to take care of it, do it back up.”

He knew about your dad, a man who was in the army too, hence the family dance you’d been at when he’d met you, and he could imagine that it would certainly be in a little disrepair by now. He could only nod, the idea of leaving a quaint little farm life with you instead of a dangerous life of being shot at and wounded for months on end sounded perfect, your face lighting up at his agreement and approval.

“You sure that’s okay? We can get a hotel, if that’s what you want.”

He pulled you back in closer to him, pecking your lips gently, your body melting a little under his touch, and he felt like he swooned every time you physically reacted to his touch. “I think that sounds perfect, kitten, I can’t wait to see it.”

He was more than excited, because should you say yes to the question that was itching in the back of his throat to be asked, then he would be awarded that life too, he’d get to spend his days with you in the farmhouse, a simple life that he longed for with everything he had.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, we’re just waiting for my dad!” His brows pulled together, panic once again filling him as he looked up and over your shoulder into the rest of the station, but you were looking over his shoulder into the crowds of soldiers and families still meeting up, and he felt like ice was flooding through his veins. He knew your dad was in the army too, but he’d never asked which battalion or station, and the thought that it may be someone from one of the other units he had worked with lately made him anxious.

Your arms released him, you face lighting up once again, before you were swerving around his body, and he turned to watch you go, before you were taking an older man into your embrace, a body and face he couldn’t fail to recognise, and he felt like his throat was closing up as you were wrapped up into him. He had to check whether he was actually shaking with nerves, glad he was able to still himself when Stan pulled away, catching his eye and sending him a simple nod, clearly not having put the pieces together himself yet, and he hated the way that that the man h so admired stared at him, face morphing into shock when you came back over to him, slipping your fingers between his.

He couldn't even bring himself to curl his hand back around you own, fear striking through him as Stan came to stand before him, bag bumping roughly against his leg and he flinched, but held steady, and he had to remind himself to take a deep breath. “My daughter is the girls you’re-” In love with. Spent almost an hour telling me about last night. Coming home to. Going to propose to. “-dating?”

He felt like he could at least let out the breath he was holding as the surprise he had was yet to be ruined, and he finally gained a little composure, wrapping his fingers around your own and giving the man a stiff nod, suddenly feeling like he was back on deployment and taking orders, his gaze dropping down to the ground as he cleared his throat.

“You guys didn’t work that out?”

There was a little smile on your lips, and they both turned to look at you, a little shock evident on their faces, and you raised your brows at them both in a slightly challenging way, only making you look more adorable to him. It’s in moments like this that he would have liked to kiss you, or tell you how cute you are, but under the eyes of a man he looked up to like a father, who really was your father, he felt like he couldn’t breathe without scrutiny.

“No, we didn’t. Since you go by your mother’s last name, and Rapp simply refers to you as ‘his girl’, we didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.” He couldn't pick up on any emotion in his tone like he normally could, and it only made him feel more nervous, yet you didn’t seem to sense the overbearing tension hanging over the two men, simply telling them to grab their bags as you reached into your pocket for the car keys, jingling them in their faces as you began to rattle off about the cleaning you’d done to get it ready for their return, and the lasagne you’d made, waiting to be set off in the oven as soon as you all got home.

He opted for the backseat, loading his bags into the trunk and slinking into the car, seating behind your seat in hopes that it would stop you being able to see him when you glanced in the mirrors, hiding his internal panic as he stared out of the windows, trying to think over just how he was going to handle the situation. Luckily for him, you were more than happy to just chat with your father, because he hadn't been able to follow any of the conversations you were having. After all, his mind was spinning far too quickly as he tried to work out how his friend and mentor was feeling.

It was all a little overwhelming, the relaxed and loving welcome home that he’d been dreaming of felt shattered, the same stiffness in his body and worried twisting in his gut that he usually held when pushing the front lines was back, but his head was spinning in confusion, giving him an entirely new kind of paralysing fear. He had training for his work in the army, he knew what to do, textbooks and drill routines memorised from cover to cover, every piece of information from every course was burned into his memory like the lyrics to a favourite song, but there had never been any training regarding ‘what to do when you somehow manage to have the bad luck of falling head over heels in love with the daughter of one of the scariest men you’ve ever met, but she is the one™ and you cannot give her up under any circumstances’, or the shortened name of ‘how to survive being a dumbass: 101’. He must��ve been sick that day.

The farm didn’t look nearly as bad as he’d expected when they arrived, the outside paint was flaking a little and some of the fences were broken, but you had seemed to have been clearing out, a large pickup truck in the back piled high with a waterproof cover pulled over it, and the light on the front garden was turned on as the light began to fade, blue skies dulling to a pastel purple. He took his time, letting you press a kiss to his cheek when he said he’d get the bags from the back, so that you could go inside and set the food off on a slow cook, giving him a chance to move the ring from his bag to his pocket, and take a second to calm himself down, before following you both inside.

Stan was quick to take the bags, taking them away to the laundry room in claims of not wanting to be sitting around the stench of them, and your hands found his, eyes searching his own in a look he recognised well, trying to work him out and puzzle together what was wrong, and as the two of you were alone again, he let himself relax. You pulled him along towards the stairs, through the corridors and up to the stairs, before pushing open the door to a room that had more pink decorating the walls than he thought possible, a real eyesore is a he was being honest, and you clearly knew it too, if the giggles you let out were anything to go by.

“Welcome to where I grew up. Half the time, anyway. When I wasn’t with my mum.”

He took it all in, all the things that made you up now, having roots here, and he could recognise each and every one of them, his lips flicking up at the corners in the first real smile he’d had since the revelation at the train station. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking a little underneath him, and he shifted to finally pull his boots off of his feet, flexing his toes out and letting a groan leave his lips, feeling the tight leather finally free his foot up.

You chuckled, kneeling behind him on the bed and leaning over his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, to which he pushing up into the action, his body resting back against your own as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his chest, rubbing gently as you went to ease knotted muscles, and Mitch felt his eyes flutter shut as he allowed himself to let his worries slip away for a moment.

He wanted out of the army outfits, and the smell of dirt that he felt was ingrained in his skin, and he wanted into something comfortable, the clothes he’d left at your house having already found a place in the pink and white set of draws, he was sure.

“I’m going to get it all changed up before next time, it hasn’t been changed since I was a kid and got my own place, but since I’m moving home..” You trailed off, and he knew where you were going with it, picking up your hand and kissing along it, up you are until he was tugging you round to sit across his lap, and able to move his lips over your cheek. “I can show you some ideas I have over the next few days, you can help me decide how to decorate this place.”

“I’d love that.”

You nuzzled into his cheek, and he could hear your father moving around in the kitchen below, but right now it was just the two of you, and he squeezed you in closer to him in order to soak up every single moment that the two of you were having together. It may not have been how he wanted it to go, but as he settled into it a little more, it became more and more perfect with every moment.

There was a hand weaving through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, and he felt the rumbling feeling of satisfaction deep in his chest when you scratched lightly through the locks and kissed at the side of his mouth.

“Your hair is so long.”

“Been a busy few weeks, I didn’t have time to get anyone to cut it for me.” Mitch twisted his head, catching your lips with his and you let out a delicate sound into his mouth when he did. You twisted around, your hand slipping down to the base o his neck to hold on tightly, and he realised that this was exactly a life he could get used to, just kissing you and living a simple life on a farm in the middle of nowhere, because he just wanted peace, and quiet, and a family.

“Can I cut it for you?”

You were looking up at him now, weaving your fingers through his hair as you grinned a little, eyes pleading with him to say yes. “I’ll leave my hair wet when I get out of the shower, and you can cut it after I shave this off.” He scratched at his face, your lips pressing over his stubbled jaw once his fingers had moved.

You hopped up out of his lap, kicking his boots out of the way and into the corner of the room when he was up, before moving over to the drawers and tapping at the top two drawers. “Put all your stuff in here, and there are towels in a rack in the bathroom. The water tank is massive, so don’t worry about the water going cold. I’ll set a chair out and find my hair scissors.”

He reached out, pulling your lips back to his for a final kiss, and you grinned into his lips.

“Down the hall, on the left.”

He nodded, watching as you slipped off your shoes, pulling on a pair of slipped in place, and he ducked his head to hide your smile. He looked back fondly on the days when the two of you would stumble out of the elevator and into a hotel room, barely getting dressed for the first two or three days he was home, and unable to keep your hands off of one another, but he loved this so much more.

He loved being domestic with you, and watching you go about your day, and getting to spend hours on end with you sitting in his lap and talking to him about paint samples and whether you wanted a modern or classic cottage feel to your home, and it all felt like he dream. Coming home to someone who met him at the train station in pretty blue sundresses who made lasagne and cut his hair, and kissed his scars when he got hurt, he loved it all, but he didn’t want it anymore.

He patted down his pockets, taking the box he’d so carefully concealed from you and hiding it in the bottom drawer of the bedside table, alongside some old textbooks and what he was certain was a Nintendo DS, a few game cartridges beside it.

Grabbing a spare set of clothes from the drawer and heading to the bathroom, he flicked at the lock on the door, sealing it up before switching on the shower, running the water with his hand underneath it as he adjusted the temperature, a tired smile finding his face as he stepped up and into the tub, the shock at not having to rush through making him feel like time was actually slowing down.

His legs dropped out from underneath him, and he sunk down into the basin of the tub, his hands running through his hair and his legs pulled up so that he could drop his head down, feeling the water thrashing down onto his back. After what felt like hours of simply soaking in the heat, he reached out for the sponge, the shelf above him wobbling a little as he snatched up a bottle of shower gel too, and the fruity smell that came out from the second he lathered up and scrubbed down his skin made him feel like he was floating, a stark contrast to the medical-scented bar of soap that he was given on deployment.

He took a shower that was at least four times the limited length he got every time he was on duty, and had to physically drag himself off of the floor when he was done, absolutely certain that Stan was going to want to wash up too. Sealing a towel around his waist, he stepped into the mirror, smearing the steam away from it, and checking out the mess of facial hair dotted along his jaw and upper lip, all the way down to his chin.

He liked his stubble, liked the feel of it on his face and the way it protected his skin every time he scratched at his jaw anxiously. Instead of taking it all off, he smeared cream around the edges of his face and neck, gathering the cream up in the area that had grown out of control and searching for a razor, finding a packet of disposable ones set out, and he snatched the wrapper and covering from it, and running it along his skin. He trimmed his beard back gently with a pair of small scissors, patting his skin down and feeling more like himself as he slicked back the length of hair, suddenly feeling like he was gaining a little more of himself back with every action. With a baggy and soft cotton t-shirt, and a pair of worn old grey sweats, he shook himself down, bare feet wandering over the wooden floors as he scooped up his old clothes and used towel, dumping them into the laundry basket in the bedroom, and making his way downstairs.

Showering had made him feel like he was rinsing the stress and fears out of his life, and yet there was still the slight twisting and anxiety in his gut as he approached the downstairs of the house. You had a wooden chair set up on the porch outside, warmth of the day still flowing through the Virginia Country house, and Stan was standing in the kitchen, a bottle of beer raised to his lips as he flicked through the paper sitting on the counter, a pen in his other hand and the crossword half-completed.

You were all set up, sitting on the porch swing with a book in your hand as you swung slowly, one foot on the ground to push you, and he made his way over to you, your head snapping up when the door creaked a little. He rubbed his hands on his pants, settling down into a chair, your feet padding across the wood and hands smoothing a towel around his shoulders, letting him tip his head back to look up at you as you combed his hair back and out of his face.

“How short do you want it?”

“How short do you want it to be, sweetheart?” You grinned, tugging at it a little and leaning down to press an upside-down kiss to his lips, before evaluating the hair in your hands.

“How about the length it was when we met? Longer on the top but shorter on the sides, and you can gel it up when we go out.” You pushed a hand through his hair, before smirking at him a little, running a finger over the freshly trimmed stubble. “You look hot.”

“You look beautiful, kitten.”

You snorted at his joke, his heart fluttering at the sound of it as he looked up at you, closing his eyes as he felt you begin to comb his hair into sections. “You’re staring up my nose and at my double chin, I definitely don’t look beautiful. But, I will accept your compliment anyway.”

“You should, because I love you no matter what, even if I can see right up into your brain.”

You slapped at his arm lightly, causing a laugh to leave him, before he could feel you beginning to trim and snip at his hair, pieces of it falling down across his skin and fluttering away to the floor. It didn’t take nearly as long as he thought it would, and you apologised throughout the entire process, somehow switching between confidence in yourself and being sure you were fucking it up, telling him how great you thought it looked, before telling him that if he hated you wouldn't be mad. Worst case scenario, it came out awfully and the two of you had to shave his head back down to the buzzcut he had in freshman year, but there was no call for that yet, and so he waited patiently as you worked on his head.

He knew it was coming to an end when you were buzzing at the back of his neck with an electric razor, his chin perched on his hands as he leaned forwards, staring out across the Virginia countryside at a sight he would love to wake up to and drink his coffee upon watching for every day in the rest of his life, and he could only hope that you would say yes to him, and grant him a life he so dreamed of, with a loving wife by his side and a peaceful job that brought him nothing buts serenity.

When you were done, you rounded to the front of him, one hand holding a mirror behind your back and the other cupping his cheek, leaning down to kiss him more firmly than you had before. His lips parted for you, a soft moan falling from his and your tongue peeked out to play with his, and yet he couldn't quite chase away that feeling of dread, the crashing realisation that the kitchen had an open plan wall space, and that Stan could see directly out through the clear door straight to you both made him snap back.

Your brows were furrowed as you looked at him, pink cheeks taking place he was sure, and he offered you a smile that you didn’t return as you instead pursed your lips, but seemed to let it go. You held up a mirror for him, silently waiting for his approval as he took it in, brushing his fingers along the now dry hair, and shaking his head a little to free it of the chopped off but trapped pieces.

“You like it?”

“I love it, it looks great. In a week or so, when we’re feeling up it, we can go into town and get it neatened up, but I think you did an awesome job.” You finally game him another grin, and he waited for the kiss that usually followed when you smiled at him like that, but you never moved, hands clasped in front of you and you rolled a little on the balls of your feet.

“Well, I’ll go and check on the lasagne then.”

He knew it was a result of his actions, but he still felt saddened, especially when you slipped by him without even pressing your lips to his cheek either, and he sighed at his nerves. He was going to ask you to marry him, whether Stan approved of it or not, and just because the person who was arguably the closest person he had to daily beside you may not like it, he still loved you with everything he had, he just needed time to process it, but he hated that it was hurting you in the meantime.

By the time he’d swept up all the leftover hair with a garden brush and brought the towels and the chair back inside, you were serving up three plates, the meat and pasta calling out to him, and Mitch couldn't quite remember that last he’d had a home-cooked meal, a plate placed in front of him that he could barely resist. The fresh bottle of beer placed in front of him by Stan felt like a peace offering of sorts, and a smile was given in return, nods of heads seeming like the olive branch was accepted, and yet the heavyweight in his stomach still existed.

He made an effort to tune into the dinner conversation, though, and to listen to what was being said, and to chip in at times. It mostly consisted of you complaining about the troubles you’d been through when getting the place ready, and your encounter with a spider you swore was the size of your fist dropping down out of one of the ceiling corners at you, and that you’d cried while smacking it wit a brush until certain it was dead, both him and Stan getting a kick out of it as you pouted in your seat.

You also told him about the plans you had, Stan’s eyes flicking over to him every time you mentioned them going back out on deployment, and he felt like his throat was getting tighter and tighter each time, making it harder to swallow his food, or even breath, and the ring upstairs felt as though it was screaming out to him, to pop the question and just get it done so that his wonder would be known.

He helped you wash up, your hip bumping against his as you laughed and joked, letting him dry the pots as he handed them to stand who put them away, before you were wiping your hands dry, left standing with the two of them in silence, as the conversation seemed to run out. He could feel your eyes on him, but his own were locked with your father’s a staredown that seemed to say everything there was that hung in the air between them, and you patted his arm, before squeezing through, mumbling about going for a bath before heading upstairs, and leaving the two of them alone.

The contest only lasted a few seconds longer, before Stan was making his way back to the table collapsing down into the chair and picking the paper back up, staring at it with a burning gaze, and he crossed his arms over his chest in what was more like a protective armour tan a dominating stance.

“I’m still going to marry her.”

“If she says yes.” Stan huffed, and he wiped a hand over his face, swallowing down his emotions and taking the other seat opposite him.

“I know you don’t think I’m good enough for her, but I love your daughter with everything I have, and I’m still going to ask her to spend the rest of her life with me, because that’s what I want, with her.”

He finally earned the rest to a simple glance, the newspaper falling flat with a hustle of papers, as Stan took a long swing of the drink, eyes narrowing at him as he set it down. “What makes you think that I think you’re not good enough for her? Putting words in my mouth now, Rapp?”

“No, those are your words.” Hurley raised his eyebrows a little bit, prompting an explanation from him, and Mitch leaned back in his seat. “Just over three years ago. You told me your daughter had started seeing someone, I asked you if you liked the guy, and you said no. You said you hadn't met him yet, but that he wasn’t good enough for your daughter, you just knew it.”

Stan’s lips flicked up at the sides as he remembered the comment, a low chuckle falling from him. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t find it as funny now that I know it’s me.” Stan studied him for a moment, and Mitch shrugged, deciding that whether Stan was going to give his approval or not, there was a chance they’d be family own day, and so he should know why he was in the army in the first place. “Your daughter is all I have, she’s my everything. I had no one when I joined up, I was seventeen when enlisted, my parents were dead and I was just another kid coming up through the system with nothing to show for it, and so I looked for a family wherever I could get it. The army offered that for a while, made me feel less alone, and useful. But then I met (Y/N), and everything seemed to change, and my focus shifted on finding a family to just getting to come home to her, so whether you like it or not, I love her.”

The silence that fell over them both when he finished speaking felt more deafening than the bombs and bullets he’d been forced to listen go off for the last few months, and he had to physically force himself to stop the tapping of his leg that happened every time he got jittery. “You love her?”

“I do.”

“You know, she has a history of dating some pretty bad guys. At first, I think she genuinely didn’t know any better, of course, she was in high school, and so I grounded her. Then, I think she started dating bad guys to spite me and her mom when he broke up. When I heard she was dating someone new, I just assumed it was another guy who was going to break her heart.” Mitch kind of wished he had his own beer at this moment, or maybe a full bottle of rum, anything to take the stinging edge off of this conversation. “Are you going to do that? Are you going to up and leave her?”

“Sir, she’d have to break my heart to get rid of me, and I’d still love her then.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He hummed, before picking up his paper, mumbling to himself as he searched around for his pen, before finding it placed behind his ear, going back to figuring out the crossword from a newspaper that was days old, and he could just search the answers up online, but that wasn’t what mattered right now.

“That sounded an awful lot like a blessing.”

“Well, of course, it was.” Stan grouched, before lowing his paper a little to peer over the top. “You’re committed, and you care, and I’ve known you for years. You’re a good man, Mitch, exactly the kind of person I want for my little girl to be with, and it’s even better that I already know you, I don’t have to do the intimidating dad act. You already know I could shoot you with pinpoint accuracy from a hundred metres away.”

He smirked at the end of his sentence, but with his nerves gone, Mitch was able to read the older man’s body language once again, laughing both at the joke, and to himself as he watched Stan get frustrated and fold the paper back up, tucking it under his arm and patting Mitch on the shoulder. He felt as though he may die of relief, feeling the calmness wash over him in euphoric waves so strong he felt high, and he covered his face with his hands, sighing to himself quietly for a second, having been worrying over nothing.

“I’m going to the pub in town, I’ll be back in the early hours. I have some friends who owe me some drinks.”

He simply waved him off, watching out of the window as Stan wandered out to the pickup truck, peeping at the contents underneath the tarp, and scoffing before lifting the edge up. He pulled back out what could only be described as one of the most hideous, eighties-style lamps that he had ever seen, hiding it in the barn before covering it back up and setting off on his journey. He contemplated telling you about the retrieved piece of hideous furniture, but Mitch had just won a really big battle, so if Stan wanted the ugly lamp then he could have the ugly lamp.

You were singing to yourself, the sound of your feet on the floor telling him that you were finished in the bath, and only a second later, water was draining away, audibly through the pipes, and he placed himself down on the edge of the bed as he waited for you, now nervous for entirely new reasons.

It took a few minutes before you arrived, your hair neatly combed and skin clean of makeup, a baggy shirt and a pair of leggings covering you, and Mitch swore you looked just as beautiful right now as you did when he’d first met you, all dressed up with red lips and a ball gown and a gorgeous up-do in your hair. You jumped a little upon seeing him, but gave him a soft smile, making your way to your dresser and searching around or some cream, before applying it to your face delicately.

“Your dad went out, said he was going for some drinks with his friends. Apparently, he’s owed some drinks.” You seemed to know just who, laughing to yourself in the mirror as you worked on your skin, and he fidgeted a little with his hands, watching you go. “Can we talk, though? It’s pretty important, and we have a little while to ourselves, so I figured now was a good time.”

You stilled your movements, before nodding slowly, turning in your chair to talk to him. “Are we breaking up?”

“Hold on, what?”

“If you don’t want to be with me anymore, that’s okay, but I’d rather you just tell me than try and hint at it, or get me to do it.” You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze leaving his own, looking down at the floor, and continuing on before he had a chance to figure out what to say.

“What makes you think I want that?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day, ever since you got off the train. You used to be so excited to see me, and you’ve barely spoken to me all night, and you don’t want to kiss me anymore, so I feel like you want to break up with me.” He felt stunned, but was crossing the room before he could stop himself. With own hand on the edge of the dresser and the other on your cheek, he pulled your mouth up to meet his own, a fiery kiss that made everything inside of him burst open in fireworks when you squeaked with shock, lips frozen against his own as he tried to tempt you into kissing him back and you eventually caved.

Your lips meshed with his own, sweet kisses that had you lifting your hands up to hold his face in return, before you were standing, shaky legs pushing you to meet him, your bodies pressing together and he snaked an arm around your waist to hold you close. He didn’t want to let you go, he didn’t want you to ever think that he would, and he certainly never wanted you to doubt his love for you again. “I don’t want to break up with you, kitten, I want to marry you.”

“What?” You were still a little breathless when he spoke the words, but he shook his head, laughing lightly before pulling you away and sitting you down on the edge of the bed, before reaching over to the drawer in which he had a ring hidden away.

Producing the little velvet box, he found himself down on one knee, holding it up to you and grinning at the look on your face. “I love you, so much. You have given me everything I never thought I’d get in life. I don’t want to go back to the army, and I don’t want to be away from you anymore. When I signed up, and I had nothing to live for, and so serving - and ultimately dying - for my country seemed like a good way to go about my life, but then you walked in. With your pretty eyes and your jokes and your inability to let me just have a fling. You were supposed to be temporary, and now I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who asked me if I wanted to get breakfast with you the following morning.” You sniffed back some tears, laughing at the memory yourself, and he nodded his head bushing a little as he did.

“Because I knew from the moment you first kissed me that I needed more from you.” He wiped at his own cheeks, before reaching up to you, and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I promise you, I’m never going to want to stop kissing you, or loving you. I don’t want to go back to the army. I want to live here, on this farm, with you. I want to do it up, and live our lives, and I don’t want to go away anymore. I want to have kids, and ride pickup trucks, and maybe a farm cat, and I want to reconstruct the broken fireplace downstairs because there’s a fern in it, baby, why have you got a fern in the fireplace?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, laughing at him as you sunk down onto the floor before him, and he kneeled there carefully, waiting for your reply. “It’s broken! It was ugly just sitting there empty!”

“I’ll fix it for you. For us. If you’ll have me. I love you so much, kitten, and I want to know, if you’ll do me the honour of marrying me?”

“In what world would I say no?” You whispered, before your arms were around his neck, his back meeting the carpet as you kissed him with such force that the two of you rolled backwards, and he could barely kiss you for the grin on his face. “I would love to marry you, Mitch Rapp.”

He pushed the ring onto your finger, twisting it a little as you admired it. It was a perfect fit, and he internally congratulated himself on having gotten it right, his hands finding your hips and slipping underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin slowly, watching as you tried to compose yourself, and he couldn't remember a time before this that he’d ever been happier. “Don’t leave me. Not ever.”

“Why would I ever want to leave my handsome soldier, hm?”

“Handsome farmer, now.” He teased, picking you up underneath your thighs as you shrieked at the movement, clinging to him tightly, before your back was meeting the mattress, and you were pulling him back down into another kiss.

You were asleep when Mitch heard the door open and close once again, the locks being flicked and he paused in his movements, running his fingers up and down your bare back slowly, his head tipping to the side as he listened out. It was clearly your father, shoes being kicked off and low sighs sounding or as he moved around, glasses from the cabinet clinking before the tap was running, and he figured that Stan was getting a glass of water, trying to get himself ready for bed in the late hour.

Your hand was still splayed across his chest beside your face, ring twinkling in the light coming in through the windows, and with a groan, he shifted himself out of the bed, watching as you shuffled around a little your hand catching onto him before he went, pouted lips pulling him back down for a quick kiss, before you were pulling a pillow in close to your body instead and replacing him with the cushion as you drifted back off.

Tugging his sweats back on, h swiped his short from the floor, trying to get it the right way out before leaving the room, and finally succeeding, the material taking place on his body only a second later. He pulled shut the blinds, and placed a kiss to your temple, before adjusting the blankets over your body and leaving the room, bedroom door clicking shut quietly behind him.

Stan was already anticipating his arrival, staring at the staircase as he came down them, and he got another glass, filling it with water and silently offering it to Mitch has he leaned against the counter.

“Did you ask her?” He simply nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck and mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ in return for the drink taking a long sip of it as Stan stared at him, before letting out an exaggerated sigh as he decided to press further, and a blush crawled along Mitch’s neck. “Well? What did she say?”

“She said yes.” He rubbed at the spot on his own finger where a ring would soon be, and the other man gave him was possibly the brightest smile he’d ever seen him hold, before clinking the two glasses of water together in a ‘cheers’ motion. Only a second later, he was being pulled into his embrace, water glasses discarded, and Mitch felt tears spring to his eyes as he clung onto Stan just as tightly, the act of fatherly affection being something he had so sorely missed, and definitely something he could get used to. When they pulled back, he tried not to show the effect it had on him, but Stan overlooked it if he did see it, gripping his shoulder and squeezing comfortingly instead.

“Welcome to the family, kid.”

245 notes · View notes

aspenroman · 3 years ago

Text

and i saw sparks (jaque x mc)

Summary: MC struggles to pick up the pieces after her catastrophic fight with Jaque.

Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2515

A/N: I caved and bought VIP and binged Ms. Match. I adored it, it was so fucking funny but I wish there was more angst. This is my continuation of Chapter 12 and 13 but with more sadness. Inspired by the song “sparks” by coldplay. bold and italicized words are lyrics from the song

did i drive you away? i know what you’ll say

MC can’t focus on anything besides the rushing of blood in her ears. Her entire nervous system is overwhelmed by everything going on, especially the betrayal by Jaque. Her dad has disappeared, run off somewhere and instead of being able to chase after him, she’s stuck here with her, in a dumb argument.

“You threw Veronica, my dad, me, and your own integrity under the bus tonight, Jaque. You can’t talk your way out of this one,” MC screams.

Jaque rolls her eyes, “You backed me into a corner! I had no choice! No good choice! Veronica likes your dad! A lot! Richard was the only one who might be able to win against that connection.”

you’ll say, “sing one we know”

“Veronica could be happy with my dad. That’s what she asked us to find her. Love. I can’t believe you forgot what this is all about.”

Jaque laughs, her annoyingly beautiful face contorting into a sneer, “No, you forgot what this is all about.”

She began to pace as she spoke, practically spinning in place as she huffs. MC watches on, her fists clenched.

“When does what I want get to matter? When do I get to live my dreams? Why do I have to fight you for the position of my dreams?” Jaque shouts, her voice cracking at the end with emotion.

i promise you this, i’ll always look out for you

Deep down, MC feels sympathy for her. But the twinge of sympathy is buried by overflowing anger and hurt. She pushes any kind feelings aside, focusing instead on her rage.

“You’re insane,” MC breathes.

i say “oh”, i say “oh”

Jaque turns on her, laughing bitterly, “Insane? I’m insane? What’s insane is that you managed to blunder your way to the finale. I spent a decade earning my position, you’re lucky I brought you to the gala. I’m the only reason you’re here.”

“Lucky? I don’t feel very lucky to have met you right now,” MC shakes her head, “I really thought you were more than...more than this. I thought you were more than the woman I met forever ago. I thought you had morals, I thought you had a heart, I thought...”

“You thought what?” Jaque’s voice lowers from a shout, but her tone is still strained with frustration.

my heart is yours, it’s you that i hold on to

“I thought you loved me, the same way I love you,” MC smiles weakly, but her eyes water.

Jaque doesn’t meet her eyes. MC takes a step forward and Jaque steps back.

“Well, you thought wrong. It was always about the competition, love was never in the equation,” Jaque says tersely, “what we had wasn’t love. It was lust.”

yeah that’s what i do

“You’re telling me you took me to meet your mom just so Richard could get those flowers? You’re telling me all those times you showed up unannounced, all those secret glances and touches were fake? All a part of some elaborate plan?” MC questions.

“Yeah,” Jaque still doesn’t meet her eyes, “and you played right into my plans. I barely had to lift a finger, you were too busy falling to realize I was never going to catch you.”

MC freezes, the words finally sinking in. She can feel the gazes of hundreds of people on her, watching her heart shatter into billions of pieces. Some sadistic part of her hopes that the fragments manage to hurt Jaque, but MC knows that’s not really how this works. She knows she gave her heart to someone who was never really hers.

It makes sense now. All the dancing around labels, all the sneaking around in favor of “not breaking the rules”. All the things Jaque spew about her family, in an effort to get MC to trust her. Jaque was right about one thing, she had more experience professionally. And in that moment, it seemed to MC that Jaque used every technique to get MC to think they were perfect matches.

i say “oh”, i cry “oh”

MC can’t get her brain to form words, all she can concentrate on is not falling completely apart. Her eyes sting, but she doesn’t look up, she can’t. Instead, she trains her gaze on the road a few feet away. She doesn’t say anything as she goes, she just starts in one direction.

Jaque yells after her, but the words don’t even phase her. In fact, MC can’t even remember what she said. She walks for miles, away from the gaudy life of the rich Upstate New Yorkers and back toward where she thinks the city is. It takes almost an hour before she spots a cab and manages to flag it down. It’s a miracle she even finds one, and she gets in and mumbles her address.

She hugs herself in the back of the cab, eyes staring unseeingly out the window. Soon enough, the bright lights of the city that never sleeps come into view. She thinks it should be a comfort, but it doesn’t help. When MC finally gets to her place, she pays the fare and stumbles up into her apartment.

As soon as the door is unlocked, she walks inside and slams it behind her. MC barely manages to lock it before her legs give out and she crumbles to the ground. Her chest heaves for breath, her throat closing up as she panics. Tears stream down her cheeks, unable to control herself anymore. Her nails dig into her palms, trying desperately to calm herself down.

yeah, i saw sparks

She’s had panic attacks before, more so in the past few months because of the matchmaking business. Although then she had Jaque to call up and now she has no one. She can’t rationalize how Jaque would be willing to call her at 2am, to hold her through breakdowns, and not care an ounce about her.

yeah, i saw sparks

MC tries to intellectualize her feelings, tries to calm herself down the way Jaque taught her to, but nothing works. Nothing works because everything reminds her of Jaque and Jaque is the one causing her this pain. Her heart aches and for a second, she thinks she might be dying as her chest tightens. A pain from behind her sternum makes it hard to breathe and she loses her breath, before it releases in a big sob.

She’s not okay.

---

Maggie tries to come over the next day, but MC can’t face her. She ignores Maggie’s desperate knocking, pretending that she’s asleep and turns her phone off completely. The rest of the weekend passes in a daze, MC unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling and dwell in her feelings.

When Monday rolls around, MC knows it’s time to pull herself together. She doesn’t know how she will, but she has to.

“No competition is worth this,” she murmurs to herself as she pulls on her favorite blouse and a pair of dress pants. She fixes her hair in the bathroom mirror, putting on makeup to cover the bags underneath her eyes. Her eyes are still swollen and a bit red, but she tries not to draw attention to them.

She finally turns her phone on as she enters the building, her phone vibrating with a billion messages. Most are from Maggie, while some are surprisingly from Jaque. MC doesn’t even bother reading them as she sees the text from Veronica, summoning her to her office.

and i saw sparks

MC knocks on the office door and after a second, she enters. Unsurprisingly, Jaque is already there, engaged in deep conversation with Veronica. They both turn to her as she enters.

“Where have you been?” Veronica speaks, “I’ve been trying to contact you all weekend.”

“Family stuff, won’t happen again,” MC lies, forcing on a smile.

“Good,” Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose, “onto more pressing matters, we’ve had an unexpected request from-”

Veronica keeps talking, but MC tunes her out. Instead, she keeps her eyes glued to the space behind Veronica’s head. MC can feel Jaque’s intense gaze on her, but she refuses to look at her. She doesn’t think she can bear it right now.

“Dismissed,” Veronica finishes and MC nods, swiftly leaving the room. She walks briskly down the hall and into her office.

Sunlight streams through her windows. Without hesitation, MC slams the blinds closed, plunging the room into darkness. She closes and locks her office door before settling into her chair. The room feels colder somehow, without the presence of either Maggie or Jaque.

MC takes a shaky breath, resting her elbows on the table. She closes her eyes, putting her head between her hands. The darkness of the room brings her comfort. She doesn’t know how much time she spends like that, before she finally pulls herself together.

Turning on her computer, she searches the database for the person Veronica was talking about. MC missed most of the debriefing, but luckily the system had already assigned the client to her and Jaque. She spends some time going through the man’s profile, making notes in a separate document.

Hours pass like that, MC hunched over her computer and trying to make sense of this “unmatchable” person and finding people who might like him. She has spreadsheet after spreadsheet, trying to do things the analytical way. Jaque’s way, her brain reminds her and it stirs up a bitter feeling.

“I can’t fucking do this,” MC mumbles, standing up from her chair. She can’t matchmake when her own love life is in shambles, when every piece of advice she used and gave to other people made her blind. How can she give advice out, when no one loves her? She has no prospects anymore, it’s pathetic.

MC paces back and forth, trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and she freezes.

yeah, i saw sparks

“I know you’re in there,” Jaque’s voice rings out, “everyone else already went home. It’s almost seven.”

MC glances at her phone, to see Jaque’s words are true. She doesn’t even feel hungry, even though she hasn’t eaten today. She just feels empty. Without saying anything, MC sits down in front of the door, resting her back against it.

“Can you unlock the door? Can we talk, please?” Jaque pleads.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” MC says plainly, her voice hoarse still from their screaming match.

“I get it,” Jaque’s voice is softer and MC can hear her sit down on the other side of the door, “just give me five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

“Okay,” MC concedes, closing her eyes.

“I lied on Friday, okay? I was angry and I took it out on you. Veronica’s been like...like family to me. I thought that maybe if her and Richard could get back together, it would be like fixing my parents’ divorce. And I... I was jealous. You’re a really good matchmaker, like really good. And, it’s scary,” Jaque tells her.

“This competition isn’t worth it,” MC ignores most of her statement, “you can have the CEO spot. I’m quitting anyways.”

“What?” Jaque says.

“If I can’t even keep my personal life from falling apart, I shouldn’t be a matchmaker,” MC’s voice cracks, “everything I’ve told my clients, I followed and it didn’t work out. I shouldn’t be here.”

“You should be here, you deserve to be here, are you...are you crying?” Jaque’s voice is surprisingly gentle.

“No,” MC sniffles, tears running down her cheeks.

“Please, just open the door MC, let me explain,” Jaque murmurs, “please baby.”

MC rubs at her eyes, taking in a shaky breath as she stands up and reluctantly unlocks the door. She takes a step back. The door gently swings open, light from the hall flooding into the room.

Jaque is silhouetted by the light, and MC hates how effortlessly put together she seems. Still, when Jaque takes a step forward, MC sees the tears in her eyes.

sing it out

Jaque takes one look at her and then breaks out into sobs. Alarmed, MC’s eyes widen as Jaque’s shoulders shake. She takes a hesitant step forward before wrapping her arms around her. Jaque leans into the embrace.

“I lied, okay? I lied,” Jaque says through sobs, “I love you, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life and I thought that if I just pushed you away I could win. But I can’t, I can’t deny what you make me feel. This competition isn’t worth losing you, nothing is worth losing you. You’re...you’re my match, MC. As soon as you left on Friday, I ran after you. I got into the first cab and made my way to your apartment. But I couldn’t even take a step inside, I’m a coward, okay? I...I thought pushing you away would solve my problems. But that’s not how this work, love isn’t something you can hide. Fuck the competition, fuck the CEO role, fuck everything. None of that means anything to me, if I can’t have you.”

Jaque clings to her, her fingertips digging into MC’s shoulder blades. MC is content with letting Jaque hurt her, if only to feel her in her arms one last time.

“You really hurt me, Jaque, one apology won’t fix that,” MC says.

“I know, but would it help if we have makeup sex?” Jaque jokes before sniffling.

“You’re on thin ice,” MC rolls her eyes.

“...That wasn’t a no,” Jaque tells her.

MC pulls back, hitting her on the arm. Jaque yelps before a soft smile breaks out on her face.

“Just please stay here, even if you don’t want to take me back, that’s okay. Just please stay with the company, with Veronica, with-, with me,” Jaque says to her, eyes sparkling.

MC mulls it over before she nods, “Okay.”

“Can I kiss you, please?” Jaque says desperately.

MC rolls her eyes again before grabbing onto Jaque’s collar and pulling her close. Their lips meet, the taste of mint toothpaste mixing with the salt from their tears. It’s a slow, gentle kiss and MC is the first one to break it.

“Did you just brush your teeth?” MC murmurs.

Jaque grins, “Maybe.”

MC lets out a quiet laugh, “You’re a dork.”

“But I’m your dork,” Jaque says.

“You act like I forgive you already, one kiss won’t change that,” MC tells her honestly.

“I know, but it doesn’t hurt,” Jaque smiles before kissing her again.

When they finally pull away to breathe, Jaque grins at her. MC smiles up at her, a half-smile but it’s the most she can muster. The hurt from Jaque’s words won’t fade overnight and they’re far from being official, but MC feels a little less shaky about where they’re at. Maybe it would be good to take things slow, try and approach things like a normal couple would-

“Is it time for makeup sex?” Jaque whispers.

Or not.

#ms match #playchoices #choices: stories you play #choices #jack x mc #angst #my writing #mine #hurt/comfort #wlw #jaque x mc #jaqueline monroe #jaqueline x mc

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lesbian-deadpool · 4 years ago

Text

New Surroundings

Part One Of Two: “Glad You’re Back.”

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,856

Warnings: Amnesia, metal limbs, death, bombs, seizures, a hard af ball being thrown at a face, I think that might be it.

Request: Yes. Thank you sm anon for donating to BLM!!

Summary: You forgot her. You just wondered when you’d remember.

Ko-Fi

(Not my GIF)

***

You don't remember.

Haunting isn't it?

How those three words can chill someone to their core. Coming up blank when they try to pinpoint a part of their lives.

It could positively turn someone's veins into ice. The blood flowing underneath cold, like a rushing current underneath a frozen river.

Your name.

Your serial number.

Your rank.

Those were the first things running through your mind, as you realised the darkness you were seeing all around you, was because of your own eyelids. Nothing was blinding you, nor keeping them shut. Nothing but the heaviness they held. For reasons, you did not know. But, whatever it was, you knew that it was not good.

You didn't know where you were.

Or what had happened to bring you to a place that felt strange and abnormal to your gut. It was just that sense you had. Forged from your years in the military.

When you thought hard about where you were, you came up with a blank. There was just nothing there. Nothing that told you where you were, how you cam to be here, not even if you were safe. Nothing.

The last thing that you could remember was laying on the warm, sandy ground. Conversing with your squadmates.

Things had been peaceful at that moment, out in the sun, having a few minutes of downtime.

But now?

Now your eyelids began to flutter.

You were coming through. Retreating from the dark clutches the back of your mind had upon you.

A high-pitched ringing swam through your brain, whilst you tried to focus your blurry vision, blinking heavily. When the ringing slowly started to dull, the realisation dawned on you that the ringing was not blaring around you, like some faulty radio that you could turn off. But was your own ears.

Yeah.

Your previous perceptions were correct.

Nothing about this was right.

That feeling swelled now. Vibrating in your bones.

A muffled yell rang through the room, and a cloudy figure ran towards you, fiddling with something in front of you. They kept yelling. The shouts grated against the slowly dispelling ringing in your ears.

Then.

Then you began to hear them clearer.

"Y/L/N!"

What?

"Y/L/N!"

Ugh.

"Y/L/N!"

Oh, yeah! That's your name!

Suddenly, as if you had had a bucket of ice water thrown on you, you snapped out of your hazed state.

Your vision was clear.

The ringing in your ears dulled into nothing within a few seconds.

And now you could fully see the man in front of you. The one looking shocked beyond belief. The one, you realised, who had freed you from your binds on the metal recliner-like chair.

The flesh on your left wrist bright red, raw, and light scars littered it. Ones old and new. Your other wrist hardly damaged, just a few small scratches adorned the metal there.

Wait...

METAL?!

Your arm hadn't been made of metal before. It was flesh, muscle, skin, and bone. Not this!

Many thoughts ran through your head at that moment, looking around the dark room you were in, with the close to erratic man, who wore a black kevlar suit.

What the fuck was going on?! Where were you? What happened? Who was the blonde guy in front of you-? And how did he know your name? And why in the fuck did you have a metal arm?!

To name a few...

"Y/L/N!"

"What?!" you yelled back.

"We gotta go!" the blonde man said, handing you a pistol.

Okay, yeah. That's fine, you knew how to use a gun.

As you pushed yourself out of the "chair" that you were previously strapped too, you followed the unknown man through the half-open door, and into the hallway. You finally resonated the thunderous, ongoing, heavy fire going on throughout the whole building.

"This way." He gestured forward with his head, his gun raised, with yours mirroring him, noticing you looking around the hallway curiously.

So, you followed him.

This strange man. That you just met. Not knowing if you could even trust him.

But he knew your name.

So, you trusted him more than most others right now.

Not having many other options, that weren't stupid as all hell. You followed him.

"We've been after this base for some time now."

"Right," you said, voice slightly conveying your confusion as to why he was telling you this.

"We just never expected to find you here- Or at all, really. God only knows what HYDRAs been doing to you, all of these years."

"Okay..." you replied slowly, before the rest of his sentence dawned on you, "Wait. HYDRA?"

"Yeah. Those slimy motherfuckers have been making their comeback," he noted, "But we're working hard to eradicate them before they get too up and running."

Hydra?

Like the snakey Greek water-monster?

That's a real thing?!

"Anyway," the blonde scoffed, with a smile upon his face, "Who do you think has been holding you here, all these years?"

"I... don't know."

Before your new-found ally could reply, a person dressed in all black, with a patch sewed onto their chest, that looked like a red skull and some type of octopus tentacles surrounding it. Who was- aiming a gun at you!

Yep! He's a bad guy!

You cleverly deducted.

Swiftly you raised your borrowed gun and fired a single shot. Hitting him right between the eyes.

"Huh," the blonded chuckled once at your marksmanship, "Ya still got it, Y/L/N."

"Thanks," you uttered, "When did I lose it?" you asked with a cocky smile upon your lips.

"Not as long as I've known you."

"What?" you whispered to yourself, continuing in that same hushed tone as you watched him run down the hall, and past the man you just shot down, "How do you know me?"

Then you were taking off after him before he could get too far away.

***

You said nothing the whole way to wherever the hell the blonde guy and his teammates were taking you. You just sat and processed everything.

Hundreds of questions running through your mind, as you stared off into space in front of you.

By the way, he and his team were glancing your way every other second, you knew they wanted to talk to you. Ask you question after question, that ran through their own heads, that you knew you would not be able to answer. But they didn't bother you out of respect, and you obviously wanting to be alone right now. That, or they didn't know how to talk to you, at this moment.

Soon enough you were back at "home base" or "HQ", as they called it.

"Y/L/N," said the same blonde man that helped you escape, leading you out of the back hatch of the 'Quinjet', "Welcome back to SHIELD."

You walked off of the jet and onto an aircraft carrier.

The bright blue sky surrounding it. Not a grey cloud in sight.

"SHIELD." You nodded once, deciding to go along with everything you were told, by the man who obviously knew you. Until you could talk yo someone more senior, that is. "Right."

That's when you noticed it.

The sky.

There was only sky.

No water in sight.

Then you saw the gigantic thrusters.

You were in. The sky.

Your eyed widened at the realization, the blonde beside you noticing this. He let out a hearty laugh and slapped your shoulder blade. His hand hitting a portion of metal, making it thud dully.

"Oh yeah, we got the hellicarriers back up and running, while you were away."

"Right. Okay." You nodded again, voice trying to stifle the shock you still felt running through you.

"This way, Y/L/N. You're wanted."

"Wanted?" you asked as he began to lead you towards a tall man wearing an eyepatch. "By who?"

"Fury, of course," he laughed heartedly," He'll want to debrief you on all of this."

"Aha."

You never took your eyes off of the man before you. You assumed he was 'Fury' or someone who would be taking you to them.

"Y/L/N," the new man said, nodding to you once in greeting.

"So, you're Fury? The boss of all this shit?" You waved your fingers around.

He looked at you somewhat confused. As the blonde uttered a confused, "What?" behind you.

"Yes."

"Good." You smiled, before your whole demeanour changed, entirely. "What the fuck is going on?!"

***

So, you lost your memory -that much you already knew- and apparently, you were some Agent at this SHIELD Organisation, and a member of some team called The Avengers.

Well, you were.

They thought you were dead- Well, who wouldn't after you had been missing, for the last six or so years?

If only you could remember anything of the last eleven years.

"So, now what?" you asked, sitting before Fury, in his office, "I don't remember you, anybody- I don't remember that blonde guy that saved me from those "HYDRA" dudes," you stressed 'HYDRA' questioningly, because you had only heard of them today, and had no clue who they were. All that you knew, from what Fury had told you, was that they were the bad guys.

You could have guessed that from the way one of them was trying to shoot you before, but okay.

However, you didn't know if you could even believe the man before you.

That is until he showed you proof. Documents, pictures, videos of you around the base, laughing with people you had never met before. Some even had you training recruits in them.

You had this whole life here.

And you couldn't remember any of it.

"That man was Tompson. He was a part of the team you directed before you joined The Avengers. He was one of your close friends."

"I've never met that man before in my life," you told him assuredly, pointing at his closed office door.

"You have."

"But I can't remember, Fury!" you yelled jumping up from your seat, "The last thing I remember, was being in Afganistan, talking to my friends."

At that, his face grew sad. He remembered how much you cared for your squadron, they were like your family.

You noticed this.

"What? What happened to my friends?"

"They died," he told you bluntly. Shocking you to your very core, more so than finding out aircraft carriers could fucking fly. Tears welled up in your eyes, "It was a bomb. You saw it all... they didn't survive it. All but one. But he... he lost most of his brain ability. You used to visit him... he had a seizure a few years ago. He died too, I'm so sorry."

"Who-" you choked out, "Who was it?"

"Petersburg."

Your face contorted into nothing but one of pain. Tears finally slipping down your cheeks, as you turned to face away from Fury.

That man was like your brother. The closest thing that you ever had to one. And to find out what happened to him, it felt like getting shot.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Fury repeated.

Before you could get a chance to reply, the door burst open, interrupting you. And in ran a red-head.

"Romanoff!" Fury bellowed in the background.

You were surprised when the small woman threw herself at you, but your reflexes kicked in just in time, and you managed to catch her. Holding her against your body as she hugged you.

"Oh my, God," she breathed, trying to keep her emotions at bay. She pulled back, holding your face between her sort hands, you could see her eyes shifting from pure relief and happiness, to worry, "Y/N, are you okay? I've missed you so much, baby."

"What?" you whispered at her pet name towards you. Unable to tear your gaze from her shining green eyes.

"Romanoff." Fury tried to get her attention, at the same time. But failed. But, in her defence, you did blank him calling her name, too.

"-I was so worried about you." Tears grew in her eyes, as she uttered, "I thought you were dead." But she blinked her tears away, shaking her head at the mear thought, moving to wipe your tears away with her thumbs. "Are you tired-? Hurt-?"

"Romanoff."

"-God, I can't believe you're really here-" she smiled... then.

"Romanoff!"

Her attention finally snapped to the man, who she had ignored ever since barging into his office. "What?"

"Y/L/N here has lost their memory."

"What?" she repeated her previous question, shoulders drooping, and her fingers trailing to the sides of your jaw. "How much?"

"Eleven years."

"What?" She convulsed. Then turned back to face you, slowly lowering her hands from your face, them moving to hang by her sides, and you instantly missed her warmth. Yet, she finally noticed the wonder in your eyes, as you studied her face.

"Before you came in," Fury began, "I had just told them about Petersburg."

"Oh," she uttered breathlessly, seeing the sadness flashing in your eyes before you dropped your head slightly. The green-eyes stranger grabbed your biceps, immediately feeling the difference between them, but decided that could be dealt with at another time, "Honey, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's not your fault." You waved her off, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room, somewhat. And she finally noticed the metal of your hand, her eyes widening just so before she blinked them back to normal.

"I went yo his funeral," she told you, "I said goodbye for you."

"I- Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

You let out a small chuckle at her graciousness.

You shook your head, gesturing to her, "Hey, who are you again?"

"I'm Natasha. Natasha Romanoff." She smiled. "We were... we were close."

"Close? How close?"

"Very close."

"Well... it's nice to meet you, Natasha Romanoff. You already know who I am," you joked, putting your hand out for her to shake.

She laughed, taking your metal hand and shaking it.

"That I do... I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back."

And you were.

It was better being here, in the bright open world, with people who seemed nice. Rather than back in that dank building where you had been held captive.

Yeah...

You were glad to be "back".

***

Three weeks later and you were flourishing.

All that you were missing were your memories.

You hadn't remembered a single thing in the short amount of time that you had been staying at the compound.

Your "old" new-found friend, Tony Stark, and his college and teammate, Bruce Banner, had told you not to worry about that. And that your memories will come back, you just had to give them some time.

You had asked how they knew. How they knew that you would remember everything, and wouldn't have to essentially restart your life.

That's when they told you about Bucky. A man currently on a mission with some guys named Sam, and Steve. A man who also had a metal arm, but no metal leg- Which you soon discovered you had, the same day you had returned, as you went to the bathroom.

You had quite the shock, seeing the metal of your left leg, starting at your mid-thigh.

However! That Bucky guy had been brainwashed, just like Tony and Bruce had verified, that you had too. And Bucky's brainwashing had gone on for much longer than yours have. More years than you had even been alive. He had managed to get all of his memories back within a few years. So, they were sure you would, too.

So, that filled you with hope.

But still. They ran tests.

Just to make sure.

But you knew they just wanted to document your brain activity for research, and you were happy to play along.

They even brought in a teenage girl named Shuri, to "decondition" you. Just in case you had any triggers that could be randomly set off and would make you into a killing machine. Along with many other possibilities.

You jumped at that. Not wanting to accidentally hurt the people you had found yourself growing close too, in such a small amount of time.

The people who saw you as family.

Now, here you were.

Outside on the compound's grounds, getting ready to kick a re-enforced ball, towards a kid named Peter Parker. And with your metal leg, no less.

The boy asking you to do so, because he was curious about how far you could kick it.

Let's just say.

You could kick the ball super fucking far, with your left leg.

Peter dove for it. Huffing as he caught it. Landing on his ass.

You laughed as Natasha came up beside you, with a smile on her own face.

"I like that kid," you told her, pointing to Peter, who was moving to a stand.

"Well, I would hope so. You practically adopted him."

"Wait. What?" you snapped your attention to the stunning woman next to you. Just as Peter managed to regain his footing, and a re-enforced ball was colliding with the side of your face. Sending you tumbling to the floor.

Them worryingly yelling after you.

Okay, yeah. That kinda hurt.

#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU #fics for BLM

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kewltie · 4 years ago

Text

Bitesize #3

One.

"Did you proposed to me because you wanted to or," Izuku smiles crookedly, "was it just another attempt to get back at Shouto?"

"We're already married," Katsuki scoffs. "There's no point in questioning it now."

"I see." His smile strains against the stiffness of his chest.

Two.

"Fix it or you're fire," Katsuki growls.

Izuku barely even react. "As per my employee contract and lengthy therapist bill, you can only use that threat on me nine times per week and you just hit your quota this morning, sir," he says, staring at him in blatant insubordination.

Three.

"Nii-chan," Izuku says, reaching for him.

Katsuki catches his wrist before it could touch him. "Don't," he snarls, fingers pressing down hard on his skin. "I'm not your fucking brother. Remember that." And abruptly lets go, but the place where Katsuki's touch still burns.

Four.

Bakugou Katsuki is made of sharp edges and tight corners, an uncharted landscape that Izuku could easily get lost in, spending years trekking across mountainous terrains, turbulent rivers, and coarse sands all in hope to map the undiscovered heartbeat of this impossible man.

Five.

"What's his name?"

Kaminari coughs into his hand. "Kacchan," he says.

Izuku blinks. "He named his cat after himself?"

Kirishima nods eagerly. "Doesn't this cat look like Katsuki?"

Izuku stares at the cat practically vibrating with murderous intent as he hisses at them. "Ah."

Six.

"No!"

"Why not?"

"I'm not taking you to an alpha clubhouse." Katsuki sneers. "I know some dumbass is going to offend you and as your spouse I'll have to duel them to defend your honor." T

here must be something wrong with Izuku because he's suddenly delighted by that prospect.

Seven.

"Done with your tantrum yet, princess?" Katsuki says, giving her an unimpressed look.

She stomps her foot. "No!"

"So you don't want to hold my hand then?"

Kasumi glowers at him with wet eyes and a sulky pout before snatching his hand in a tight grip. "Mine," she asserts.

Eight.

"Boy, you must be suicidal to be eyeing one of my prize omegas," Chisaki says as Izuku stiffen in his arms.

Katsuki remains where he is, head bent and knees on the ground. The picture is all wrong but then he looks up, eyes alight and there's not a trace of submission in them.

Nine.

"I just touched his fucking hand!" Katsuki snarls.

Nonplussed, Aizawa gives him a flat stare. "If you'd gone to the Xau debriefing you would know that's the equivalent of copping a feel for them," he says. "And you practically rubbed down their precious Prince Izuku in public."

Ten.

"I'll write no love songs," Katsuki croons into the mic, voice low and achingly raw in all its intensity as his eyes gaze out into crowd, "but all my songs belong to you."

In a sea of thousands screaming fans, Izuku feels keenly seen by those piercing eyes and haunting words.

Eleven.

In the ruins of the villain's base, all that remain are the familiar but weathered face of Katsuki's own staring right at him and the broken bodies around him.

"If you can't take good care of him," the man tells him, cradling Izuku's unconscious form in his arms, "then I will."

Twelve.

"Kacchan, I'll be with you all the way," the ghost of Izuku whispers in his ear, wrapping Katsuki up in his warmth undying presence. "Let's win this." Together in life and death, never apart.

Orange electricity cackles around him as Katsuki gives a feral grin toward the villain.

Thirteen.

"If you excuse me, my lord," he says, moving to leave but a hand abruptly clamps down on his wrist.

"Izuku, please," Shouto begs. "I miss you."

Caught by his own traitorous heart, Izuku stops. "I—" he starts, but then he hears: "Get your fucking hand off my husband, bastard!"

Fourteen.

As Izuku starts to disrobe his ceremonial dress, the Wolf God lowers his massive canine head to glare at him. "What are you doing?!"

He blinks. "Preparing to consummate our marriage."

"I don't fuck humans," the Wolf God growls.

"Oh," he says, trying not to be disappointed.

Fifteen.

"One billion yen," he says. "Three hundred first and you'll get the rest of it once the baby is safely delivered and hand it over to me."

"Bakugou-san, do you think my silence and child will be that cheap?" Izuku asks, his words as cold as the scathing heat of Katsuki's own.

Sixteen.

"You want me to, um," the rest of his sentence trails off.

Shouto and Katsuki shares a glance, it's so soft and intimate that Izuku has to look away for a moment. "Be our omega surrogate," Shouto finishes for him. "We don't want to entrust this responsibility to anyone but you."

Seventeen.

Katsuki wakes up that morning alone; the left side of the bed had long gone empty and cold. A note is left in the place where Izuku once slept. He picks it up, catches sight of the sorry written in the familiar loop of Izuku's handwriting and immediately crumbles it in his hand.

Eighteen.

Izuku is eleven years old when he first placed his hand in his betrothed's grip as they swear their vow in front of the gods. He bites back his tears with a wavering faith.

"Don't cry," Katsuki orders, a child himself. "You're mine now and I'll take good care of what is mine."

Nineteen.

"Surrender," Katsuki demands.

Five years ago their situation was reversed; Katsuki was the one in chains and his kingdom usurped. Now with Izuku's world crumbling down and his heart splayed open at Katsuki's feet, he says mirthlessly, "If you wanted me, you could have just ask."

Twenty.

Kota knows of the legend of the pirate Zero, how once he was stranded at sea for a hundred days and thrive. Now as a mer drags the captain above the wave, suddenly it all made sense to Kota. Zero had given his heart to the sea and the sea blessed him with one of her own children.

#bakudeku #bitesize ficlet

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damnedparker · 4 years ago

Text

ease

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x reader (gender neutral; no y/n)

warnings: food mention, obi-wan being the sweetest

summary: obi-wan takes care of you when you have a headache.

also posted on ao3

a few obi-wan fluff burbs have been sitting around on my computer since i fell in love with him so i figured i’d post one of them. more fluff from me? who would have guessed. i’m a sap

It was quite a challenge to hold back an audible groan at the pain throbbing in your head as you made your way through the halls of the temple. The lights were far too bright, and, having just gotten out of a meeting with a few of the other Jedi Masters, your head was racing with thoughts that you wish, for the love of the Maker, would just stop.

Finally, you stopped at the all-too familiar door and knocked, only having to wait a second or two before you got a reply to come in, and you trudged into Obi-Wan’s quarters, only to find the gracious sight of the man’s bare back. His freckled skin was still damp, a few droplets hanging onto his shoulders as he shuffled through his closet, probably for something to wear.

“You let everyone in without question while you’re in such a vulnerable state?” You took a moment to openly stare at his form, only covered by a towel he was lazily grasping at his waist. It wasn’t often you could openly admire the way his freckles spread over his shoulders, fading out over his back and giving way to littered scars from past battles. These were now mixed with a few new purpling bruises. It took quite the amount self-control not to rush over and press loving kisses over each individual mark.

“I could tell it was you, your thoughts are quite loud,” he remarked, teasing as usual, before turning to you. “I thought you weren’t coming until later, darling.” Your self-control grew thin as you moved towards his now open arms, pressing your face into his bare chest, still warm from his shower. Obi-Wan smelled just a bit more strongly of his usual scent, something a bit citrusy and spicy; clean and comforting. He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation, letting you hang on to him.

“I excused myself on account of my head feeling like it’s going to implode.” You mumbled. His chest vibrated against your cheek as he let out a hum of acknowledgement. He massaged his fingers against your lower spine as you indulged in the hug for a bit longer before finally pulling away. “Sorry, I would’ve let you know I was coming, I’m just a bit out of it.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m always happy to see you. I’ve missed you, my love.” Obi-Wan’s hand came up to gingerly caress your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, giving him a simple nod in agreement. He had just recently gotten back from a mission that had left him absent from the Temple for far too long for your tastes, and you had only gotten a few moments with him upon his return the night before. The discreet hand squeeze and few quiet words were, simply put, not enough to sate your need to be in his presence again. It was all the two of you could get in before his lengthy debriefing, and him unintentionally falling asleep as soon as he reached his quarters in the early hours of the morning. You didn’t blame him of course, you could tell how weary the war was making him at times, and you were thankful he just came back to you in one piece. Affectionate moments in private could wait until he was fully rested and well. “As much as I’m fond of this position, I think we could continue this more comfortably once I’m dressed.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining…” You shrugged, trying your best to give him pleading eyes. He only cocked his eyebrow in response, a small smile crossing his lips at your flirting. Half your wishes were crushed as he pulled on a pair of lounging trousers.

Soon enough, he was joining you on the small loveseat in his quarters. His hand went straight for your thigh, giving your leg an affectionate squeeze.

“Have you eaten today?” Obi-Wan kept his voice soft, not wanting to irritate your headache. You thought for a moment, realizing you hadn’t really had anything aside from a bland ration pack leftover in the pocket of your robes, not having the energy or appetite to find any real food. “I’m going to assume that’s a no, then.” You almost let out an audible whine once he stood, his comforting warmth leaving your side. “I’ll bring us back some food from Dex’s, why don’t you lay down for a while and rest?”

“Obi…”

“Eating something will surely help that headache of yours, no?” He fixed you with an assertive look, stubborn as ever, but for your own good. You sighed and mumbled something childish under your breath. Although you knew he was right, all you really wanted was to curl up with him for the rest of the night. You sunk into the cushions of the loveseat, laying down, as he returned to his closet to put on a shirt. You found yourself drifting off a bit almost immediately, only to be stirred by a blanket being thrown over your form and lips meeting your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open to meet Obi’s gentle blue gaze, a soft smile. “I won’t be long, angel.”

Your quick nap was only woken by the whoosh of the door to Obi-Wan’s living quarters opening, the scent of something delicious wafting to your unmoved position on the loveseat. You hadn’t really felt hungry all day, but the smell of food had suddenly roused your appetite.

“How’s that head of yours, sweet one?” His lips quirked up in a small smile at your tired form, still wrapped in a blanket, now sitting. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and scooted over to make room for him next to you, which wasn’t really necessary as he sat as close as possible to you. You shrugged in lieu of a response and reached for a bite of food. “I see your hunger has overtaken your ability to speak.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled through a mouthful. Obi-Wan just chuckled softly and kissed your head before moving to eat as well.

The food was ravished after a short amount of time, and you almost instinctually sunk into the warm embrace of the Jedi next to you, headache now a dull throb. He gently ran his thumb over your hip with the arm placed securely at your waist, nudging his head affectionately against yours.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you, Obi.” You sighed, pressing a kiss onto his bearded jaw. He hummed, gently guiding you over to his bed to lay down for the night. Like clockwork, the Jedi pulled you half on top of him, holding you securely to his chest and sighing in content. “I really missed you.”

“I sure hope so,” he remarked, earning a pinch from you. He chuckled, running his hand up and down your spine comfortingly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I don’t like seeing you so distressed.”

“Sometimes I think you’re the only reason I’m still functioning,” you sighed. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“I feel the same,” he squeezed you affectionately, mimicking a hug. “Whatever happens, be it a headache or something miles worse, I will be here for you, my darling. You are my life; do you know that?”

“I love you, Obi-Wan,” you murmured into his skin, as if the words would permanently etch themselves there. You wanted him to know that, now and forever. The both of you were entwined together for the rest of eternity, Jedi code be damned. He returned the words softly against your forehead and sealed them with a kiss.

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x you #obi wan x y/n #obi wan fluff #star wars fluff #star wars x reader #star wars fic #my fics

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bosspigeon · 4 years ago

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19. Shy kiss with Adam/Nate? Adam giving Nate a shy kiss?

at every beat of my battered heart

Pairing: Nathaniel Sewell/Adam du Mortain, with a side of M!Detective/Mason

Words: 4538

Summary: Adam has had many centuries to learn how to repress his feelings, and he thinks he’s gotten quite good at it. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t take much more than speaking that which has remained unspoken (and a mouthy detective) to draw 300 years of repressed feelings to the surface. Thanks for that, Detective Kingston.

So, this prompt kind of got away from me. It wound up pretty big, but I think I’m really proud of it! Working title was “destroying 300 years of dumb pining.” Title is, once again, from Nothing But Thieves lyrics. “Impossible” came on while I was writing this, and I couldn’t resist.

“You’re improving quickly,” Adam offers as Detective Kingston takes a swallow from his water bottle. His face and tattooed shoulders are sheened with sweat, his chest rising and falling quickly, but quietly, under his tank top. His eyebrows creep upwards, one corner of his mouth quirking.

Adam’s spine straightens, jaw tensing in anticipation for the snippy retort he’s certain to--

“Thanks,” the detective says. He snags two towels from the table by his hip and tosses one to Adam, who catches it and wipes the sweat from his own face. “Think I’m starting to figure your style out. One of these days, I’m gonna land a hit, and I will make damn sure it’s a good one.”

Adam blinks, and smiles cautiously in return. “You sound confident.”

Detective Kingston’s eyes brighten. “Worried?”

Adam chuckles, in spite of himself. “When I have need to be, you will know.” He meets the detective’s eyes, bright and challenging, strangely invigorated by this tenuous new camaraderie. “I’ll be able to stop holding back.”

They are interrupted by a long groan from Felix, who has taken it upon himself to oversee the commander’s sparring session with the detective from his seat in a pile of cushions a safe distance from the mat. He flops onto his back with his legs straight in the air, arms spread on either side of him. His heels hit the floor with a dramatic thud, and he lies there, still groaning. “I can’t believe there’s another one of you,” he complains, staring at the ceiling. “Do you guys know how to be friends without kicking the stuffing out of each other?”

The detective huffs, ambling over to kick Felix’s leg lightly, which devolves into Felix flailing back at him with his colorful sock-clad feet.

There’s a pleasant warmth in Adam’s chest, one that started months ago as a small, tentative flicker. His work with the Agency was his only constant for half a millennium, and before Unit Bravo, even that was relegated to purely professional relationships and missions. And then he met Nate, and he became a constant too, eventually. Once Adam could allow himself, even a little, to have any sort of closeness with another person. And then came Mason, and Felix, and now Detective Kingston--who still rolls his eyes upon being addressed by his title, but old habits die hard, especially for a creature so set in his ways as Adam. But in the last few months, he’s finally felt something inside him begin to settle. To be comfortable. Maybe, even, to feel at home.

He turns towards the training room’s door before it opens, fine-tuned to the comings and goings of his unit, and, of course, when it does open, there stands Nate, closely followed by Mason. Perhaps he’s gone soft in his old age, but Adam doesn’t try to hide his smile.

Nate’s warm brown eyes meet his, and brighten at the look on his commander’s face. “Ah! Finally taking a break, are we?”

“No, you’re not,” Mason says, nudging past him with his sharp grey eyes trained on the detective, still half-heartedly tussling with Felix. “At least, he isn’t.” He stalks across the room with all the intent and focus of a predator.

Detective Kingston meets his eyes with raised brows and a lazy curl of his mouth. “Oh, yeah?”

“I was promised a round, sweetheart,” Mason drawls, looming over the much shorter man. “I’ve come to collect.”

Felix, lying on the ground between them, clears his throat. “You two do remember I’m still here, right?”

Mason steps over him and pushes him across the floor with his foot, staring intently at the detective all the while.

Nate moves to stand at Adam’s shoulder, chuckling fondly and shaking his head at the ensuing scuffle. Adam looks over at him, and raises his eyebrows. “I take it everything went well?” he asks.

Nate nods. “Yes, yes, we just finished debriefing with Agent Kingston. It was all very routine. Almost boring, really. I thought Mason was going to cause a fight just to have some excitement.”

Adam snorts, but keeps his eyes on his old friend, studying his profile, the gentle droop of his eyelids, the contented curl of his mouth, and the carefully concealed tension slowly bleeding from his broad shoulders. His eyes drift from Adam, to Mason, to Felix, to the detective, as if counting them all in his head. He always settles into himself better when they are all close, protective as he is. Even if they are being something of a handful. He huffs out a little laugh in spite of himself, and Nate’s eyes turn to him once more, crinkling at the corners.

“You’re in a rare good mood today,” he says. The happiness in his tone, in his eyes, is unmistakable. “Don’t ruin it,” Adam scoffs back, trying in vain to stifle his smile.

“I was only making an observation,” Nate teases. “You just seem happier lately. It’s nice to see.” He shifts slightly, and his arm brushes Adam’s, that single point of contact sending a bright, warm spark to his chest.

Their attention is drawn by a solid thud from the mats. Mason is on the floor, looking wide-eyed up at a triumphant Detective Kingston, who is straddling his belly with a wrapped hand on his neck. Felix is still on the floor in his pile of cushions, and he rolls over onto his belly to gawk at the scene. He then collapses into a fit of hysterical giggles, and if breathing was a necessity, Adam would be concerned he was going to suffocate.

Mason’s shock quickly changes to something else entirely, and he skims his hand along the taut line of the detective’s thigh. “That was a cheap trick,” he growls, eyes bright and lips curling up at one corner.

“Not my fault you’re easily distracted,” the human replies loftily, lifting up onto his knees. The motion pushes his hand down, and Mason makes a rough noise, fingers digging into his thigh. He could recover from the pin easily-- Adam himself knows how fast he can be-- but he stays quite happily where he is. Instead, he rolls his hips up to bring his body back in contact with Detective Kingston’s, who moves gracefully with the motion.

Before Adam has the chance to speak up, Nate loudly clears his throat, and both of them whip their heads around to meet his disapproving stare. “Really, you two?”

“You’re supposed to be sparring,” Adam says, shaking his head.

“Not canoodling,” Nate adds helpfully. Felix is overtaken by another fit of wild, hiccuping laughter.

“If it helps,” Detective Kingston says, rolling to the side and bouncing smoothly to his feet, “the canoodling is how I was able to get the drop on him in the first place.” His lips quirk wryly when he says “canoodling” and Felix begins to make some truly concerning wheezing noises. Even Mason pushes himself into a sitting position to eyeball him with annoyed concern.

“I doubt such a tactic will help you with anyone or anything else,” Adam chides, crossing his arms.

“I mean, it’s worked for Mason at least once before,” Felix calls, having recovered enough to speak. He’s rubbing his cheeks as if they hurt.

“Three times,” Mason corrects smugly.

Chase sidles up alongside Adam and swats him on the arm with the back of his hand. “Lighten up, would you?” The familiarity of the gesture is new, and strange, but not entirely unwelcome. Detective Kingston, much like Adam himself, does not dole out casual touches often, keeping himself carefully contained and most people at arm’s length. Nate has, of course, pointed out that this is likely why he and the human so often butt heads. They are oddly similar in many ways. Still, he looks at the spot the detective smacked, then looks at him and arches a brow. Detective Kingston rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’d be in a better mood if you and your better half did some canoodling of your own, yeah?”

The room falls eerily silent. Not a breath is drawn. Detective Kingston looks up at Adam, brows scrunching, sharp eyes searching. He slowly turns to Nate, standing at Adam’s shoulder and practically vibrating with sudden tension that Adam can feel without the need to look at him. The detective’s eyes return to Adam, and his furrowed brows fly upwards.

“Shit,” he blurts, taking a step back. He glances back at Mason and Felix. “Was I not supposed to know?”

“Know what?” Adam grits out, his jaw aching with how hard his teeth have instinctively clenched. His whole body feels suddenly overheated, the back of his neck prickling.

It is not easy to surprise Detective Kingston, and even when he is surprised, he hides it well enough, rolling with the punches, as he might say. Now, he seems to be entirely thrown. “You and Nate aren’t…” Behind him, Felix makes a sound, high-pitched and choked, and Adam’s eyes flick up to see him with both hands clapped over his mouth.

Adam’s heart is pounding in his ears. He doesn’t dare to look at Nate, and clenches his fists to keep his fingers from shaking.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Nate laughs, weak and strained. “Adam and I-- There’s no--”

Adam’s stomach twists, his chest tightens, and his nails are digging into his palms so hard it catches Mason’s attention. Nate’s, it seems, is quite occupied with--

He has to leave.

He keeps his eyes down as he stalks towards the door and pushes it open. He flinches when he hears a crack, the clink of the broken-off knob (and the chunk of the door that comes away with it) dropping to the floor, but he doesn’t stop. It’s already broken, so there is no point in waiting, when he can still hear Detective Kingston’s words echoing in his ears, Nate’s urgent dismissals an accompanying chorus. He thinks, perhaps, that someone calls his name, but he can’t be sure with his skull ringing with--

He is a soldier. A leader. He knows well when to make a strategic retreat.

He reaches his bedroom and manages to close the door firmly without slamming (or shattering) it. Adam’s bedroom is his refuge, simple and spartan though it is. A permanent home is a rarity when one works for an organization like the Agency, especially for agents as active as Unit Bravo tend to be, so he has not had much time to settle in the way the others have. Regardless, it is his space, and his alone, and simply stepping inside helps to slow his heart. But his head is still an incomprehensible, tangled mess he can’t hope to parse. He sits heavily on the edge of his bed, with its precisely tucked military corners, and puts his face in his hands, exhaling a ragged breath.

He was so careful. He always has been. Emotions are dangerous, a distraction and a burden, and while he knows he cannot simply wish them away when they become inconvenient, he should have had more than enough experience with willing them down where they can’t burden him.

But he still remembers with sharp, startling clarity the moment he first laid eyes on the man who would become his closest friend and companion, hollow-eyed, ashen, and slouched, the tang of salt air and blood still clinging stubbornly to his skin. Centuries have passed, and Adam can’t remember what he said when making his introductions, but he can recall as if it were yesterday the way Nate’s mouth lifted weakly, the way his tired eyes creased at the corners, the way he huffed out a soft, raspy laugh and politely croaked, “Nathaniel Sewell. Lovely to meet you.” He didn’t know it for what it was then, but the surge of fierce, determined protectiveness that took hold of him in that moment never left, and over time softened into a quiet, gentle adoration that sits in his chest still to this day, unspoken, even to his own ears. To say it, to give it a voice, would make it real enough to hurt him more than the dull throb of longing, the urge to reach over on the occasions they study together and push a loose curl of hair back behind Nate’s ear.

Adam du Mortain is no coward, but he remembers all too well-- and fears-- what his feelings are capable of when they rage out of control, and that fear is what keeps them tightly leashed, and what protects the ones under his care from their influence. It is a useful fear, if still a shameful one, and Adam has lived as long as he has by using every tool at his disposal to succeed.

It’s a conversation he’s had with himself countless times before, when the ache gets to be too much.

He’s so engrossed in his silent mantra, almost meditative at this point with three centuries of repetition, he does not realize he isn’t alone until he hears his door click shut. His head jerks up, teeth instinctively bared upon being caught off guard, but it’s Nate, who raises his hands like he is gentling a startled animal and murmurs, “It’s only me,” with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

For a long, long moment, they simply stare at one another, before Adam breaks and has to look down again, the pained understanding crinkling Nate’s brow too much to bear. His shoulders buckle under the weight of it, his chest tight enough he would fear choking if he needed to breathe. He knows what’s coming, and has dreaded it even longer than he knew its name.

Adam feels every single second that ticks by, waiting for Nate to break the heavy silence, and his gut swoops when his friend inhales, as if bolstering for what he’s about to say.

“You didn’t know, did you?”

Adam’s spine snaps straight so quickly it’s a wonder he doesn’t hear it crack. But, of course, he can’t hear much under the racing of his own pulse in his ears. His eyes shoot to his friend’s face, and he is still smiling, but it is so much sadder now, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Adam rolls his tongue, his senses so full of Nate he can taste the tang of salt.

“Know what?” he croaks.

Nate’s face crumples, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “Adam, please,” he bites out, “spare me. Don’t…” He swallows so hard his throat clicks, the tears welling more, trembling on his lashes. His hands flex at his sides. “Don’t play dumb, please. You’re better than that.”

Adam has never been so confused in his very, very, very long life. He stares at Nate, however much it aches in the deep unspoken recesses of his chest, because he needs to understand. Nate’s lips are pinched into a grim line, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He looks sad, and hurt, but most notably, he looks angry. It’s a quiet anger, contained, but bubbling beneath the taut surface, and Adam wants to reach out and smooth away the line creasing his brow, the tension in his jaw.

“I don’t understand,” he insists, voice cracking with emotion he tries very hard to push down, but the walls he’s so carefully built are starting to crumble.

Nate glowers at him for a long moment, and the intensity, the pained fury, in that stare makes Adam feel like an insect specimen being pulled apart and held down by pins being driven ever so slowly into the softest parts of his body. And then, like storm clouds blown away from the sun, the expression changes. Nate’s jaw goes slack, his eyes widening.

“You… You’re serious. You have no idea, even now? After--” He laughs, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle it. Still, it hurts, and Adam curls in on himself and clutches his chest, a sour feeling bubbling inside him. “Adam, I thought… All this time, I thought you were… Pretending to be ignorant, to spare my feelings, and then you just-- You ran off, and I… I thought you only just--” He’s begun to pace, rambling as he stalks back and forth from one bare wall to another, hands gesturing wildly, and he doesn’t look as if he’s including Adam in this strange, one-sided conversation.

Adam curls in on himself tighter, shoulders around his ears, eyes on the floor.

Nate finally comes to a stop in the middle of the floor, and he laughs again, nearly hysterical. Adam can’t bear to look at him. Until he speaks, the words coming out of him in a near-frantic rush. “I’ve been absolutely, stupidly, pitifully in love with you for centuries at this point, and I've kept it to myself because, of course you could never feel the same, and I figured you knew, because you had to have known, I was so obvious about it, but you didn’t want to hurt me, so you pretended you didn’t know, but you really, truly had no bloody idea.”

Adam lifts his head so sharply it makes him dizzy. Nate is standing as if a stiff breeze could knock him over, unsteady and weak, hands visibly shaking at his sides. His eyes, dark and sweet and framed by long, wet lashes, glimmer in the low light. He inhales, shaky and shuddering. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers, smiling that strange, sad smile. “I know… I know this is all coming out of nowhere for you, and I know… I know you could never…” His breath hitches. “I’m sorry, Adam. I should have told you so long ago, just to clear the air.” He laughs again, soft and weak. “Maybe that would have made it easier to…” He trails off, twisting his hands and looking away.

Adam pushes himself to his feet. Every muscle in his body feels pulled taut, protests the motion, but when he is fully upright the tension slowly bleeds away. He crosses the room with a deliberate slowness, one foot in front of the other. Nate doesn’t look up until they are nearly chest-to-chest, and his eyes… they are warm, and soft, and so, so sad. His lips tremble, soundlessly forming words that Adam vaguely recognizes as, perhaps, a weak apology, but his pulse is drumming so wildly in his ears he doesn’t think he’d hear them if they were spoken. He can’t be sure what his face is doing, what he must look like, because he is so focused on Nate, on the words echoing in his head and overlapping in a confused, desperately overjoyed jumble. He reaches out tentatively, his fingertips brushing Nate’s where they twist around each other. They freeze the second Adam’s make contact.

And then they grab his and cling, his grip so tight Adam thinks if he looked down, he’d see stark white knuckles. He pulls one hand, just one, loose, and Nate makes a heartbreaking noise deep in his chest, clutching the hand Adam leaves him even tighter. It would likely hurt if it were anyone's hand but Adam's.

With his free hand, he reaches up, curling his fingers around the nape of Nate’s neck, fingers burrowing into his hair. There is something in him that screams at him to put a stop to this somehow, but after so long of looking at his dearest friend, the man he’s had at his back for centuries, who he trusts more than anyone he’s ever known, he knows he’s not strong enough to stop, not after so many years of longing. The dark strands curling around his fingers make him shudder, and when he pulls, Nate comes willingly, bending down so that Adam can put their foreheads together. It takes another steadying breath for him to tilt his face up and press his mouth softly, almost timidly, to Nate’s chin, the stubble catching his lips and sending sparks through him.

Nate gasps, twisting his head sharply to the side, and their lips brush, a single quick, wet point of contact, and the sparks become a firestorm under his skin. The sound that rips from his throat would be mortifying, if he had any willpower to think of anything but crushing his mouth to Nate’s so hard he feels his lip split. The sting is hardly worth acknowledging, healing away almost instantly. He feels wild, hungry, but somehow weak and fragile, clinging to his friend as if afraid to be swept away, or worse, pushed. But Nate holds onto him as if he can’t bear to let go, lacing their fingers together and squeezing, wrapping the other hand around Adam’s lower back and pressing so that Adam stumbles against him. A miscalculation on Nate’s part, and one that sends him careening towards Adam’s desk.

He grunts when his backside hits the edge, and he has to release Adam’s hand to flail back and catch himself, which leaves his commanding agent no choice but to clutch at his crisp shirt and feel the threads strain in protest against his needy grip. Mostly unphased, his tongue drags along Adam’s bottom lip, a wordless request that Adam permits without thought, mouth falling open in a thready moan.

With permission happily given, Nate consumes him. Somehow, they wind up spun around, Adam pushed against the desk, breathless and overwhelmed, knees close to buckling. They break apart, and he makes another strangled, pitiful sound that rips itself from him with no consideration for his centuries of careful restraint. Nate gives a low, warm laugh that rumbles where their chests are pressed together so snugly Adam can’t tell whose wild heartbeat is whose. He chases the lost kiss, wants to know desperately what that laugh tastes like, but Nate stops him with a firm hand that slides between their bodies and presses to the center of his chest. The bare inch of space it creates between them feels like entirely too much.

“How long?” Nate asks roughly, still staring down at him with stars in his eyes, lips reddened and wet. He swallows hard, his jaws flexing, his breaths short and shallow. “How long have you…”

Adam wants to look away, but when he tries to, Nate’s hands flash up to cup his cheeks, holding his face still. Adam’s breath hitches, his heart pounding so hard he fears it’s going to beat its way right through his ribs.

“How long, Adam?” Nate asks him so softly, his thumb drawing along his cheekbone.

“As long as I’ve known you,” he admits tightly. He wants to close his eyes, to hide somehow, but Nate’s dark, intent gaze holds him prisoner, warm and tender and understanding. He helplessly clenches his hands, frozen in place, his body alive with heat and tremors he thought he’d long learned to force down, along with every other emotion he’s felt since his family… Nate’s thumb drags along the divot below his lips, his breath hitches, and the words keep tumbling from his mouth as if Nate’s got them on a string. “I have never once looked at you without… without wanting.”

“Adam,” Nate nearly sobs, smiling so broadly it must ache, those damnable, beautiful crinkles scrunching around his eyes. The tears fall freely now, dripping down his cheeks. Adam wants nothing more than to kiss them away, but he doesn’t, shaking with the will it takes to keep himself contained. “You never… Why didn’t you say anything?”

Adam steadies himself on the edge of the desk biting into the backs of his thighs, his lungs squeezing. “I didn’t think…” He looks up at Nate, the fall of hair over his brow, the endless warmth of his eyes, the wobbly, wondering smile on his soft mouth, and he breaks. The heat of tears on his face is quickly brushed away by gentle fingers, and Nate croons wordlessly at him.

“You didn’t think you deserved it,” he finishes, as he always does, reaching into Adam’s heart and plucking the truth from him as easily as if it were any of their thousands of wordless conversations. Nate knows everything about him, his past, his fears, his guilt. And never once has he begrudged Adam the space to express them, even when it was ugly. Even when he couldn’t put them into words, and simply needed to feel something break.

“You are…” He swallows, licks his lips, cooling now that Nate’s lips aren’t keeping them warm. His chest squeezes, the rhythm of his heart staggering with fears he could never give voice. But he needs to, now. He’s held them inside for so long, and look where it’s gotten him, the both of them. Denying not just himself happiness, but Nate, the one who deserves it more than anyone. “I was afraid you would… Even if you didn’t feel the same, I couldn’t take the chance you would indulge me out of kindness.”

Nate chuckles, but there is a heat to his tawny skin that Adam can taste more than he can see. “I am not so self-sacrificing as all that,” he sighs wistfully. “You always did have a much loftier opinion of me than you should.”

“I think my opinion of you is more than justified,” Adam fires back fiercely, tugging on Nate’s shirt, where he suddenly realizes his hands are still tangled.

Nate smiles, and it is such a soft thing that burrows into Adam’s chest and makes a home there, along with every other smile he’s privately stowed away. But this one… this one is for him, and him alone. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you for the last three hundred years.”

Heat streaks its way through Adam’s body, and there is a tiny pop as one of Nate’s buttons finally gives way to his grip.

The tender smile on Nate’s lips curls into something entirely different, sly and wicked, and his thumb drags along Adam’s lower lip. Adam is suddenly intensely aware of how closely the two of them are pressed together, from knees to chest.

“Perhaps you would,” Nate allows, chuckling. “You do live to surprise me, even after all this time.”

Adam, left feeling overheated, restless, and uncomfortably seen, shifts from foot to foot and decides there has been more than enough talking. They have plenty of time to talk, but for now, he very much would like to make up for lost time. He reaches up and curls his fingers along Nate’s jaw, rubbing at the coarseness of his stubble, and Nate turns into the touch like a flower towards the sun, lips dragging along the tender skin of Adam’s palm. His knees tremble, and before he can lose his nerve, he pulls Nate into another delicate kiss. Nate sighs happily against his mouth, tipping Adam’s head back so that he can more thoroughly steal his breath away.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, always so easily reading into Adam’s gestures. “I think we’ve wasted enough time, talking and not-talking. At least this version of not-talking is productive.”

Adam wouldn’t exactly call it productive in the grand scheme of things, but for once he has no desire to argue.

#pidge writes #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven #nathaniel sewell #adam du mortain #twc nate/adam #twc fanfic #wayhaven fanfic #I FINALLY FUCKING DID IT Y'ALL #GOD THIS TOOK SO LONG #BUT I DONE IT #anyway how y'all likin my overuse of italics #my cardinal sins of writing are run on sentences too many commas and overuse of italics #also nbt runs my life at this point #their lyrics are just so goddamned good #Anonymous

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