#tag: Warpath

[artdecosupernova-writing]

WIP Acrostic Tag

Rules: You will be given a word, and you must share 1 sentence from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter in that word!

Taking an open tag from @sleepy-night-child, and tagging @space-writes, @pertinax--loculos, @celemee, and @drippingmoon 😁 Your word is FOLLOW.

MAGIC—

M — "Messier 33," Warren muttered, turning to Thrive. "...That's Triangulum." (Meridian)

A — A long pause. Thrive lifted a hand to chest-level and out of his fingertips rose particles of light, the veins beneath his skin taking on the same glow as the obelisk. The light came together, swirled over his palm to form a star map of unidentified origins. (Aurora)

G — "Gladly." Warren leaned his hands onto the table. "Thrive's had virtually no issue being king until Delegate Sinkship took office, or, more accurately, all of the pushback he's received has been solved with a conversation or a compromise. Interestingly, that leads me to a pretty fun question…" He lifted his gaze to her. "Why does the human delegate have such sway over the others?" (Warpath)

I — "It is," Thrive said, unaffected on the surface. "It's who I, as an obhelian Protector, have been this whole time. I've done unforgivable things in my pursuit of justice, some of which have given me great satisfaction. I have moral ambiguity at times, mostly to do with my oath. I am not a saint. You and I have been together for several hundred years…I'm not sure how that slipped by you." (Asylum)

C — Controlling the essence w̷i̶t̷h̴i̸n̴ ̸y̸o̵u̵, the Emmuli growled. Disrupting the t̴r̴u̶t̸h̶, arresting your given capacity, reshaping your intelligence into the pattern t̴h̷e̸y̶ ̴f̷i̷t̷ ̸y̷o̷u̷ ̵t̷o̴ ̷d̷e̴s̵e̷r̶v̸e̷. (Eternal)

[chaoswarfare]

do x dc prompt #48

When Jason first found himself dead in the Infinite Realms, he was just about lost without a way to contact his family. He fell into a deep depression and only started crawling out of it when Danny took him under his wing. They found they related to each other a lot and could sympathize with being a teen hero, and soon were practically inseparable.

Then he was resurrected.

Jason was so angry and he had no idea why. Every time something reminded him of what came after death, he would fly into a blind rage because he can’t remember anything. He’s missing something essential in his memories, and he can’t admit that to his family, so he doesn’t.

The second time Jason died, it was only for a few minutes. A quick enough end after hitting the surface of the ocean and inhaling what seemed like gallons of seawater. He woke up in the zone, cradled in the grip of the man who took him in the first time, who his memory of had been blocked. They barely had time to catch up before Jason was hauled back to the land of the living. This time he didn’t forget.

The third time Jason died, They thought that was finally it. There’s not a lot of people that can come back from their upper half and lower half being separated for over an hour after all. He settled in. They watched his family, making sure they were coping alright(they weren’t, and it was so painful to watch-).

On the day of his funeral almost two months later(they wanted to wait as long as possible, he came back once after all, they needed to make sure. They wouldn’t leave him to crawl out of his own grave a second time.) The halfa king and the new(?) ghost watched. Jason committed every word of his eulogy to memory, everything his friends and family said. When the alley kids even stepped up to say their goodbyes, Danny pointedly ignored Jason’s open sobs(he never liked people seeing him vulnerable). The burning grief in his core was becoming unbearable(if he was just a little more open would his family have realized that the mission had gone sideways sooner?). Danny flinched next to him and turned toward Jason just as reality snapped and warped, dragging him back. Away from the Infinite realms(his home-) for a third time.

Dick didn’t know what to think when the motion sensors started going off right before they lowered the coffin. To say he was stunned for a moment was an understatement, He didn’t so much as twitch until a fist broke through the lid of the box.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is an anomaly. Three times is a pattern. Nobody ever told Jason how awkward it could be crashing your own funeral. He’d almost prefer digging out his grave.

Danny isn’t just going to sit quietly this time. Jason is back in the living world, completely defenseless. He needs to protect his ward.

(immortal!Danny? yes. today i present to you the first ever time i’ve seen Immortal!Jason ;).)

[mackerel6]

I like making them extra insane

[tf-animated-out-of-context]

One last round of trivia:

"The Stunti-Con Job" exists as both a comic and a BotCon script reading; the plots are the same, but the script reading added a subplot featuring Minerva, a medibot determined to meet Ratchet at all costs, who's somehow dragged Warpath along on her quest. (She does also appear in the comic version - see below.)

The script reading also featured a musical interlude - a duet sung by G1 and Animated Grimlocks. I don't think it went according to plan.

Like the story's title, the comic's original cover pays homage to the classic British comedy film "The Italian Job". (As do the picture captions on the relevant TFWiki page.)

Sideswipe and Breakdown share a body-type (first seen on Rodimus Prime) - possibly a callback to the G1 episode "Masquerade", in which that iteration of Sideswipe was disguised as Breakdown. (The same applies to Jazz and Dead End, and, more or less, to Optimus and the Motor Master.) In-universe, all the Stunticons underwent spark transplants into Autobot frames - except Toxitron, who's a clone of Optimus. Not a very successful one.

Cheetor, meanwhile, is a retool of Blurr - a fact Sideswipe remarks on four BotCons later, in "The Return of Blurr". which takes place at about the same time as "The Stunti-Con Job". Hence Blurr's appearance in the latter, in the High Council box alongside Cliffjumper - still cubified, and no doubt still talking twenty-four to the dozen.

Strika's Team Chaar, seen at the very end of this story, has undergone a reshuffle since "Transwarped" - Oil Slick is still there, unfortunately, but Cyclonus, Blackout and Spittor have been replaced by Mindwipe, Sky-Byte, Scalpel and Blot.

As for Autobot cameos, there are too many to list, but most of them are here:

(Botanica is also in this frame, but further up in the High Council box. TFWiki claims that Tap-Out is somewhere in the crowd; I can't see him, though.)

[mamawasatesttube]

that last post reminds me of how, similarly, it drives me up the wall whenever fandom (esp with regards to timkon) portrays kon as completely and utterly spineless and intimidated when it comes to bruce. (i mean, i'm not surprised, bc this comes from the same place as the content where tim is a fainting victorian maiden who needs to be protected by her strong stoic owner i mean father, which is definitely not a homophobic trope rooted in misogyny at all, but. that's a complaint for a different post.)

like, bruce's relationship with kon has admittedly been done differently by different writers and all, but at no point has kon ever backed down to him. during hypertime arc, bruce is cordial and even warm, in his way, as they send kon off:

later, towards the end of superboy '94, when kon and cass get into trouble and nearly get themselves killed, kon sees bruce being harsh on cass about it and inserts himself to demand he get half the blame and half the punishment, because it wasn't all on her. (i personally think the way bruce talks here is extremely cringefail and shitty, like... let's not make batman parrot racist rhetoric thanks, but. i blame that on writers moreso than the character.)

like, sure, he's a little hesitant (the "s-sir..." gets me.) but not enough to hold back an ounce in telling batman he's being unfair and an ass. he's not a shrinking violet just bc batman is ooo scary.

also coming to mind are:

a) the panels from batgirl (2000) where bruce is being an extremely overprotective and controlling figure over the idea of cass and kon being friends and clark tells him off for this (it's not directly kon interacting with bruce, but feels... relevant, lol, to the topic of bruce threatening kon and trying to scare him off in that possessive, steeped-in-misogyny way), as well as

b) the ones from tt03 where kon goes to gotham looking for tim, runs into bruce and steph-as-robin, and flips out like WHERE is tim, and bruce is just like. use your superhearing and figure it out. (note that he doesn't try to kick him out of gotham just for being there, either.)

i didn't include those last two bc i don't have them saved and frankly this post is long enough as is, but. you get the idea. kon isn't scared of batman. batman even likes him sometimes. and batman trying to intimidate him on purpose is something clark gets mad about.

[1tbls]

this is so kimharry tbh

[springs-hurts]

Reading Iliad and achilles rage and grief has spoiled "dead gf, mad bf and vice versa plot for me🥲 like you assuming I'm gonna read someone else crying for their beloved and not compare it to achilles? You think I'm gonna see someone on warpath and not compare it to achilles? No way!

[corus24110]

There's still more 💀

[karmirage]

fic masterpost

yeah i do have other marvel fics on my ao3 but some of them i wrote in high school also some of them i don't vibe with anymore

note that some of these are from a while ago! my perceptions and takes on characters change and grow, so if i wrote something, sometimes i won't agree with the characterization later. keep that in mind.

on that note: many of the old fics name Xuân as Xuyen, bc that was the fanmade actually-Vietnamese alternative to Xi'an before her name was changed in canon.

Family Colors (2018): 1,679 words. Standalone (there used to be a second chapter but I didn't like it so I got rid of it). Gen, Kamala-centric, Civil War II era. To whom do the Captain Marvel colors belong?

cloudburst (2019): 423 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. ever wake up to a thunderstorm?

Retail Therapy (2020): 1,209 words. Standalone. James Proudstar/Terry Cassidy. Early-krakoa era -- I wrote this just a bit after krakoa became A Thing, when we didn't know what had recently happened with more minor characters like terry. also i think they're very cute.

Morning Song (2020): 955 words. Standalone. James Proudstar/Terry Cassidy. idk I think Jimmy would like cooking.

if you don't mind me saying so (i love you) (2020): 25,423 words. Part 1 of "love like fools." Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. my funny little fake dating indulgence. the epitome of "I wrote it for me but you can read it if you want" (as so many of my works are). i haven't actually reread this one i have no idea if it's good or not. but it sure exists.

Days Off (2020): 1,523 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Sam wakes up sick and Roberto tries to help.

sunlight (2020): 2,090 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Seasonal affective disorder strikes Roberto.

the whole 'not being dead' thing (2020): 1,094 words. Standalone. Gen. Early-krakoa era. Jay is resurrected and catches up with his new nephew.

Winner Takes All (2020): 2,006 words. Two chapters (so far. might fuck around and add another chapter idk). Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Utopia-era. sparring and unsaid feelings and also Doug's new ability to read body language.

i don't want to spend my life (without your kiss goodnight) (2020): 1,702 words. Rated M for non-explicit making out. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. the world has not ended so obviously let's party

my home in you (2020): 2,122 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. patching up the other's wounds.

The Meaning of Family (2021): 10,926 words. Standalone. Gen. Ruth-centric. Ruth bonds with her family -- because she does have family, and no x man is truly ever alone. Also, possibly, she might kill someone in the future.

live our life like we know we could (ONGOING/HIATUS): 22,300 words. Part 2 of "love like fools." Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Post mission, post reveal, navigating uncharted relationship waters.

in the name of the moon! (2022): 4,382 words. Standalone. Gen (though it's tagged as Sam/Roberto, and you can certainly read it like that if you want, but that's not the focus). Sam textile artist real To Me. also: halloween and sailor moon.

i mean every word i say (2023): 1,559 words. Rated T for mention of sex. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Sam's been keeping secrets, and that makes Roberto nervous.

we will never be forgotten (2023): 2,689 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Roberto gets mindwiped, knocked out, and a visitor in the infirmary (in that order).

you're never gonna get a second take (2023): 2,166 words. Standalone. Dani Moonstar/Xuân Cao Mạnh. don't you just love those undercover missions where they have to dress in fancy clothes? yeah so does xuân

nothing holds me back at all (2023): 1,461 words. Part 1 of "the memories that make us." Gen. Dani-centric. Dani rides a horse for the first time (with her father's help).

you can never take this part of me (2023): 1,691 words. Part 2 of "the memories that make us." Gen. Sam-centric. Sam goes fishing with his dad and his gaggle of younger siblings.

~~~

works in progress (that I'm posting to hold myself accountable so I actually finish them someday):

- the rest of "the memories that make us" (i.e. the other 13 parts, one for each of the original nine and the six academy x era students. all of it is me practicing writing kids)

- king/lionheart Sam/Roberto medieval au. even tho I hate royalty the aesthetics kind of slam

- megafic (62 chapters planned! six tie ins! almost fully canon compliant all the way up to war of realms!) the ties that bind & related works wrt the better endings au

- rewriting document of high school fics (mostly samberto. I'm more or less a one trick pony)

- several shorter smaller things that I just have to work up the courage to post (including practice with NSFW writing)

- not a fanfiction: but my long ass academic paper (fully cited) that talks about the mutant metaphor and the actual minorities within the x men and my huge large spreadsheet that goes with it.

[dreamersbcll]

“Godless” - for @krikeymate

———————————————————————

Sam could tell from the very moment she woke up that something was wrong.

She liked to attribute it to her sixth sense. Ever since she was little, Sam was able to tell when shit was about to go sideways. From the day she was slapped by her mother the first time to the day she found that cursed journal

That same sinking feeling in her gut. Like she swallowed a boulder, it sat in her stomach and weighed her down with dread and anxiety about what was coming next. The feeling usually disappeared after a while, but this one rotted in her stomach, festering her body with fear.

She decided not to let this feeling rule her and padded her way out to her living room. It was five in the morning, and she didn’t have to be at work until ten, so she might as well watch television.

Turning the television on, she skipped channels until she found the one she wanted. Living alone in a shitty apartment was rough, but not having a smart tv was the worst. Everybody else got to watch the latest Grey’s Anatomy episodes, while Sam watched a lot of public television. It was alright. She learned a lot about the weather and public events in Modesto.

Her favorite channel was the news. It was stupid, but she liked knowing what was happening around her. Strangely, it was comforting to know that other people had lives around her. That things were happening outside of her little bubble. Plus, it was easier to sleep when the gas prices flashed across the screen.

But this morning, with that pit of dread in her stomach, she admittedly hesitated to switch to the news. Something told her just to turn the television off, but like most warnings in her life, she plowed through it.

And there, on channel four news, she saw it.

Her baby sister’s face was plastered across the screen, a picture Sam hadn’t seen. It took her breath away at how grown-up her baby sister looked. It looked like some school photo- as Tara wore a peach long-sleeved shirt, her hair was down and stringy. Tara smiled big, but Sam could tell she was faking it.

Sam was so engrossed with the photo of her sister that she almost missed the headline flashing across the screen.

WARNING: DISTURBING SCENES

She cocked her head, watching the cameras pan around a house. Her old house. The house in Woodsboro. The one she was raised in. Why were they in her home?

The cameras panned around, zooming in on various shots of a clear scuffle.

Sam snorted. Of course, Christina fucked up her home. That woman could ruin anything she touched. But why would they do a piece on her mother being a stupid drunk? It’s not like it was news.

Naturally, Sam spoke too soon.

As the camera zoomed in, Sam felt her blood run cold. On the floor of what once was her kitchen, a broken picture frame, glass shattered around it. She knew that picture well. It was from the day she taught Tara how to ride a bike.

—-

“Okay, the brake is the right trigger. The left one is a brake too, but you shouldn’t use that. That one will stop super quick, and you’re not ready for that, okay?”

Tara looked up at Sam, her big brown eyes wide with fear. Her purple helmet wasn’t tight enough, slipping onto her forehead. Coupled with the splash of freckles over her nose and the braided pigtails on her shoulders, she looked utterly adorable. It was hard for Sam to be serious when her little sister looked like a little angel.

The two sisters were standing at the side of Tara's new bike. Well. Mostly new. Sam had stolen it from the elementary school and spray-painted it purple. Rummaging through her father’s toolbox, she had taken the training wheels off too. Now her baby sister could be just like all the other kids. Seven wasn’t too late of an age to learn how to ride a bike. Sam learned at eight years old from her friend Tracy’s mom.

She knew it was time for Tara to learn. Her baby sister had been begging for weeks to let her ride Sam’s big girl bike. But now, at the sight of her very own bike, her little sister looked unsure.

Frowning, Tara messed with the right brake, feeling the bike stop and go under her hand. She did the same with the left; her brow furrowed deeply.

Sam knelt by Tara’s side, cupping her cheek and gently rubbing her thumb in soothing circles. Her sister leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“What’s wrong, baby girl? Are you okay? Am I going too fast?” she asked, smiling slightly at how Tara practically fell into her hand.

Her sister shook her head, jutting her lower lip in a pout. “No, Sammy. I’m just scared. What if I fall off?”

Sam held out her hand, and Tara took it without a second thought. Looking into her sister’s eyes, she saw a mirror of her younger self. Unsure. Scared. Nervous.

She knew she had to calm Tara’s fears. Nobody had done it for her, so she was determined to do it for Tara.

Anything for her baby sister.

“Listen, honey. You’re not going to fall. You know how I know that?”

Tara shook her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Sam smiled, squeezing Tara's hands. “I know that because I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall. I will protect you, okay? Always,”.

“Always?” Tara feebly asked.

Without hesitation, Sam answered. “Always. I promise,”.

Tara smiled and threw her arms around Sam’s neck. “Okay. I’m ready,”.

Sam hugged her back, basking in the warmth of her baby sister.

“Okay. Let's do it!”

Sam doesn’t quite know who took the picture. Maybe the twins' mother or even her father. All she knew was that she was thankful she had swiped that picture frame from Walmart. She knew it would come in handy one day.

She was proud to be Tara’a protector. She always would be. She promised.

—-

Now staring at that picture frame smashed on the kitchen floor she grew up in, Sam started feeling light-headed.

Bloodstains were smeared on the floor and a bloody handprint caked to the wall. Shattered glass was all over the kitchen floor, and yellow caution tape covered the whole scene.

And there she saw it.

Below the bloody handprint, but above the broken picture frame, was a messy word.

S A M A N T H A

Her name was scrawled in red paint on the wall. No, not paint, blood.

She swallowed hard, shivering at the frame. None of this felt real. What was going on? Why was her name on the wall of her old kitchen? And why was it in the blood?

Who’s blood was that?

As if answering her frantic thoughts, the camera flashed back to the news reporter, and Sam saw the new headline underneath him.

LOCAL WOODSBORO TEENAGER FOUND SLAIN IN HOME: NO LEADS AT THE MOMENT.

And there was her sister’s picture again. Right above the headline. Her smiling, beautiful baby girl. A new murder case for the local news to follow.

The room around her started to spin. This wasn’t right. Tara was eighteen now. She was supposed to graduate high school this year. Sam had the date on her calendar- she promised herself that she would see her baby sister walk across the stage. Now she’s dead.

Who would kill her baby sister? Who could take her instead of Sam?

She got up, stumbling her way to the bathroom. Falling to her knees, she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. It was hot acid crawling up her throat. Shame and disgust burned in her gut, and her hands couldn’t stop shaking as they held onto the porcelain bowl.

Leaning back, Sam felt her back hit the wall, and she closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

This wasn’t right. Tara couldn’t be dead. Sam hadn’t even said hello again, much less goodbye. How could she be taken away from Sam? Who would do this?

She shakily got to her feet, hand on the wall to keep her upright. Making her way to the sink, Sam turned the water on as hot as possible. She needed to feel it tear the skin off her hands.

Something to tell her that this reality wasn’t her own.

Letting her hands grow red and angry under the steaming water, she looked up in the mirror, eyes widening at the reflection staring back at her.

Her father stood behind her, a strange look on his face. She wasn’t unaccustomed to seeing him, especially when she hadn’t taken her medication. But he usually smiled behind her, a shit-eating grin occupying his bloody face.

But Billy stood behind her, a knife in hand, blood dripping off the blade, a strange look on his face.

“You know why they did this, Sam. You know why they took her. Are you going to let that slide?” he growled, his eyes dark with bloodlust.

She swallowed hard, pulling her burnt hands from the scalding water. They were red and angry, and she couldn’t bend her fingers. Steam curled off her fingertips, and against her will, her hands shook.

“What can I do? She’s dead. She was murdered,” she choked out, her throat clenching in pain.

He just shook his head, blood spattering onto his soiled shirt.

“Are you going to let her die in vain? Are you going to let her death mean nothing?”

Sam shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “No, no. She means everything. I promised to protect her. I promised,” she sobbed.

Billy leaned in, and Sam could feel him breathing down her neck. She shivered at the feeling.

But a genuine part of her loved knowing his control over her. It felt so fucking good to be understood and accepted for her bloodlust. Her natural state of chaos, the violence she craved to inflict on others who wronged her.

Maybe that’s why she was more than okay with his following few words.

“You can’t protect her now. But you can avenge her,” he whispered.

She straightened up, wiping the tears from her face.

“How?”

He grinned at her, and she felt something bloom in her chest.

Rage.

“You let me take over. And we will make sure that everybody knows not to fuck with the Loomis bloodline,”.

Sam blinked, and suddenly he was gone. She was left alone with just her own reflection in the mirror. Her own tear-filled eyes, and blistering hands. The pain radiated up her arms, making her teeth ache as she clenched them.

But the pain didn’t bother her. No, it was fuel. She knew Billy was right. It was time to let go of the pain she felt. It was time to inflict it on others. It was time for her revenge.

Tara wouldn’t die in vain. Sam promised to protect her. In life or death, Sam would make whoever murdered her baby sister pay for their sins.

And she would make it hurt like hell.

[eorzeashan]

thinks about Eight, who begins his career as an agent removed from his culture since childhood, who struggles being unfit in both worlds of the Empire and being Echani, who constantly battles and redefines what it means to be a warrior of both, who feels lost from others because a sword is all he is. Eight, who eventually becomes a hero of the Alliance, and legend to his people; who becomes immortalized as patron of unnamed warriors and those who walk the shadows alone.

[intothewizardverse]

i really really want peter parker to fucking SNAP in marvels spiderman 2. like, i know its guaranteed to happen bc, yknow, black suit, but i just want an acknowledgement of all that shit he went thru in the first game. Peter lost a LOT. 3 people he cared for turned on him. One of which KNOWINGLY CAUSED his aunts death. And we never see Peter really DEAL with any of this. In the dlc and miles morales hes just, happy normal peter. swinging like his world didnt crash down on him in a matter of days. We never see Peters grief for May, and we never see him grieve for these relationships except for the iconic post final boss scene. I would EAT IT UP if when the back suit comes into play, all these events start weighing more heavily on him. let a vengeful spiderman say "it meant everything to you, but it meant SO much more to me. you will feel the consequences."

and THATS when it hits Miles that Peter isnt all the way there anymore.

[kryptonianclone]

James pops a punk rock cowboy hat on Kon's head, grinning. "Come on, baby girl. Ducklings are hatching at the ranch, and you need to be there to name them."

Certified babygirl™️ || accepting

First of all? The hat? Amazing, James wasn’t getting this back. This was very y’allternative of him. Second of all, baby girl? Absolutely correct it left Kon a little weak in the knees.

“Oh, yeah can’t have those ducklings without names. Does my big strong ranch husband need a lift there? Or is he good to walk?”

[tiredassmage]

also playing today: two disaster spies + their first love confession (bc bold of anyone to assume the first time would be direct)

(and shoutout to fey for tagging along, gs mvp bestie)

[daftlads]

"best friends cuddle. this is normal. this doesn't have to be romantic." hajisouda lmaoooo

@worldneeds ---- answered.

"will you shut up." this is the fourth time hajime's rolled over in about as many minutes, and maybe the tenth time he's had to shove his elbow into kaz's ribs. "no one is talking about it like that except for you. do you hear them complaining?"

it's been silent (save for souda) for a while, the soft sound of everyone else breathing making it sound as though the island itself is coming to life. there are so few of them, now. hajime can't raise his head to look around, so he twists to frown directly into kazuichi's eyes instead. even that makes him ache, for some reason. "get some sleep."

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 7: Somnophilia - Winter Soldier

Summary: He had been instructed to find you after he had completed his mission for a debrief, but he has needs to be taken care of first.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content!!!, consensual somnophilia, kinda freeuse, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, obsessive behaviour, multiple orgasms

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

The Winter Soldier had only been to your home once more, the location of which wasn’t even included in any Hydra files, but he knew. He always seemed to know where you were, seeking to find you in the darkness. He had been your patient and priority for years. Not only were you his Doctor but carer, the person to give him his missions and report back to; you fed him, helped even to wash him on occasions, you had been ordered to look after the Soldier’s every need, by whatever was necessary.

You’d instructed him two days before report to you following the completion of his mission, and tomorrow, in the early hours of the morning, you were to go to the Hydra base and wait for him to arrive. This was why you were shocked, to say the least when he turned up at your home clearly; whatever had occurred during the mission had riled him up, making him desperate for release.

You should have anticipated this with the Winter Soldier, and to be truthful, you, too, needed some sort of a release from how on edge you’d been over the last 36 hours of watching his heartbeat on a monitor to make sure that he was surviving through the mission. Only after he had confirmed the kill and was on his journey back you finally collapsed face-first onto the bed. 

Even though he was your patient, the relationship was significantly blurred as of late as human instinct and the need to find satisfaction through touch had escalated. You weren’t sure when or where, but as he became more unsettled and riled up, his trust in you increased, and he made advances of the sexual kind.

You’d used the excuse that it was to get his frustrations out, which is why you’d allowed it to continue, but in truth, you were just as lonely and in need of human contact, too. The bond the two of you had formed over the years meant that, in an odd way that was inexplainable, you trusted the assassin. There had been enough circumstances that he had lost control and on the warpath, and the only person who would never come to any harm would be you; even after his memory was wiped, he would automatically answer to you and no one else. 

Therefore, now, the Soldier was more unpredictable, needing the warmth of your body but also being fascinated by how you reacted to the point that he’d become obsessed. This was how you got to the situation you were currently in.

You’d been in a deep-sated sleep that was desperately needed, but because of that, you were incredibly disorientated. The bed felt softer than usual; the thump of your heart fluttered against your eardrums, covering up the sounds produced further down the bed.

Your entire body was floating like the bed had disappeared, and you’d somehow landed on a fluffy cloud. Everywhere was warm, comfortable and yet vulnerable; you felt exposed at first but soon realised that the bed sheet must have slipped from your body, exposing your nudity.

The more that time ticked on, the more your surroundings began to unblur. You realised that the warmth of your body was actually a burning in your muscles being held in a specific position by a heavy weight pushing on it.

Taking a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with cool air, you soon came to the realisation that you were moaning deep from the back of your throat. Drowsy, dry moans that continued in a steady flow as you reacted to something even in the depths of sleep.

With a whole body shiver, you attempted to move, to understand why your core was pulsing with pleasure; however, when you tried to stretch your legs, thick leather gloved-covered hands held your thighs back so that your knees were grazing your chest.

“Wha-What’s going on?” you asked, but your throat was so dry and sleep still evident so that your voice was croaky and deeper than usual. Your only answer came in a long hard lick of a tongue from your hole to your clit.

Your back arched with an automatic response, hands moving down to deel whoever was there and was greeted with a clammy forehead and hair that felt long, unwashed and draped over your mound.

A powerful suck to your throbbing bundle of nerves forced your eyes to bolt open; back still arched, but now, you were pushing up on your elbows to half sit up and look at the man you already knew who was there, eating you out like a man wholly starved, like it was his first meal in days. You supposed he probably was hungry, besides from the fact that he’d been travelling for hours, as his high metabolism meant he usually was hungrier quicker than others.

The Winter Soldier was lying on the bed, stomach down against the mattress, his tactical gear still on and only his mask was missing. He was still coated in grim dirt from the mission, even on the gloves that held your thighs in place, but he didn’t care, and neither did you as he helped himself to your pussy. For a moment, you contemplated his night; he must have travelled non-stop to get here and then dropped to his knees and started licking your cunt, probably too hyper-fixated on your nakedness even to bother to wake you.

The moans in the back of your throat increased in volume, the tips of your fingers moving further into his hair to hold him in that position right as his tongue curled deep inside your hole just as you liked it.

The Asset's eyes were closed. However, they always were when he pleasured you, as if he was so in the zone, only wanting to listen to your sweet melodies of moans and taste your unique sweet taste like it was the best and only thing that mattered to him.

“Soldier”, you gasped with a rush of air escaping your mouth as you collapsed back onto the mattress, feet tilting and resting onto his shoulders to help keep him in that same position.

The grip on your thighs tightened almost to the point of leaving bruises as he responded to his title, and your walls were beginning to clamp down with more urgency to suck his tongue deeper. Just a little more, a particular flick of his tongue, and you were orgasming, squishing his face by grinding your hips and holding his hair firmly in place as your cunt contracted against his tongue.

The Winter Soldier didn’t stop fucking you with his tongue until your muscles loosened and fingers relaxed, and then dropped back onto the mattress as you stared up at the ceiling in the after-orgasmic bliss.

One minute, you’re grinning like an idiot, blowing out a long, steady breath, and the next, you’re face down on the bed as the Asset twisted your hips, turning you over and rising on the bed himself.

This was usually how it happened, so you had anticipated it, especially to be moved into this position. It was his favourite position to do it from behind, whether it was bending over a desk, countertop, bed or on your knees like you were now, face down and ass up. The conclusion you’d come to that he preferred it this was it wasn’t as personal as face to face, which had happened once, and he’d gone into a complete meltdown to the point that he had needed to be frozen again and Pierce had been beyond fuming after he’d found out what had happened. It was most likely because he’d seen the euphoria on your face during sex and bought back some human emotion for him that the Soldier couldn’t understand.

So now, the fucking was exclusively from behind, but you didn’t mind, especially as it was wild, as he always fucked you so deep from this angle. The Asset only unzipped himself, not bothering to undress any further, finding it unnecessary even to remove his shoes as he wiped his cock up and down your folds to later his tip in your juices.

This was your only warning before he began to fuck you. One sharp thrust in, 5 seconds to adjust and then it was a free-for-all. 

Hard, deep, fast thrusts. Your bed bounced against the wall, smacking noises of both the impact of the bed and your hips being slapped against his as he held tightly onto the flesh, using the momentum to push and pull your body against his.

The Winter Solider’s balls smacked your tender clit, swollen from his mouth. Your fingers fisted into the pillow beneath your face, teeth also having to bite the material so that your poor neighbours didn’t complain about the screaming at whatever late hour that it was.

He was rough, but the Asset needed to be. He needed to feel hard sparking touches as anything else would have been too overstimulating in the sense that he wasn’t used to soft touches, only from you, but when he was in control, he craved it to be like this. The mushroomed tip of his thick cock was fucking repeatedly into your cervix, almost making you see stars with how good and intense it felt. Your juices were making squelching noises with each thrust of his member, and it was so loud and obscene that it covered the sound of your muffled moans.

Not a single noise came from the Asset; he was always silent for the most of it. Only his heavy breathing could be heard, but at least this time, he wasn’t wearing his mask like usual.

However, he decided to mix it up slightly, doing something he hadn’t attempted before as his grip on your hip released so he could take hold of your shoulder, pulling on it until you were entirely on your knees, naked back flush against his tactical gear-clothed chest. The arm on your shoulder then scooped around your front, resting between your breasts and fingers around your neck to ensure you didn’t fall forward. You knew the metal arm was holding you up due to the firm feeling beneath the leather clothes.

His parted lips hovered next to your ear like he would whisper something to you, but no noises or words came. The rolling of his hips slowed, but the thrusts were still just as deep and methodical, the buckles of his belt digging into your bare flesh until you were clawing at his wrist to all of the stimulation.

It felt so good, so god damn good that you were already clinging to him and wanting to scream that you were about to orgasm again. Still, he already knew from how your pussy clutched to him like a lifeline, attempting to milk his cock with his hard it was squeezing his length in flutters. The Soldier continued, not phased or slowing as you shivered and then came, warm wet juices soaking down your thighs as your cunt pulsed around his cock.

Nothing could ever prepare you for his libido, though. He could stay hard for hours due to his super serum, and with how needy and lonely you were, you’d fucked him enough time to get used to the long sessions, knowing by the end, you’d be overstimulated and thoroughly satisfied.

Two more orgasms later, you were a trembling mess, having moved to lie on your side as he spooned close behind, hair drenched from how warm he was, still completely dressed. You were curled around your pillow, pussy sensitive and flooded from all of your orgasms, and he finally made a noise, releasing a deep groan as his seed spilt into your pussy, coating your walls and then leaking out and dripping onto the bed.

You were already half asleep again as he pulled out, standing to clean himself. With half-lidded, heavy eyes, you forced yourself to turn onto your back to follow his movements. It was sometimes hard to remember what your job role was, that it wasn’t some kind of a fling or one-night stand, so with great difficulty, you asked, “Mission report?”