#we are not in a position to let any fics go soldiers. we must stay strong

[dayurno]

im trying to write a kevjean fic right now and its not very good. but i want u to know that u inspired me. blows you a kiss

yyou people are all so absurdly mean to me you cant stay stuff like this and not send me even a little teaser of your kevjean fics. mean to me absurdly mean to me. is our bond worth nothing to you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: another week ahead.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls. 

Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful. 

“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.” 

“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree. 

“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.” 

“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest. 

The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you. 

“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.” 

You frown and look over at Merinda. 

“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.” 

He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze. 

“Just me, sir?” you ask. 

“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.” 

You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position. 

“Mer,” you croak. 

“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits. 

Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle. 

“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--” 

“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.” 

“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.  

Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort. 

You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind. 

He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it. 

There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews. 

“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.” 

You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.” 

⚔️

The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.  

You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see. 

You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields. 

As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much. 

You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers. 

Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him. 

“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.” 

You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart. 

You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience. 

The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet. 

“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.” 

He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens. 

“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?” 

You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite. 

Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...” 

“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful. 

You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises. 

“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.” 

“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.” 

You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.” 

“You understand me,” he states, not asks. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?” 

You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters. 

“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.” 

⚔️

Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns. 

Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him. 

“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding. 

“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.” 

You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.” 

He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.” 

You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier. 

Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within. 

Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter. 

“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!” 

You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again. 

“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!” 

“Get inside,” a soldier growls. 

“You do not command me! I am the queen--” 

“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion. 

“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!” 

Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade. 

“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.” 

She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents. 

“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps. 

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure. 

She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.” 

You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold. 

“She is hungry. Is there food?” 

“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows. 

You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty. 

You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red. 

As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal. 

She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come. 

As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes. 

“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--” 

Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest. 

“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts. 

The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls. 

“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.” 

“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?” 

He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping. 

“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--” 

“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.” 

Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.” 

She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...” 

He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step. 

“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap. 

[amyisherenowitsokay]

so tumblr wouldn't let me ask w/o an account so here i am-

so. hi. listen. i need to know. because i read re:mhny and a BEAUTIFUL Chekhov's gun stared me in the face just waiting to be fired??i think??- please tell me the control brains will have a role in re:mhny 3/4??? bc you're the only person i'd trust to do the concept justice and i understand if it's too late in your planning to play with but like, idk pls take my poor ideas perhaps you could be inspired-

wouldn't the control brains imply that irkens are a slave race? imagine Gaz having the AUDACITY of saying this to the Tallest, or Dib of all people not only learns of those specific dark facts (brains as overseers, irkens are grown not bred, pak holds so much more than gear, their minds, memories, abilities etc), comes to the realization, and it rips a chunk out of his view on irkens? or he looks at Zim with pity? in horror?

or something more interesting. The Control Brains use Zim's PAK against him. Zim doesn't realize, because he isn't the ''system administrator''. Maybe he's controlled, or thoughts/memories edited? Dib notices the subtle quirks, the loss in personality, Gaz notices the unnervingly nonsapient differences? Until Zim removes it for maintenance. Imagine the slowly dawning visceral terror as it hits him that he's much more aware, awake, alert without it drugging him? but- disconnection pens the 10 minute death warrant. I doubt he could constantly dis/reconnect, either.

oh yeah, first idea that hit me and i had to tell you- The Control Brains calculated the danger of Zim coming anywhere near the position of the Tallest. It's an objective fact such an outcome must be prevented. (if the irken race is slavery sanitized, perfection via calculating precision-free will is an illusion-, then leaders are knowingly produced. How else would the status quo be kept?) The Tallest know this. Zim knows this. Thus, not only the Tallest, but the Control Brains, must be removed. How, if murdering Zim where he stands is the automatic consequence for the thought? Easy, til the end. Deactivate the kill-switch. Pull the literal plug. Ten minutes to win.

Alternatively, with less 'me-editing-while-i-type-these-ideas-out-to-sound-coherent/add-more/sales-pitching-you':

Gaz stands where Zim once stood, staring at the irregularly sized and scattered crimson lenses of the Control Brains. There's a clarity that she's lost track of the remaining minutes.

Oho! Oho ho! Delighted! So delighted at fan theories ohoho!

I'm still MAD hungover from a lovely thanksgiving but I've long since honed the ability to type and not look at a screen so here we gooo.

SPOILERS/TEASERS UNDER THE CUT

First off, just to get it out of the way, I don't have any intention of trying to make a 4th Re:MHNY addition, mostly because of how my initial attempt at the 4th addition was so heavily entrenched in peer pressure and other ick. I won't go into it, but essentially, the series is going to stay a trilogy. We stan a trilogy.

The Control Brains are not going to rear their lil bulbous heads anytime soon, but I can confirm they're going to be in Re:MHNY3, as are the Tallest. I am most excited to redo the relationship between the Tallest and Zim.

The Irken Armada in fics as a whole is usually treated as a stepping stool for Zim to be King of the Hill, or for his Hero's Journey Redemption Arc. Which, don't get me wrong, some of my favorite fics have Zim end as a Tallest or Zim end as hero of Earth, but I personally HC something else that's going to be gently established as the story continues. I am still warring with the final cleanup, but I DO know some of it.

For your initial question, yes, absolutely. I think it might be canon (?) that the Irkens are a slave race, but don't quote me on that, brain is dehydrated and crispy. Regardless, for me, yes, I do think of the Irkens as enslaved, but heavily propagandized not to notice. According to them, they're not slaves, they're soldiers, when in fact they're both.

Gaz's 'audacity' in particular is a theme I'm looking forward to writing, and have actively already brainstormed. I do intend for Gaz to end up meeting the Tallest again, but unlike the original MHNY, you'll note that the Tallest are far less favorable to Zim at the end of the first story. They don't look at him with awe and admiration as they did in the original. They don't even know he has a mate, and that information is deliberately kept from them. They treat him with disdain, and Gaz notices and loathes it. They're not besties, they're dictators speaking to a subordinate they'd prefer was dead, and since he's been disillusioned, Zim knows that. The really fun thing about Re:MHNY is Zim doesn't have to imagine what Gaz does when face-to-face with someone with as much Absolute Authority(tm) as a Tallest. He's already seen it. Have a blurb from Re: 3!

It's not a question of "can you imagine how they'd react?" because Zim already knows. He's counting on it and accounting for it. And that's going to be the fun part!

Now onto Dib! I can't say too much without actually spoiling Re:2 actually, but I can say that Dib IS going to find out more about Irken culture than Zim ever wanted to him to know. He brought up multiple time to Gaz in Re:MHNY how much he really doesn't want Dib to understand or know Irken business the way she does. The curtain being pulled back for Gaz doesn't mean the offer extends to her sibling, but Dib's never been one to know when to keep himself out of other people's business. How he does so is where I'll let the mystery sit.

Regarding Zim being beaten up by a CB, or in some way ctrl + alt + deleted, I borrow a lot of my lore from unpublished episodes too, including The Trial. It's therefore my HC that the Control Brains themselves can't touch Zim, and have in fact been infected to view him favorably. I'll go more into what happened in Re:3, and what attempts were made to fix any errors Zim caused, but the events of that unpublished episode are important enough to keep in mind when I get around to writing it. At this point though, the Armada has become afraid to try to destroy Zim without the CB's on their side. It's best for everyone if Zim is dead, but they'll settle for keeping him as far away from Irk and their leaders as possible, and keep humoring him to make sure he doesn't want to leave, which is where the end of MHNY: Re lands.

Brain is now slushie but I hope that tickles your fancy. Tysm for making a whole account just to share your enthusiasm about the direction of Re's future installments with me. I love and cherish every single one of my ao3/ff comments, but tumblr let's me go on monologues like this/gives me a place to upload teasers/art whenever I want to satisfy my readers during fic update gaps. Your username made me laugh audibly, but before you delete your account, I'd recommend perusing through my blog here if you're looking for more teasers.

[titanicsimp]

Could you write some smut reader/Zeke/Levi? Btw the one reader/Zeke/Reiner/Porco was ✨✨✨🤤👀👀❤

I worked on this fic for a MONTH thanks to my fever brain <’3

Zeke Yeager x female!reader x Levi Ackerman

cw: threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, creampies, backshot, double penetration, fingering, biting/marking, rough sex, clit slapping, face slapping (once), spit kink, very minor injury (cut on lip), slight angst

The scent of smoke fills your senses with every soft puff of breath he lets out along your neck, his lips trailing along it like you are made off of the nicotine he’s so addicted to. As his hands dip below the fabric of your shirt, you can’t help but wonder how you ended up here, meeting in the middle of the night in a lonely storage space, in the arms of a man who by all means should be the enemy.

When his lips find yours, you can taste the answer on them. You had been lonely, so lonely. The man you loved had long made it clear he had no intention of being with you, he barely spared you a glance most of the time. When you had confessed how you felt, he had flat out rejected you, no reason had been specified outside ‘I can’t.’. Zeke was the exact opposite of him, not only as a person but also in his interest in you. He didn’t avert his eyes when you passed by, he didn’t give you cold stares, instead he gazed at you with lust without any hesitation or shame.

Was it weak of you to give in to this morally corrupt man so easily? Probably, but you were sick of spending the cold nights on Paradis alone, and Zeke was more than willing to keep you company.

Zeke’s touch feels wrong, yet it awakens a fire inside of you. Every spot he touches seems to tingle with anticipation, and you sigh into the kiss. Had it been so long?

Too lost in your thoughts to hear the jiggling of the doorknob, you are unaware someone has just entered the room, the feeble lock having easily given in. By the time Zeke notices, his hand has already been snatched away from under your shirt, his normally great senses having been slowed by his arousal.

“Do I have to cut your hands off again, beast?!”

You look on in shock as Zeke’s hand is forced to his back, and a knife is brought to his throat. You recognize the voice instantly, you have spent too many years around him not to. “Levi!”

“You think you can assault one of my soldiers?! You think you can lay your dirty hands on her?!” Though you can’t see his expression from behind Zeke, his voice lets you know he’s furious.

Zeke huffs but doesn’t move, an irritated look on his face at the interruption. “I think you have the wrong impression here. This wasn’t my idea.” His tone is smug, provoking Levi to dig the blade into the skin of Zeke’s neck.

“He’s right!” You say quickly, your hands quivering by your side. Though you would prefer to just disappear at the moment, you need to speak up before it gets even further out of hand. Out of all people, why him?!

The knife retreats from Zeke’s throat, leaving a single scarlet droplet in its wake. His lips quirk up slightly into a smile, smug at the short freeze he had noticed from the man behind him.

You want to avert your eyes when Levi steps out of Zeke’s shadow, but you don’t want to be disrespectful, not more than you already were by messing around with the enemy anyway.

“What did you say?” Levi asks, steel eyes commanding you to repeat yourself.

Your throat feels dry out of nowhere as your gaze locks onto his. “I said that he’s right. What you saw was my idea, captain.”

His usual stoic expression twists to one of hurt for just a brief moment, disappearing within seconds. He regained his composure so quickly that you question whether you actually saw it or were just imagining it.

Levi returns his knife to its sheath, eyes burning holes into your form. “We’re leaving.”

You blink in confusion, looking from Zeke to Levi and back. “What? I know what Yeager has done, but I wasn’t aware that interpersonal relationships aren’t allowed, seeing how things were going with-“

“It’s not about that!” Levi barks out, making you flinch. You had seen him angry like this only a handful of times, and only in situations far worse than this.

Zeke comes closer to you, facing Levi with a shrug of his shoulders. “Seems like y/n wants to stay with me.”

This whole situation is growing more awkward by the minute. Normally you would go with Levi without a second thought, but now you found someone that desires you you don’t want to give it up that easily. The thought of spending another 6 years of your limited life alone makes you stand your ground.

“You can have her,” Levi says, causing your heart to plummet to your stomach.

“When I’m six feet under the ground.”

You stare at Levi. His expression and voice have calmed down, but his anger seems to roll off of him in waves. Should you be happy? More than likely this has nothing to do with you, and all with the promise he made to Erwin.

You fiddle with your skirt uneasily. Gods, how could you be doing this? What a betrayal to all who have fought and died by your side these past few years.

Zeke glances over to you, taking in your nervous form before sighing. “I’m not sure if it will wreck your little soldier, but I don’t mind sharing.”

If you weren’t absolutely frozen in shock, your jaw would drop to the floor. Your turbulent thoughts are instantly blown away by Zeke’s words, a whole new moral conflict arising. Heat rises to your cheeks at his suggestion, the word choice of ‘wreck’ making your knees embarrassingly weak.

Levi grits his teeth. “I must have knocked some threads loose last time we fought for you to even suggest such a thing.”

His rejection doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. He didn’t want to sleep with you when it was just you and him, so now with Zeke here? No chance.

Zeke takes off his glasses, examining them in the light of the lantern before polishing them on his sleeve. He’s practically oozing disinterest, which you are guessing is the point. “I understand. You don’t want to do anything that will leave you embarrassed.” He says.

Levi stares him down, but Zeke continues casually polishing his glasses. “What are you implying?”

You look at Zeke, shaking your head slightly. Just drop it, this is madness.

“I don’t think I need to tell you what I’m implying.” He sighs when Levi doesn’t say anything.

“Just stop!”

Their gazes both snap to you after you yell. Your fists are balled, form trembling slightly from embarrassment and adrenaline. Sure, the prospect is exciting, but it will never happen, and at this point, you are starting to feel humiliated over the continuous rejections from Levi.

“I’m leaving.” You tell them and start walking towards the door, adjusting your messy shirt on the way. Levi tries to grab your arm when you pass, but you slap his hand away. “Alone.”

You already have the doorknob in your hand when the wood of the door shakes with impact. Wide-eyed, you look at the boot that’s keeping the door shut. The owner of it gazes at you with a conflicted look. “If you want to stay with him, stay.” He spat out the word ‘him’ like it was poison on his tongue.

Your gaze travels up his form and to his face, confusion written all over yours. What is this pushing and pulling? Stay, leave, which is it?

“Y/n, come.” You look back, seeing Zeke beckoning you with open arms, his glasses back on his face.

You chew on your lips, glancing between the two men once again. Levi drops his gaze, avoiding your questioning eyes. Ah yes, that’s how it is, isn’t it? The previous moments were exactly that, moments, and they had passed now he had come back to his senses.

Slowly, your hand slips from the doorknob, and as it does you can sense Levi tensing up next to you. Not daring to look at him in fear of conflicting your heart any further, you go back to Zeke. As you stare at your new lover with a stinging heart, you hear shuffling behind you. When you turn your head you find that Levi has propped an old chair under the doorknob, closing the storage room off more effectively. 

“You didn’t think I was going to leave her with you, did you?”

What? Your mind races as Zeke pulls you closer, hugging your back to his chest and his fingers finding your chin. Levi is... staying? You are given no time to process what this means as Zeke’s lips press against yours. He drags you into a wild kiss, forcing your mouth open by your chin so he can push his tongue past your lips. One of his legs pushes yours apart from behind, your skirt hiking up on his knee. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, the person you admire the most watching you get devoured by another man.

Zeke pulls away from the kiss slightly, leaving his tongue sticking out so he can show off the string of saliva connecting it with yours. He glances at Levi from the side, keeping you panting in your position. “Let’s get to it then, if you hadn’t interrupted us I would’ve already been between her legs.” Heat creeps up your neck at his crude words.

“Bastard.” Levi curses under his breath, sharp eyes finding yours. You can’t place his look, there’s anger there for sure, but also something else.

After Zeke’s little display, you are expecting him to leave the room any second and have him never want to look you in the eye again, but instead of doing that, he starts undoing the straps of his uniform.

It’s impolite to stare, but how couldn’t you? In all these years you’d never seen him anymore bare than in his nightclothes, and here he was, getting ready to strip right in front of you. Taking advantage of your distracted mind, Zeke swiftly pulls up your shirt, exposing your bra to them and making goosebumps rise on your skin from the cold air. As Levi’s eyes trail over your chest, you regret your choice of bra. It has a very low-cut cup, barely covering your nipples.

Zeke’s one hand remains on your chin as the other snakes up to the exposed flesh of your breasts. You shiver when he traces a finger just above the edge of your bra. “You even wore something nice for me? I’m honored.” Zeke presses his lips to your ear but still says it loudly enough for Levi to hear. You really had. It’s not like you had a ton of fancy underwear laying around, 98% of it were practical ones that weren’t exactly eye candy.

You gasp when Zeke backs up for a second and swiftly pulls your shirt off completely, forcing your arms up. He easily catches your wrists together in one colossal hand, keeping your arms up to ensure you can’t cover yourself.

“What do you think, Levi, should I take off everything?” Zeke asks, amusement sounding in his voice.

Your wide eyes move to Levi, a frustrated expression showing on his face. You would’ve thought he wasn’t enjoying it if it wasn’t for the obvious imprint in his pants.

Zeke tuts at Levi’s lack of answer, freehand creeping down your stomach and to the fabric of your skirt. “You’re right, it’s better to take our time.”

He crunches the fabric up in his hand, slowly pulling it up more and more until your panties are revealed. His breath is hot on your ear, becoming noticeably faster when his fingers grace over the silk of your underwear. Your arms wiggle in his grip as his fingers tease over your heat, sliding past your clothed slit. The more pressure he puts against the material, the more your body heats up, and soon he can feel a damp spot through it.

You look at Levi through your lashes, lids low as you hang back against Zeke’s body and let him explore yours. The embarrassment has mostly faded and you allow yourself to stare at him to your heart’s content. You notice everything; the subtle twitches of his face, his widened pupils, the way he swallows heavily every time a tiny mewl escapes your mouth. All of it combined with Zeke’s touches is sending electricity through your body.

Zeke’s hand trails up slightly, leaving your damp panties to stick to your core. You turn your head to the side, giving him a pleading look to take them off. He tugs at your arms, making you stand straighter and causing your ass to bump against his crotch, letting you feel the noticeable bulge there. His hand dips underneath the elastic of your panties, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. The pads of his fingers cause shivers to run down your body as they glide over your mount before dipping between your legs. You open your legs slightly so he can reach you well, causing him to chuckle.

“Eager aren’t we?” He has a hungry glint in his eyes when they meet yours.

You lean into his touch when his fingers stroke over your slit, gathering your slick on them. He parts your folds gently with two of his fingers, his middle finger teasing over your entrance. Levi comes closer, lured in by the pants and whimpers falling from your lips. Heat rises to your cheeks as he stands in front of you, barely any distance between the two of you. He looks down at where Zeke’s hand is teasing your cunt, Zeke’s finger lightly pressing on your entrance before moving away once again.

Levi’s hands come up, cupping your soft breasts in them. You bite your lip as he rubs your hardened nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. His gaze shoots up as soon as a moan sounds from you, one corner of his lips quirking up. More moans slip past your lips as he rolls your nipples between two of his fingers, the thin fabric of your bra adding even more friction.

Zeke frowns behind you. All he got was a few whimpers until now, but Levi touches you and you are moaning like a whore. No, he can’t have that.

You cry out when two of Zeke’s fingers suddenly thrust into your tight heat, a wet squelch resonating throughout the room. You barely notice Levi’s hands freezing on your breasts as Zeke’s fingers curl inside of you, intently searching for the rough patch on your walls.

Levi grabs onto your chin, his other hand harshly fondling your breast. He isn’t pleased like when you moaned for him, far from it. His lips crash onto yours, catching your open mouth by surprise. The moans enticed by Zeke’s fingers are muffled by Levi’s tongue, both men groaning as you shake between their forms. This isn’t how you expected your first kiss with Levi, but you might just like it more, the desperation behind it intoxicating.

Zeke’s fingers finally find their target, and he notices instantly as your arms jerk in his grip, your cunt clenching around him. He pushes and strokes over the spot feverishly, and not even Levi’s mouth can muffle your moans anymore.

“You should feel how she’s sucking me in, Levi. I’ve never felt such an eager cunt.” Zeke taunts. Levi doesn’t answer, lips moving against yours so roughly that you feel like your lips will be bruised afterward.

You’re getting close, you can feel it as your whole body starts tensing, bucking into Zeke’s curling fingers. You aren’t sure if Levi means to add to it, but as his hand dips below the fabric of your bra, nail softly raking over your sensitive nipple, you feel yourself rushing towards the edge.

It only takes a few more strokes of Zeke’s fingers before you cum around them. Your legs buckle and tense as you orgasm, Zeke praising you and grinding his bulge against your ass. “That’s it, good girl.”

Levi causes you to yelp out in pain when he bites down on your bottom lip out of nowhere, breaking a tiny part of the skin. You stare at him in shock as he backs up, still shaking from cumming as you watch him wipe the trickle of blood away from his lip. Even Zeke wasn’t expecting that, his fingers leaving your heat quickly and forcing your face to the side. He examines the small cut on your lip even as you try to cringe away from him cupping your face with slick covered fingers.

“Don’t cum for that animal when your mouth is on mine.”

You look at Levi from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t seem angry or shocked with himself, instead, he seems pleased.

Zeke chuckles. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Levi.”

His grip tightens on your wiggling wrists as you try to get some space between the two of you. He tuts at you, making your eyes dart back to his. You can tell from his grin that the little sympathy he might have had just now has disappeared.

“Open your mouth.” He says. He can feel your jaw tense at his words. He loves how innocently wide-eyed you look at him while knowing full well that your cunt is throbbing at the idea of obeying him.

Slowly, you open your mouth, and Zeke’s fingers ease off of your jaw. When you have opened your mouth wide enough for his liking, he slides the two wet fingers past your lips, deliberately going past the cut. Your taste is mixed with a faint hint of blood, but you don’t stop to think about it as Zeke’s fingers press down on your tongue. While you are lapping at his fingers, he finally lets go of your wrists, letting your arms fall to your sides.

You hear Levi sighing close by. “Seems like you are all show and no action. Couldn’t have expected more from a circus monkey.”

Zeke’s eyes stay on yours, daring you to look away even as they talk. “It’s called foreplay.” He responds casually.

Seemingly satisfied with your suckling at his fingers, he slowly pulls them out of your mouth. Taking in your swollen lips, he can’t hold back the urge to make you look even more pathetic. He wipes his fingers off on your cheek, leaving your own spit on it. Is it embarrassing? Most definitely, but in a different way than normally. Something about their rough treatment makes your abdomen flutter in excitement.

Zeke suddenly pushes you towards Levi by your shoulders. “Entertain him while I get these tight fucking pants off.” Zeke grumbles and you can instantly hear him start fumbling with his belt.

Your nerves chitter as you look at Levi. His watchful gaze always makes you scared to make a wrong move. You want to be good to him, for such a long time already that the need to is practically overflowing.

Tired of your staring, Levi makes the first move, pulling your hand forward and against his crotch. Your eyes dart from the bulge you are cupping in your hand to his face. “I’ve waited long enough, take off my pants.” The slight tremor in his voice as he speaks and the pink color on his cheeks has your heart beating faster.

He lets go of your hand, allowing you to move it. You slide your flat palm along the imprint of his cock, making him part his lips in a pant. Making quick work of the button on his pants, you start sliding down the elastic of it, taking his underwear off with it. When his cock is exposed, he pushes your hands away, quickly taking his underwear and pants off completely. He glares at you as he takes off his shirt as well, hair getting tossed on the way. “Strip.” He tells you. The way he throws his clothes to the side is yet another surprise in this odd night.

You let your skirt fall to the floor first, then your wet panties, and lastly your bra. Shivers run up your body from both the cold and the nerves that course through your body as you are naked in front of Levi for the first time. He watches you for a moment, his length twitching excitedly against his stomach. You are watching him as well, but you aren’t sure where to look first. His chest is lean yet muscled, dipping down his in a delicious V just above his crotch. Not following where the V is going would be a shame, and so you eagerly eye his cock. It’s long, curved to the side just slightly with a girth that already ensures you that he will fill you up well.

Wetting your lips, you step towards him, closing the distance between the two of you back up. Reaching out, you wrap your hand around his length. It feels hot and heavy in your hand as you give it a testing pump. You hear Levi’s breath hitch when you look at him through your lashes, eyes lidded. As your hand pumps his cock slowly, he can’t help but tense at the memory of all the nights he spend imagining his hand was yours. Watching you jerk him off, your pretty face so close to his, makes him want to hold you, but also ruin you until you cry.

“Y/n.” He starts and you cock your head to the side slightly, showing that you are listening even though your eyes are trained on his cock again. “Turn around.”

Your eyes snap back to his, searching for what exactly he wants but finding only more questions at the intense lust he’s showing. Precum leaks from the head of Levi’s cock as you obediently turn around, still within reach just like he wanted. You swallow heavily as you are now faced with a fully naked Zeke, his hand eagerly pumping his cock. He gives you a lopsided grin as his thumb rubs over the head of his cock, making it twitch in response.

Levi’s fingers press down softly between your shoulder blades, instructing you to bend forward just slightly. It’s not necessary for what he’s planning, but after Zeke made it a point to show off, he intends to pay him back. You yelp when Levi kicks your legs open and one of his hands grabs onto your hair, roughly pulling at it. He thrusts his cock between your thighs, causing them to be even slicker by combining your already present wetness on them with his pre. Tiny mewls leave your lips as he slides his cock back and forth, the top dragging against your soaked heat. Your plush thighs feel amazing already, but just sliding against them is not what he intended. He grabs onto his cock with his free hand and pushes the tip between your folds. Your surprised look makes Zeke chuckle, cock still in his hand. Is Levi going to put it in? The question rushes through your head and you feel the tip of his cock catch onto your entrance.

“Not yet.” He groans, unsure whether he’s telling you or himself.

The head of his cock slips away from your entrance, his length now snuggly between your folds. Your wet cunt feels better than he could’ve imagined as it drags past his cock, everything about it beckoning him to take you already. Hand on your hair tightening painfully, he starts thrusting slightly as you squeeze your thighs to keep him near. Your heavy pants are interrupted by a moan every time his tip slips against your clit, sending pleasure through your body.

“Look at those pretty lips.” Zeke says, coming closer to your bend-over form.

His cock is glistening with his precum, the head of it flushed red. As he’s closer to you you can really take it in, and the size is startling. Gods, you already have Levi’s sliding against your cunt and now there’s another right in front of your face, this is insane.

Zeke observes the bliss that comes over your face with every thrust of Levi’s. “Your shortness comes in handy for once, like this she’s at the perfect height to suck my cock.” Zeke tells Levi, tapping his cock on your parted lips.

Levi shoots him a nasty look. How he can be so cocky is truly beyond Levi. It doesn’t matter though, it’s clear that you like him better, your body speaks volumes on that. His thoughts making him slide forward faster, his hips connecting with your ass in a loud slap. As you open your mouth to moan at Levi’s actions, Zeke makes little time of thrusting his cock into it. You cough and sputter as you choke on his length, being given no time before he greedily slides himself down your throat.

Tears form in your eyes as Zeke fucks your mouth roughly, your nose bumping against his trimmed pubes over and over again. Levi curses behind you, jealously stirring in his chest. He disgusts himself with how the sight of Zeke defiling you both angers and arouses him. You scream around Zeke’s cock when Levi harshly brings his hand down on your ass. He hits your soft flesh repeatedly, his cock twitching against your heat at every hit.

Zeke coos at you as your tear-filled eyes overspill, the stimulation from both sides becoming too much. His hand strokes over your cheek comfortingly, though he refuses to slow down his thrusts into your squeezing throat. You feel your ass sting from the continuous slaps Levi is landing on your ass, the pain mixing with the pleasure.

Levi stares down at the darkened skin of your ass, his handprints littered all over it. A smile twists onto his face, proud of his work and the way your cunt is drooling over his length in return. Meanwhile, you are still choking down Zeke’s length, the strangled sounds from your throat making it clear that you are struggling. Your sounds draw Levi’s gaze back to where Zeke is fucking your face just in time. Levi recognizes the look on Zeke’s face instantly, head lightly thrown back and eyes closed. Without a second thought, Levi uses the hand in your hair to pull you off of the other man’s cock. You gasp and sputter for air, just as surprised as Zeke as he curses. “What the fuck?!”

“I’m not letting you cum in her mouth, I’m still planning on coming near it.” Levi explains casually as he slides his cock out from between your thighs.

You are still hacking and coughing as the two men exchange dead glares. Will you survive this? You truly wonder as you regain your breath. It’s like being pulled apart between two forces, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every second of it.

“Shit.” Zeke runs a hand down his face, stroking it over his beard. “We can’t take her like this.”

You look up suddenly at his words. Hold on a second, he can’t be tapping out now?!

Zeke gestures towards a sturdy crate off to the side. “Sit on that, Levi.”

Levi grimaces and you look between the two men, just relieved you aren’t being left like this.

Zeke sighs and waves towards the crate again. “Do it or I’ll shove my cock back down her throat, and this time I won’t stop till I’m done.”

You look at Levi, who despite looking slightly disgruntled, agrees and goes to sit on the crate. Zeke swiftly picks you up after, the muscles of his chest presses temptingly against your back. He only holds you for a second before he sits you down on Levi’s lap, having you straddle him.

You place your hands on Levi’s shoulders, a shy smile on your face. He can’t help but chuckle slightly at that, you are still unsure even as his cock is pressing against your cunt. Zeke comes to stand behind you, hands grabbing onto your sore ass. He makes you push it towards him before he spreads your cheeks, whistling at the sight of your dripping hole.

“Don’t know how you resisted all this time.” He comments towards Levi.

Levi’s eyes don’t leave yours, too enthralled by finally having you on him to have Zeke ruin the moment. “Hurry up already, shit beard.”

Zeke lets one of your cheeks go to grab onto his cock. “As you wish.”

Surprising both you and Levi, Zeke aligns himself and pushes into your cunt in one swift thrust. You cry out loudly, nails digging crescent shapes into Levi’s shoulders. Levi is caught off guard for a second as he watches your blissed-out face, and Zeke takes the opportunity to pull out and thrust in with force once again.

“Let’s see if you get the same sound out of her.” Zeke taunts, smacking your sore ass once before pulling out of you. It’s obvious to even your foggy self that he did it just to rile up Levi.

You are panting again, your body shaken by Zeke’s surprise. The walls of your cunt sting from the sudden stretch, but at the same time squeeze eagerly around nothing, waiting for more.

Levi cups your chin in his hand as the other goes to your hip. You watch his dull blue eyes shimmer as he shifts under you till his cock is poking at your dripping entrance. For a second, you wonder how different this would’ve been if he had accepted you sooner.

With a hard push to your hip, he thrusts you onto his length, forcing your spasming walls to accommodate him in one go. To Zeke’s disdain, you do cry out for the other man. Not just the sound either, you cry out his name excitedly.

Levi pulls you in by your chin for a quick, sloppy kiss. It feels so hot inside you, so tight, he’s losing his sense and that’s exactly why he was afraid to do this with you. After this, he won’t want to let you go, while the world may force him to do so. He can’t think about that now though, not while your lips are on his. In this moment you are here, and he will enjoy you fully.

With one of Zeke’s hands still firmly on your cheek, he pulls it to the side, allowing a clearer view of how your hole is stretched and stuffed around Levi’s cock. He feels his face flushing. Though he would’ve liked to enjoy your cunt for himself, this sharing has turned out pretty entertaining so far.

You gasp against Levi’s lips when Zeke presses the tip of his cock against your other entrance. Breaking the kiss, Levi keeps his hand on your chin, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip soothingly, careful to avoid the cut he made. “Take a deep breath.”

Your breath comes out in trembles as Zeke pushes past your tight entrance, his cock coated in your slick. You can feel every inch of him slowly sliding into your ass, causing you to whimper as you soon feel overwhelmingly full. The wall separating their cocks twitches as both their lengths slide against it.

“You took that so well.” Zeke says as his hand finds grip on your free hip. He brushes your hair away from your ear, leaning in closer till his warm breath washes over it. “Makes me wonder how many men you let fuck your little ass.”

You bite back a moan when Zeke bites the top of your ear softly and, unbeknownst to you, connects eyes with Levi. “What do you think, Levi? You are her supervisor after all.”

Levi’s jaw clenches and he drops his hand slightly from your chin. “Seems like I missed a lot.”

You swallow nervously at the angry look in his eyes, your holes involuntarily clenching around their cocks. Quick like always, Levi moves his hand to your neck in the blink of an eye. You quiver between their bodies as he squeezing down on the sides of your neck.

“Who else did you do it with?” He questions, his gaze not allowing you to avert yours.

You gasp as Zeke starts moving, dragging his cock out just a little before thrusting back in. He’s more than eager to add onto your punishment, your body still struggling against the intrusion.

Levi shoots a glare over your shoulder, but Zeke shrugs it off. “You feel how she’s squeezing down. Seems like your cadet likes it rough.”

You didn’t think your embarrassment could return in this situation, but it does. Your perverseness was already exposed, but now the full extent of it is coming out as they question it.

“Tell me who fucked you!” Levi snarls, his hand squeezing harder around your throat. The fact that it happened right under his nose makes his jealousy spark into a wildfire.

His cock twitches inside you at the way your mouth quirks up into a smile. You are enjoying this, aren’t you?

Switching tactics, he leans in closer, ghosting his lips over yours and sliding his cock halfway out of your heat. You fall right for the bait as you try to move in to kiss him, whining when he pulls away just before you reach his lips. “Tell me who.”

Levi can feel your throat moving under his hand as you start and stop speaking multiple times. Your eyes and mouth go wide when Zeke thrusts into you hard, making your ass sting all over again from the impact. 

“Tell him.”

You nod your head up and down desperately. “Alright!” You yelp out as Zeke continues his sharp thrusts.

“Jean! Jean! Just a few times.” You say quickly, your cheeks burning up from shame.

Levi stays quiet for a moment, and you would have been scared if his cock wasn’t buried inside of you. He pulls you closer by your throat, examining your face. “Did he fill you like this?”

You want to answer, but your mouth is left hanging agape as Levi suddenly slams his full length up into you. Choked sounds leave your lips as he forces your hips to stay up as he joins Zeke in a harsh pace.

Zeke’s hands come around your front, fondling your breasts and soon squeezing your nipples with his fingers. “You sure have yourself a good slut here.”

All you can do is moan and cry out a jumble of their names as they fuck into your tight holes. Gods, have you ever felt this good before?

“I’m jealous.” Zeke grunts out, rolling your nipples between his fingers before giving your breasts a forceful squeeze.

Levi grunts as he watches Zeke squeeze your breasts together, his eyes glued to the cleavage it created. The sight makes him want to stick his cock between them, but that will have to wait for another time.

“Levi! Zeke! Ah!-” You mewl, your slick dripping down Levi’s cock as you bathe in the pleasure of being pinned between them.

Zeke and Levi look at each other, and though they couldn’t be more different, the two men understand each other’s gazes perfectly at this moment. Stilling inside of you, Levi makes your hand clamber desperately down his shoulders and chest.

“Levi, please!” You whine, attempting to move your hips but being hindered by Zeke’s restless thrusts, his hands having left your breasts to hold your waist instead.

Just as Zeke’s cock slides out of your tight hole till the tip, Levi thrusts up into you, filling you completely. Your eyes roll back from the pleasure as they switched up the pace, one now pounding into you while the other pulls away.

You barely even realized that Levi’s hand was still on your neck until he removes it, making you sigh under the relief of the pressure. “I waited so long, assuming you would break under my touch. But look at you now.” He grunts out.

Zeke chuckles as he bends forward to run his tongue over the length of your neck, causing you to shiver. “That’s on you, Levi. I saw it right away.”

You can feel his voice vibrate against your skin, lips so close you can feel them slightly ghost past when he enunciates. “Though I have to admit, the extend of it surprised even me.”

Your hands run from Levi’s pecks to his firm abs while Zeke’s broad chest presses against your back. The slaps of their bodies hitting yours resonating beautifully throughout the room. How did you get so lucky to be sandwiched between these men?

You bite your sore bottom lip as you feel the coil in your abdomen start to tighten. They too can tell you are getting close, your hips clumsily moving in search of more friction.

One of Levi’s hands moves between your bodies, slender fingers quickly seeking out your swollen clit. Screams get caught in your sore throat as he rubs agonizingly slow circles over your clit, his fingertips never faltering in the precise movements.

“Shit.” Zeke curses out behind you, thrusts growing sloppy as he feels your body starting to quiver from your incoming orgasm.

Levi’s free hand grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks together, his lips quirked up in a lopsided smirk. “You hear that? Shit beard over there is about to cum.”

Your chest heaves heavily with your moans as Levi’s fingers work your clit faster, causing your holes to clench around their dick tightly.

“Bet you’d like that huh? Have him fill your ass with his cum?” Levi asks mockingly, squeezing your cheeks tighter.

His cock can’t help but twitch inside of you at the sight of your pathetically blissed-out face.

“Mmhm! Yes!” Is all you can cry out, so close to your release.

Levi releases your face, his eyes seemingly growing more darkened with lust by the second. Without warning, he moves his hand away from your clit slightly only to bring it back down with a slap. You squeeze your eyes shut as you cum from the sudden sharp pleasure, your legs shaking at either side of his.

You barely register Zeke’s wild pumping into you or the way Levi groans out your name as your orgasm rips through your body. The stimulation of their touches only prolong your bliss, mewls, and whimpers leaving your mouth like a chant.

With a hard slap to your ass, Zeke brings your focus back on him. You are still cumming as he squeezes the soft flesh in his hand, thrusting into you one last time. He breaths out your name as he empties himself inside of you and the warm sensation of his release spreading through you feels sinfully good.

Zeke leaves his cock buried to the hilt inside of your ass till the last twitch, your tight hole objecting when he starts pulling out. You feel his cum leaking out and spreading over your cheeks when he has pulled out of you completely. His hands grip your ass tightly as he spreads it, groaning at the sight of your leaking hole. At every thrust of Levi’s, your tight entrance twitches and forces more of Zeke’s cum to leak out.

Levi’s fingers have returned to rubbing quick circles over your swollen clit while he fucks you, and the intense sensation after you have barely finished cumming has your eyes rolling back as you cry out his name in encouragement. “Ah-! Don’t stop,” your unfocused gaze finding his “More.”

“You want ‘more’?” Zeke repeats, mockingly mimicking your slurred tone.

He grips his still-hard cock in his hand, pumping it in his fist. “Do you want more of him, or of me?”

You can barely muster an answer as Levi bounces you on his cock, your body shaking with the need to orgasm again. “B-Both!” You choke out.

“Guess I have no choice.” Zeke chuckles as he positions the tip of his cock at your twitching hole. Even though this is the second time, you still pleasantly surprise him with the way you eagerly suck him in.

Levi can feel the way your cunt spasms around him when Zeke thrusts his length into you, your mouth once again opening in a wide O. He’s the one who made you cum, isn’t he? So why are you still so damn focused on that shit face?!

He calls your name, but your foggy mind doesn’t register it. You are too close again, and after cumming so hard already twice, you feel like this time you won’t be able to stop.

Slap

The side of your face stings slightly and Levi gives you a dark grin as your gaze connects with his, your eyes cleared from their earlier fog. “Don’t go drifting off on me now, brat.”

You nod your head, your arms wrapping around his neck. You are back to focus, but you hope he doesn’t think that will prevent you from cumming. The way that they fill you is just too good.

“You can’t blame her. Her slutty body is betraying her.” Zeke says as his mouth moves to your neck once again. You don’t think anything of it as his hot tongue glides over your skin, so used to their constant touches by now.

Levi’s fingers leave your clit, once again followed by a sharp slap. This time he doesn’t do it just once though, he repeats the slap three times before going back to rubbing the abused nub. The way your sounds and labored breaths hitch in your throat every time have him closing in on his end faster than he wants.

Zeke’s gentle lapping and sucking at your neck turns animalistic as he suddenly bites down at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and you yelp as his teeth dig slightly into the sensitive skin. It only lasts for a few seconds before he sucks a giant hickey on top of the bite mark, placing a gentle kiss on the bruise afterward.

Shit, shit. Trembles rattle your body as you drench Levi’s cock with your slick, cumming from the added pleasure of Zeke’s bite. You let your forehead fall against Levi’s shoulder, mumbling slurred words and moans into his skin, your tiny muscle spasms alerting both men of your orgasm. 

Levi pushes Zeke’s head away from your neck. “What do you think you’re-” He stops his sentence, taking the other man in with narrowed eyes.

Zeke slows his thrusting, raising his shoulders in innocence. He’s about to say something, but Levi grabs Zeke’s attention by taking your face in his hand.

Their conversation has completely gone over your head, still tingling all over as the tip of Levi’s cock hits the sensitive spot on your wall repeatedly, dragging out your orgasm. The way they slowed down has you whine in displeasure as well as curl your toes at how it increases the intensity of each dragged-out thrust. The hand on your chin barely catches your attention, only truly noticing it when Levi’s voice pierces your thoughts.

“Open up and stick out your tongue.”

You do as he commands, your mind not even questioning it for a second. Levi chuckles at your display of obedience, you always were good at following orders. Zeke can make marks all he wants, but Levi knows who owns you on the inside.

Keeping a good grip on your chin whilst continuing to fuck into you, Levi observes your open mouth for a second before spitting in it. You mewl as he keeps your mouth open, watching his spit run down your tongue.

Zeke grabs you by your hair, forcing your face out of Levi’s grip and forcing it to the side. He groans at the mess Levi just made, your eyes growing watery as you moan with your mouth wide open. Zeke let’s go off your hair after noticing Levi’s glare. Shit, he could say so many things, but he’s close again, and he’d rather making a mess of your soft ass than argue with Levi.

“Swallow.” Levi orders when your face is turned back to him.

You close your mouth slowly, eyes staying on his as you swallow. A choked sound comes from his throat as he snaps his hips up into you, your hands flying up to grip the back of his hair.

“Fuck!” He curses. “Be a good girl and cum again, when you do I’ll fill you up.” He says, wanting to drag another handful of screams from your throat before he finally cums.

You nod your head, tears forming in your eyes from the intensity as both men desperately rut into you. Your holes spasm around them, your tired body ready to fulfill Levi’s wish any second.

Zeke’s forehead rests against the back of your head, his glasses fogging up from his panting. Every tremble of your perfect body pushes him closer to the edge.

“Z-Zeke.” He thinks he imagined it for a moment, but then your sweet voice calls out for him again. “Zeke!” One of your arms has left Levi so you can place your hand on the back of Zeke’s head.

You are pulling at both men’s hair now as your hips sway in a desperate attempt to ride their cocks.

“Levi!” You call out as well, the man busy clenching his jaw in an effort not to let too many moans out.

“Please! Please!” You beg, your fingers trembling as they grab at their locks. You scream out in pleasure, your orgasm interrupting your pleading. “I-” It’s so hard to talk, your throat feeling squeezes without any hand being near it. “I can’t take anymore! Please, cum!” You cry out, continuously interrupted by wild pants.

Both are happy to oblige, having had their fun in torturing you and now eager to give you your award. Zeke pulls out of your ass in one quick slide, pumping his slick cock in his fist. He’s the first to cum as he empties himself all over your ass and back, his cock jerking in his hand at the sight of your skin getting more and more soiled by him.

Levi presses a hard kiss to your lips before finally giving in to his release, making sure your beautiful eyes are on his as he lets go. You can feel every hot shot of his cum inside of you, your cunt clenching around him tightly. Zeke is just admiring his handy work from behind you as Levi fills you up for what must almost be a minute. Your hand in Levi’s hair twirls his soft locks between your fingers, your heart squeezing as your exhausted mind ponders he pend up he must have been himself.

You smile weakly as Levi kisses you again after he’s finished cumming. It feels appreciative, and he really does feel that way as he can’t remember the last time he felt so good.

Zeke takes in the way he painted your skin with his cum one more time before turning around to get his clothes, leaving you nestled on Levi’s lap. You let your head drop to Levi’s shoulder, not caring that his cock is still inside you as exhaustion nips at your body.

Levi strokes your hair gently, but his watchful gaze is glued to Zeke. It’s a good thing that Zeke is putting on his clothes because it’s clear from the look in the other man’s eyes that his presence is no longer welcome. Always the defying type, Zeke gives the side of your hip a quick tap before exiting the room.

“See you soon, y/n.”

After the door has shut after the blonde man, Levi immediately jumps to action. He moves you off of his cock, his cum streaming out onto your thighs and his lap.

“Shit.” He mumbles at the mess.

He kisses your forehead softly, making your lidded eyes look up at him. “You did well, but do this again and I will leave you like this for the other scouts to find.” He tells you strictly, hands coming up under your arms to lift you up.

You can only nod weakly, not able to find your voice anymore. Perhaps he’s a little mad at you, but you don’t regret it at all. Your lips twitch into a tired smile as you think, ‘yeah, I really did do well.’.

[buckyhoney-library]

nsfw alphabet, b.b

A/N: so sorry it took so long! hope you enjoy! sebastians & nomad!steve should be out sometime this week(end)!

reblogs/likes/feedback are greatly appreciated & highly encouraged

However, do NOT repost/steal ANY of my fics on my blog!

Warnings: 18+, language, smutty thoughts, sorry for any missed typos!

chris evans nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

bucky takes aftercare so seriously! he makes sure that you have everything that you need and you're taken care of first. showering you in praises, holding you close, getting you water or snacks- he is at your beck and call.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part on themselves and on their partner)

thighs. thighs. thighs. He loves laying between them with his head resting on your stomach. His fingers tracing patterns on your skin- peppering kisses on the inside. bucky's arms are hooked around them while he is giving you head, rubbing small circles on the outside.

bucky has grown to love his vibranium arm, because of how much you love it. he has changed arm usage from a weapon to a useful tool in every situation. being able to cool it and playing with temperatures, pinning you down- making sure you go nowhere- or even being able to cause it to vibrate.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

he loves to paint with his cum. as much as he LOVES to cum inside you and make you hold it- there is something so pretty with his cum plastered on your back or on your tummy. "you look so pretty with my cum on your thighs," bucky is especially fond of watching it drip down your breasts or leak down your thighs. bucky just stares in awe of how it glistens against your skin.

D = Dirty Secret (What do they secretly want)

he wants you to praise him. bucky lives off of praise and when you whimper how good he's making you feel or how he's such a good boy? it throws him over the edge, encouraging him to go faster and harder. he'll never ask for them, but when you start hyping him up, fuck he enters a state of nirvana.

E = Experience (Do they know what they are doing?)

1940's bucky as we all know was very experienced but after eighty years of nothing? he needs a little help regaining his confidence, but man will he practice and have no problems asking for help. he'd be a little embarrassed of cumming early or not being able to satisfy like he used too, but bucky watches porn and experiments like no tomorrow, catching up on all the new toys/techniques/positions etc.

F = Favorite Position (Self-explanatory)

bucky's favorite position would be cowgirl or where you're laying on your side, so he could hold you. cowgirl because he gets the perfect view of your body and everything about it.

with an honorable mention of missionary- but missionary with your legs in the air spread for all can see. if he's feeling a little spicy, he'll press on your lower abdomen, adding extra pressure.

G = Goofy (Are they serious during sex or goofy

BOTH. There is a time and a place for serious, rough, passionate sex (and boy does he enjoy that), but for the most part, Bucky wants you to feel good and he wants to learn- which means there will be some mishaps and failed moments, but he loves those moments just the same.

H = Hair (Are they well-groomed?)

he is well kept and clean. bucky isn't hairless, but he does make sure that everything is trimmed up and clean.

J = Jack Off (Do they masturbate?)

bucky only does when you're away or he's gone for a mission. when you're home, he has no problem telling you he's in the mood. when he does masturbate, it is to your pictures/videos you've sent or through facetime/phone calls. he doesn't watch porn unless that is the only option or he is looking for new things to try with you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

oh boy does he have loads of kinks! bucky loves praise (receiving or giving)! during the more passionate and rough sessions, he is into degrading (but not too crazy) innocence kink. if you have met after his second sexual awakening? god, how he loves to ruin you. he loves the idea that he gets to teach you and that you're at his mercy. ice play/warming (idk what the word is) he loves when you call him sarg does this man have a filthy sarcastic mouth. dirty remarks of comments that leave his mouth- god, it's enough to you off in seconds.

L = Location (Favorite place to do it)

he is a traditional man at heart, so he loves the bedroom. bucky gets to be as loud as chooses and go as long as he wants without the fear of someone walking in or interrupting.

M = Motivation (What turns them on or gets them going?)

leggings. jeans. short shorts- anything that enhances your thighs or when you shoot back firey/witty comments matching his energy. The more traditional turn on's as well, suggestive comments, touching his chest letting it fall to his belt, lingering kisses on his lips and neck. "it's like you're begging me to fuck you silly,"

N = No (Something they will not do. Turnoffs.)

nothing with bodily fluids (other than saliva or cum) & i don't think he'd be fond of being too open in public- he's a private guy, but he doesn't mind the simple pda and light touches.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skills, etc.)

okay let me tell you- bucky loves getting head. your lips make him cum faster than anything else. "open wide, darling" he loves the ability to do it virtually anywhere (privately of course) and the quick clean up-but he mostly loves watching you take his length completely, hitting the back of your throat. "fuck, such a good girl taking all of me," hearing you moan into him and gag makes him go FERAL. bucky isn't a head pusher, but he does grip your hair.

bucky does love going down on you too. his cock throbs at the sight of your legs shaking and squirming. the sounds you make encourage him more, but he doesn't stop when you cum- he licks up every last drop of you. "im not stopping, so i'd stop moving if i were you," he'll occasionally pop his head up to make sure that he's doing everything right and you're enjoying yourself- the last thing he wants is for you to fake it (which only happened when he first re-entered the dating world)

P = Pace (Are they fast or rough? Or slow and sensual?)

there is a time and place for everything. bucky loves sensual sex because he feels the most connected to you and he has been without physical/emotional connection for so long that it's become a must. it is also where he feels the most control and the best, when he can be 100% vulnerable- something never thought he could do.

fast and rough is for those needy moments where he can't get his hands off of you- complete feral mode. when you've been teasing him relentlessly and he needs to remind you who's in charge. those nights are when the kinkiest of kinks come to play.

Q = Quickies (Their opinions on quickies rather than regular sex)

quickies are reserved for dinner parties, group outings, etc. where you look too good and he can't keep his hands off of you. "i wanna see if you taste as good as you look". quickies usually consist of fast rough sex that leaves bruises or marks. they also mainly consist of giving/receiving head.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

oh does he! he has almost ninety years of sex trends/toys/etc to catch up on. it will be the middle of the night and you'd be fast asleep only to be woken up by him shaking your arm and going "baby, we have to try this!"

bucky isn't a risk-taker in the sense of public and potentially getting caught, he is a risk-taker in the sense that he is willing to try anything once.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)

bub is a super-soldier. his stamina outlasts yours by HOURS. you'd be panting and lying sideways and bucky would be ready for the next round and you'd have to tap out. he would chuckle and hold you, teasing you about how you can't last. "can't handle this cock? i thought you said you could go all night?"

T = Toys (Do they own or use toys on themselves or partners?)

bucky has a whole drawer dedicated to the greatest quality toys. "only the best for you, dollface." he loves seeing how far he can push you with the vibrators. tying the vibrator to your clit and watching you be sent over the moon. bucky wouldn't be too crazy about using toys on himself, but he isn't opposed to being handcuffed (or pegged)

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

BIGGEST TEASE in the galaxy. Touching you, grazing your heat, kissing your neck, rubbing the inside of your thigh, (stuffing a vibrator inside you while you're on the phone), or whispering dirty things in your ear- but God forbid if you tease him back. there will be hell to pay if you try teasing him back. "you better rethink your next move, darling," "i think you forgot who's allowed to tease who."

V = Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

bucky is pretty quiet, with the exceptions of grunts and whimpers. His mouth is filthy and he dirty talks like there is no tomorrow! he is also a cocky little shit and sarcastic- which doesn't stop in the bedroom. "your cunt feel so good around me," "open your eyes, i want you to watch as i ruin you" "look at you, you're soaked for me"

W = Wildcard (Random headcanon for your character)

cockwarming. babe lives for cockwarming. early morning lazy sex, but too lazy to pull out of you. you'd be laying on your side with your leg over his, with his cock buried inside of you. "no, honey, just stay" he would mumble with his head resting in the cook of your neck, placing small kisses on your neck, but falling back asleep.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

baby, that serum did wonders. bucky is packing that seven to eighter. his cock would poke through your tummy and he won't stop talking about it for weeks.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

HIGH. VERY HIGH. he is ready whenever and wherever the time calls.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

bucky's stamina is so high that he probably is starving. he would perform aftercare for you, but once you'd have cared for- he is standing naked in the kitchen making a sandwich.

[salty-rey]

Come Back | Bad Batch Fan Fic

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Words: 1748 words

Warnings: Angst. Reader gets hurt, mention of blood

A/N: I gave you romance with Fives last time. Now, time for some PAIN!!! I told yall I wanted to make a Bad Batch fan fic, I just didn’t expect my first one to be like this. 

Pretty short, I wanted to write it down before I lose any inspiration, and I have to get back to my finals. 

Hope you guys like! 

(gif courtesy of @clxnewxrs​ )

- - - - - - -

This plan has gone to crap!

It was supposed to be simple. Get into the command center, retrieve the necessary intel, and get out. Something you’ve done many times before. Piece of cake! 

But last time you remembered, you did not have a child following you around. Omega insists on coming along, even going against Hunter’s orders. Because of her disregard of orders, she had tripped an alarm, alerting the guards to your position. But you couldn’t blame her. Even if she didn’t came along, something wasn’t going to go according to plan. She’s not a soldier and wasn’t trained like you and the rest of the Bad Batch. There were some tasks or missions that were fine for the young clone to come along, but this mission was more dangerous. 

One good reason why; Crosshair had finally tracked you down.

The Batch had split up during the mission, aiming to complete your objectives. Before you can all regroup, that is when Crosshair and his Elite Squad Trooper caught up to the group. And you had the unfortunate case of protecting Omega from the sniper, who was now standing in front of you. With the only exit blocked by your former comrade, the only way to escape was to shoot your way out or leap out an 80 storied building. 

“Crosshair, please! Don’t do this,” you pleaded, body shielding Omega as the young girl cowered behind you.

“I can bring you back alive,” The grey-haired clone spoke, raising his handheld blaster to your chest without hesitation. “Or in a body bag. Your choice, Freckles.”

You tense, staring down the barrel of the blaster, wondering for a second if it was put on lethal or stun mode. You felt Omega gripping your arm, sparing a glance at the child before looking back at Crosshair. His eyes held no remorse. There was no more warmth in those honey-brown eyes. Your heart shattered at the sight of him, your fists clenching to keep yourself composed. 

“This isn’t you, Crosshair. That damn chip is manipulating you!” You snapped, keeping your stance and hoping to buy some time for Hunter and the others to assist you. 

“You would have never shot Wrecker before, no matter how much he annoyed you. And you would never point a gun at me. Come back to us. We can find a way to free you from that chip. We know it’s not your fault, and we don’t blame you for your actions. Please,” you begged, your voice breaking a little as you reached your hand towards him. 

The clone stared hard at your hand, his shoulders tensed before locking eyes with yours. He can see the desperation in them, unshed tears causing your eyes to glisten. This was a familiar sight. Not too long ago, when all of you were imprisoned back on Kamino, you had the same expression. 

Crosshair was being taken away from the rest of the group for unknown reasons. Hunter, in his attempt to keep everyone together, received a harsh hit on his gut. The sergeant doubled over in pain, but no one dare moved to aid him as blasters were pointed at everyone. The clone shook his head at the sight of his sergeant before standing up. As he took one step forward, he felt a tug, keeping him in place. Looking back, he saw you gripping his hand with all the strength you have. 

You were looking up at him, silently begging him not to go. The corner of your eyes shedding small tears, your hand squeezing his ever so tighter. 

“Let’s go!” The clone guard exclaimed, his patience wearing thin. 

Crosshair felt something foreign in him, telling him to obey. He knows that he should stay. He knows that he should fight against these mindless regs. He’s not like them. He belongs here with his brothers, and with you. 

But, fighting the regs unarmed will just cause unnecessary casualties. And he can’t stand the idea of having his brothers’ blood on his hands. Especially a kid that is apparently a little sister. And you. 

The thought of losing you caused him to shiver in fear. An emotion that he rarely felt, until you joined the team. 

The sniper looked back at you once more, squeezing your hand in return. He gave you a reassuring look that was also apologetic and sorrowful. 

You knew that there was no getting out of this. That there was no way in saving him. With a heavy sob, you let go of his hand, allowing him to be taken by the guards. 

His hands were now trembling, causing the blaster to become unsteady. “Crosshair?” You said with uncertainty. The sniper’s eyes snapped back at you, having lost focus for a few seconds. 

“So, you miss me? How sweet,” he sneered, but his hands continued to shake. 

You relaxed your posture for a second, pulling your hand back before pressing it against your chest, right over your heart. “I have. So very much.”

Something must have snapped inside of the clone because his eyes became unfocused, and his hands were trembling harder. He was in pain, his free hand gripping the side of his head, eyes squeezing shut as the blaster fell from his hand. You watched as Crosshair internally fought against the inhibitor chip, hope slowly rising inside of you. 

As you slowly approached him, you failed to hear the thundering sound of boots approaching you. The only indication that you got was hearing Omega gasping before shouting, “Look out!”

The moment you spotted the Elite Squad Trooper raising his blaster, you felt the searing hot pain piercing your side, and a blood-curling scream echoed throughout the room. You fell to your knees, clutching your left side, where the blaster shot hit you. 

Luckily, you were wearing the specialized armor that the Bad Batch wear, so the blast wasn’t able to pierce the other side. But you can feel blood pooling out, and if you don’t get any aid soon, you’re going to die. 

Before the trooper can shoot you again, he let out a shout of pain as Crosshair’s fist collided with his buckethead before punching his gut. “I told you to stun the woman and to shoot the men!” He snarled before kicking the hunched-over trooper. 

As Crosshair’s attention was on the reg, Omega rushed to your side. Panting heavily, you grabbed a tool from your utility belt and wrapped an arm around the girl’s midsection. “Hold on...tight...and whatever...you do...don’t let go.”

“What are you---whoa!” Omega cried out as you picked her up and charged at the window. The girl screamed when your shoulder crashed into the window, both of you plummeting over the edge. Neither Crosshair nor the troopers reacted quick enough to catch you, watching the both of you fall to what appears to be your death. 

You reached out your arm, pointing your modified grappling gun, and pulled the trigger. The claw-like end soar shot through the air, piercing the closes building, secured in place. The pair of you swing through the cold night air, Omega’s arms and legs wrapped around your neck and waist. 

Before you could crash into another building, you released the trigger, the grapple unhooking from your end. You rolled onto the rooftop of a building, shielding Omega in the progress. Wincing, you got back on your feet, still holding onto the child, and continued to run away, troopers now shooting at you. 

“Tech! I need a pickup, NOW!” You exclaimed into your communicator. 

“We’re reaching your location!” His voice came through, and without another second to waste, you heard the engines of the Havoc Marauder. The ramp was open and both Hunter and Wrecker were there. 

Despite the searing pain, your adrenaline forced you to pick up the pace. Blaster shots were flying past you, and if you move any slower, you were going to get hit again. But you weren’t scared of being hit by the Elite Squad trooper again. No. You were afraid of a certain sniper. Deep down though, you had hope that he wasn’t going to pull the trigger on you. He had several chances to do so, but he didn’t. 

“Jump!” Hunter shouted as you reached the edge of the building. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you leaped from the edge, Omega’s arms reaching towards the Sergeant and larger clone. You collapsed into their arms, letting them pull you both inside as blasters were now hitting your ship. 

“She’s been shot!” Omega cried. Hunter and Wrecker saw your bleeding side, and with a nod from their leader, Wrecker picked you up as carefully as possible and carried you to your cot. “Echo, get over here now!” Hunter shouted before grabbing whatever medical items that they need.

Your armor was removed and Wrecker ripped the fabric of your blacks to expose your wound, allowing the boys to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain, legs kicking and your hand gripping the first thing that came into contact, which was Hunter’s hand. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Echo reassured as they pierced a needle into your wound before spraying it with bacta. Omega stood at the doorway, hands covering her mouth, silently crying as the boys managed to stop the bleeding. Despite being their combat medic, the Bad Batch knew a good amount of medical aid before you arrived, but learned more when you became part of their team. 

“I can’t believe Crosshair shot her!” Wrecker growled as Echo placed a bacta patch to help quicken the healing progress. 

“I don’t want to believe either. But he shot you, didn’t he?” Echo countered.

“He...he didn’t shot me,” you groaned, your hand squeezing Hunter’s. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, no more talking. You need your rest, Freckles,” the Sergeant said, using his free hand to gently wipe off any sweat forming on your forehead. 

You ignored Hunter’s order and took in a deep breath before continuing. “It was a...trooper. Crosshair said...only to stun me and Omega...” You then looked back at Hunter, body feeling weak and vision getting blurry. “He’s still in there...fighting to come back....we can’t lose hope.” You managed to say that last bit before darkness consumed you. You slumped against the pillow, a familiar scent comforting you as you slept. 

The group watched you sleep, ensuring that you were okay before relaxing. Hunter slowly slipping his hand from your grasp before covering you with a blanket, Crosshair’s scent continued to engulf you. 

“We will bring him home. I promise.”

[the-iceni-bitch]

Merry Christmas, Bucky

Pairing: Nomad!Steve / Fem!Reader / Bucky (Stucky)

Words: 5114

Summary: You and Steve are worried about Bucky and don’t know how to fix things.

Warnings: Angst, Explicit language, explicit sexual content (threesomes (MMF), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (M and F receiving), anal sex, double penetration), explicit descriptions of consensual violence, age appropriate alcohol consumption, SMUT!!!, 18+!!!

A/N: Merry Christmas and hoe hoe hoe! My promised filthy treat for you all: my very first Stucky fic! This was a lot of fun to write but ended up way different than I had originally imagined. The smut is actually pretty fluffy (as fluffy as you can get with a threesome I guess). This is technically a continuation of my original “Birthday Gift” Nomad!Steve fic, though it takes place like a year later. I hope you all enjoy and have a very merry holiday!

“How’s that feel, Buck?” You asked, setting the arc-welder back on the tool bench as you sat back.

He flexed his fingers, testing the repairs you made to the neural link. “Good. You know you didn’t have to stay with me. I could’ve handled it on my own.”

The rest of the team was out on a rescue mission in Sri Lanka while the two of you hung back at your compound. His new arm had been on the fritz for the past few days, and he didn’t want to risk it crapping out on him in the middle of an op. He hadn’t planned on you staying, too, though you’d never joined the team on any of the other missions so he didn’t know why he was surprised.

“Right, you’re the one with years of experience with Wakandan tech. I’m sure Shuri would love to have a little conference with you about the intricacies of vibranium based neural networks.” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to be mean about it.” He pouted, half-heartedly. It’d been a while since the two of you had some alone time, and he missed the banter.

You grinned at him. “Aww, Barnes, that’s nothing! Let’s test it out. C’mon, up.”

His smile disappeared quickly. “No, Y/N, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Jesus, Barnes. I’m not some little doll. We both need a workout. Besides, none of the other idiots ever wanna play knives with me. I know you miss it.”

You were right. Steve didn’t like relying on anything other than his fists since he gave up the shield and Nat and Sam definitely preferred guns if they were going to use any sort of weapon. But you and Bucky had a shared appreciation for the weight of a good blade in your hand.

“Fine.” He sighed. He knew you wouldn’t let up until he gave in, so he resigned himself to his fate.

He dragged his feet as he followed you to the gym. He’d been doing his best to avoid any close contact with you for the past few months. They’d been with you a little over a year now, ever since Siberia. When they found out about your history, Bucky bonded with you quickly over your shared tragedies.

But that only mattered so much, because you had Steve. And that was slowly killing Bucky.

He didn’t know how many more nights he could listen to the two of you. Granted, you managed to keep it down enough that the rest of the team didn’t notice anything, but his damn super soldier hearing made it seem like you were right next to him. The sounds of your wanton whimpers and low moans kept him up all night, his cock aching as he writhed in his sweat soaked sheets. He always had trouble looking at the two of you the morning after, and he could tell that things were slowly starting to get strained, but it was just too goddamn hard to be around you when he couldn’t have you, not that he would ever try. Steve was his best friend.

Of course, you had noticed how strange Barnes had been acting over the past few months, and you and Steve were starting to get worried. You were hoping that having some time, just the two of you, would help him loosen up and let you back in.

He arrived in the gym a few steps behind you and found you bouncing a sparring blade off the palm of your hand. You shot him a grin over your shoulder and tossed it to him, and he plucked it out of the air easily, giving a sigh at the familiar feeling as he spun it through his fingers. It would be nice to lose himself in a good spar.

“One or two, Buck?”

“One is good.” He said as he started to stretch himself out.

“Great.” You murmured, unzipping your hoodie and setting it aside before picking up a blade of your own and tossing it quickly between your hands, acclimating yourself to its weight. “Music ok?”

“Fine.” He didn’t know why you insisted on listening to music during your spar sessions, but he could admit it lent your fighting style a certain artistic flair.

The sounds of alt-J’s “Left Hand Free” came over the speakers and you let out a small sound of satisfaction. “Ahh, perfect. Alright, Barnes, I promise I’ll go easy on you.” You grinned at him as you tucked your blade against your wrist and dropped into a fighting stance.

He snorted at you as he headed to his corner. “Right, we’ll s… fuck!”

You barely gave him a chance to turn around before you were on him, your knee driving towards his midsection before you extended it at the last second to try to kick the knife out of his hand. He dodged at the last second but you were already ducking to sweep his legs out from under him. He dropped the knife in surprise as he went down and you caught it before it hit the ground and pounced on his chest, pressing both of your blades to his throat.

“Ha, that’s one for me!” You grinned down at him as you dropped his knife onto his chest before standing back up and heading back to your corner.

“You’re a cheater, Y/N.” He growled at you as he gained his feet, pissed he let you catch him off guard.

“Just preparing you for the real world, darling.” You shot him a wink as you shifted your weight back and forth, waiting for him to signal he was ready, this time.

His gut clenched when you called him that, and he had to steel himself. He was determined to not let you get under his skin today. He didn’t want things to get any more awkward.

You let him make the first move this time, and he ran at you full force, whipping his arm around to try to ram the blade into the side of your ribs. You blocked him with your forearm and he dropped the blade to catch it in his opposite hand and deliver a backhand blow to your side, which you just barely dodged. He brought his now empty fist up and drove it into your elbow and you dropped your blade with a grunt. He scooped it out of the air with the same hand as he sank to a kneeling position and brought the flat of the blade to rest at the juncture of your inner thigh on instinct, where your femoral artery would run. When he realized where his hand had landed, he drew it back with a hiss, dropping your knife at your feet.

“One for me.” He murmured, trying to cover the flush creeping over his face.

You didn’t notice, you were enjoying yourself too much. You flipped your blade up into the air with your toe and caught it before charging Bucky.

He barely had a second to prepare before you were flying off the mat towards his face. You looped one knee over his shoulder and the other around his upper back as you clenched your abdominal muscles then released them, whipping yourself back and flipping him over you until you landed on the mat with a slap and were straddling his chest. You started flipping your knife through your fingers when he brought his metal arm up and wrapped it around your waist, flinging you off him as he brought his knees to his chest and whipped himself into a crouching position.

You windmilled your legs until you were in a crouch of your own; chest bent low over one bent knee, your other leg extended to your side, holding your balance with one hand on the mat. He dove at you, trying to drive his blade towards your throat but you managed to wrap your thighs around his arm and your shins around his neck as you extended your legs and gripped his wrist, keeping in a hold. He brought his free hand around and punched you in the hip, knocking the air out of you as you buckled.

You managed to roll out from underneath him before he could bring the blunted blade to your chest and got him in a partial arm bar with your blade at his ribs at the same time he pressed his blade to your throat.

“Draw?” You asked after the two of you had stayed in that position for a beat.

“Draw.” He agreed as you released each other, rolling to his feet with a groan as you stayed on your back, breathing heavily. “Let’s take a quick break.”

“Yeah.” You sighed at him as you slowly climbed back to your feet and went to towel yourself off.

He grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge and tossed one to you before he started to chug. You held yours to your neck before taking a drink.

He watched you hungrily. You were damp with sweat and he was mesmerized by a stray bead of condensation that was traveling down the line of your neck to the valley between your breasts. Your hair was plastered to your scalp and your chest was still heaving. He imagined this was what you must look like after sex and had to school his thoughts immediately before they headed further down that path. He splashed himself in the face with some of his water to try to cool down.

You breathing had started to return to normal and you shot him a small smile, failing to notice how uncomfortable he was. “What d’you say, Barnes, one more round?”

He knew he should say no. He was having a hard time keeping his thoughts tamped down and was worried how his body would react if he had anymore close contact with you, but it was hard to care about that at this point. How much could one more round really hurt?

He tossed his empty bottle into the recycling bin and stalked back to his corner, not taking his eyes off you as you tossed your towel over the back of a bench and walked opposite him.

The two of you prowled around each other like a couple of cats, eyeing the other’s movements and trying to determine what your moves were going to be.

Bucky saw your eyes flick to the window for just a second, distracted by something outside, and he took his chance. He pounced on you, rolling the two of you over each other as he gripped the hand holding your knife and bent your wrist back until you dropped the blade. You wrenched your head back and connected with his face at the same time you drove your elbow into his diaphragm, causing him to release you.

You twisted your torso around and flipped yourself forward, bringing your knees to his shoulders and carrying your momentum forward to bring him to the mat with you kneeling on his chest.

He dropped his knife in the exchange but managed to bring a hand under your thigh and roll you until he had you in a half-nelson with top scissors, his upper body curled around yours as he pinned you to the mat.

His face was buried in your hair and he was inhaling your scent deeply before he could help himself. You were still struggling to get out of the hold when he tightened his grip around you with a growl. He could feel his cock hardening as it was pinned against the swell of your ass, but for the moment he didn’t care. He didn’t even feel you stop struggling, he just continued holding you in that position.

“Um, Barnes.” You murmured, your face pressed into the mat.

“Mmmm…”

“Bucky.” You said, more firmly this time.

“Shit.” He hissed as he released you and scrabbled backwards on the mat, holding one hand out to keep you away from him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Buck, it’s ok. It happens.” You said softly, a look of concern coming over your face when you saw how distressed he was.

“No, it’s not fucking ok. Goddamn it!” He drove his metal fist into the mat hard, making you jump. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait, Bucky…”

“No, just, leave me alone.” He said over his shoulder as he rushed out of the gym, determined to seclude himself in his room for the foreseeable future.

“Hey, Buck, how’s the new arm… whoa. Something happen?” The rest of the team had arrived back at the compound and Steve had come to check on the two of you. Bucky just charged past him without acknowledgement. “Everything ok, sweetheart?” He turned his intense blue eyes to you with concern. He had hoped you two might be able to get to the root of the awkwardness that had seemed to be growing between you three, but things sure seemed to be worse now that he was back.

He wrapped a massive arm around your waist to help you up from the mat and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“I dunno, baby. I’m pretty sure I figured out what the issue is. We should set aside some time tonight to talk. I think we should also lay off the PDA for a bit.”

He scoffed at that before taking a good look at you. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about it later.”

It took Bucky almost two days to come out of his room and when he did, he did his best to avoid you and Steve. Tensions in the house were high and it seemed everyone was walking on eggshells. You were hoping that a little Christmas celebration might help everyone loosen up.

It barely helped. Buck just sulked in a corner, nursing a glass of vodka and glowering at everything. At least everyone else seemed pretty cheery. He was at least grateful that he hadn’t had to listen to you and Steve fucking each other like animals for the past week. He had actually been able to get some sleep. But now the two of you were acting cagey. You kept giving each other longing looks before glancing furtively in his direction and he was pretty sure his restful nights were over. Everyone else started drunkenly up to bed once the early morning hours hit and it was eventually just the three of you sitting there in awkward silence.

You kept looking at him like you wanted to say something but didn’t know what, and all he could feel was a hollow ache in his chest every time you made eye contact.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I’m sure you have your own celebrations you want to get to.” He said bitterly when Steve came to stand behind you and rested his hand on your shoulder.

“Shit, Buck, just wait.” You pleaded as he turned to go.

“No, Y/N it’s fine.”

“It’s not, Bucky.” Steve rumbled, his brow furrowed with worry.

“God, not you too, Rogers.” He said, exasperated.

“Bucky, please.” The catch in your voice startled him, and he turned back to you. “Just, come with us.” You whispered, extending a hand to him.

He wasn’t entirely sure he had heard you right, but then you were standing in front of him, brushing your mouth along the hollow of his throat as your hands rested against his chest.

He looked at Steve questioningly and was just met with a small smile as he started heading down the hall to your room. You drew Bucky along with you, softly kissing his neck as your hands wandered under his shirt to explore the plains of his back. He felt like he was in a dream state, his mind wrapped in a warm cocoon as he let you pull him along.

You reached your room and he felt you close the door behind you. He only had a moment to register Steve resting on a chair in the corner before your mouth was on his and all his other senses abandoned him.

You tongue moved past his lips softly and massaged his, drawing a moan from his chest. He wrapped his hands around your shoulders and buried his hands in your hair, holding your face to his like you were giving him oxygen.

He was drunk from the taste of you as he reluctantly pulled away to draw in a breath. Your scent filled his lungs as he sucked down air and he moved his hands to the front of your blouse as he ripped it open and slid it down your shoulders, exposing your breasts and making you sigh. His hands moved to swell of your chest as he ran his thumbs softly over the slope of your breasts, brushing them over your nipples and raising them to sensitive buds as he gazed at you.

He pressed his mouth to yours once more, running his tongue along the cushion of your bottom lip before his lips started traveling down your neck. His hands pressed against the small of your back as he guided you onto the bed. Once he had lain you down, they slipped down to your hips, following the band of your jeans to unbutton them and slide them down your thighs with your panties as his tongue laved over your nipple and you gave him one of those whimpers he had only heard through the walls before. The sound of it made him groan against your chest as he nuzzled you softly before kissing down the flat plain of your abdomen.

His hands brushed against the insides of your thighs as he worked his mouth lower and when they reached their apex he found you soaked with your arousal.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

“Mmm, Bucky.” You sighed as his tongue brushed against the folds of your sex.

“Sshh, pretty girl.” He murmured as his fingers pulled you apart and exposed the small bud at the peak of your slit. He pressed his tongue against it softly before wrapping it in his lips and sucking.

“Oh, god.” Your breath rushed out of you as you arched yourself into him and you wound your fingers in his hair. His tongue massaged your clit languorously as he drew a single finger through the arousal at your entrance before inserting it into you and curling it. You gasped as he stretched you from the inside and bit your lip, fluttering your eyelids closed in absolute bliss.

He added another finger and you let out a soft cry, wrapping your thighs around his neck and begging him for more as his tongue increased its pressure and speed. The taste of you was like a drug on his tongue. He felt heady with pleasure as he drew more soft sounds from you. You clenched around him when he added a third finger and he eagerly lapped up the evidence of your continued arousal that seeped out around them as he fucked them into you.

You felt your desire coiling in your core as he curled his fingers against that sweet, secret spot over and over and when he wrapped his lips around you again and sucked, hard, you were finished. You let out a thin wail as your muscles seized with pleasure before trembling in your release. He felt your release seep over his fingers and coat his chin as you came down, slowly relaxing the muscles leading to your core. He slowly drew himself up to gaze down at you as he removed his own clothes, watching you twitch as he drew his shirt over his head as your release continued to pulse out of your cunt. He tossed his shirt to the side and dragged his jeans and briefs down his legs before kneeling between your thighs on the bed.

He tucked one hand under your neck and the other under your hips and drew you up until you were cradled in his lap. You felt the length of his cock sliding through the slick that was coating your pussy and you screwed your eyes shut with a moan, pressing your forehead to Bucky’s.

“Hey, open your eyes.” He whispered before nipping at your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth with his thumb on your chin. “I wanna look at you.”

You dragged your heavy lids open and stared into his eyes. His pupils were lust-blown and just left a thin ring of ice around endless pools of black. You felt him guiding himself to your entrance and he slipped himself in slowly, sliding you down on his length until he was fully sheathed in you. You let out a gasp when you were full of him, loving the feel of being stretched around his full length.

He started moving his hips slowly, grinding them against you as he brushed his lips against yours, never breaking eye contact. You matched his delicious, slow rhythm and sucked his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping it softly.

“I love you, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He pressed his mouth to yours hungrily, his tongue tangling with yours for just a moment before he broke away. “I love you too. You ok with me moving?”

You nodded your head and sucked in a breath as he moved a hand to your hip and fucked up into you suddenly. He picked up the pace quickly, rutting up into you and making you gasp. He fought to maintain eye contact as he felt your breasts bouncing against his chest each time his hips moved, but he wanted to watch you as you came apart around him.

One of his thrusts had his tip kissing your cervix and you let out a hiss at the sensation. He felt you clench around him as you neared another orgasm and moved his hand from your hip to strum at your clit. Your breath started hitching as he brought you closer and closer, the muscles in your abdomen twitching as you neared the brink. One hard drive of his thumb was all it took to send you over the edge and you collapsed against his chest, screaming his name as your torso rolled with the waves of pleasure that were wracking you.

Once he felt you relax he drew your head up for one more kiss before laying you back against the bed as he moved his hands to your hips and pulled you into him over an over. He gave Steve a nod and turned his attention back to you, mesmerized as he watched your perfect tits bounce with each thrust of his hips.

You gazed at Steve through heavy lids as he stood from his seat. He was already undressed and had been watching intently as Bucky fucked you, stroking his length as he watched him take you apart. Now he stalked over to you like a cat. He knelt down and pressed a hungry kiss to your lips as your head hung over the edge of the bed.

“You ready for me baby?” He asked, cupping your cheek in one massive palm as he stared into your eyes.

You nodded eagerly and bit your lip, not trusting your voice at the moment after all your screaming.

He gave you a quick peck before standing back up and bringing the tip of his cock to your lips, swirling the precum that had collected there around before he pressed it into your mouth.

You drew his into your mouth eagerly, swirling your tongue around his tip and moaning at the taste of him before he pressed himself into you a little further. Bucky hit you at a new angle suddenly and you let out a thin whine around Steve’s cock, making him hiss.

“Shit, I don’t think I can go as slow as I thought, sweetheart, get ready.”

You took a deep breath through your nose as he shoved himself all the way into your mouth. You hollowed out your cheeks as he started fucking your throat in earnest and tears started to leak from your eyes. You did your best not to inhale the drool that was running from your mouth as he rutted into you faster. Bucky had picked up his pace too and you felt yourself winding up for another massive orgasm. You were worried the combination of rhythms and lack of oxygen was going to make you pass out.

As you drew closer, you felt your two soldiers starting to twitch.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close. Buck?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Do you need us to pull out, honey?”

You absolutely did not. You wrapped your legs around Bucky and your arms around Steve as another orgasm took you and you almost choked on the pleasure, your body writhing between the two men as they picked up their paces. They were seconds behind you. Bucky came first with a feral growl and you felt his spend spurting inside you, warming you from the inside as your cunt drew it all from him. Steve was last and caught himself on his left arm as his release ran down your throat, his cock twitching as you swallowed around his length.

Bucky collapsed beside you to your left, flinging an arm across your abdomen and pressing his face into your neck. Steve sat down heavily beside your face before twisting himself to lay on your right side, wrapping one of his massive legs in yours and placing a soft kiss on you lips before laying beside you.

You gave Steve a smile before turning over your shoulder to Bucky and nuzzling your nose against his, running a hand through his hair.

He pressed himself into your back and brought his metal hand up to cup your cheek as he kissed you deeply. His other arm wound itself underneath you and pressed you closer to him, splaying over your abdomen.

Steve started brushing his lips across your chest as he brought a hand to cup one of your breasts. You felt arousal starting to pool between you legs again at the gentle attention they were giving you. You brought your hands down to palm their cocks and felt them begin to harden in your hands.

“God sweetheart, you’re insatiable.” Steve chuckled against your neck. “Good thing we have Buck here now or you’d wear me out.”

You felt Bucky laughing against your hair as he started grinding his cock into your ass. You felt his hand move between your ass cheeks and gasped as his fingers brushed against your puckered hole before running through your arousal. “Where do you want us, love?” He whispered as he pressed one soaked finger at the tight ring of muscle before inserting it quickly, making you gasp. “I think she’s good with where we are Rogers.” He grinned at his friend over your shoulder as he stretched you slowly, waiting for you to relax before he inserted another finger.

“You sure, baby?” Steve asked after pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Fuck, yes.” You hissed at him as Bucky inserted another finger and you felt a fresh rush of arousal seep down your legs.

“Alright, beautiful.” He said around a grin as the three of you moved into a seated position.

Bucky was planting soft kisses over your shoulders as he dragged his erection through your folds, coating himself in your release before he pressed the head of his cock against your anus, and suddenly you were drawing him into you until he was bottomed out.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He hissed in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips as you moaned at the sensation of being filled with him and leaned your head back against his shoulder.

Steve brushed his tip against your clit before sheathing himself in your sex and your brain short-circuited for a second, your eyes rolling up into your head.

“Fuck, Y/N. Stay with me.” Steve hissed at you, concern coming over his face.

“I’m good, baby. Just needed a second.” You grinned at him once you came back to yourself.

“Alright, honey, we’re going to move.” Bucky warned you as his hips drew back before thrusting forward.

“Oh, God.” You could tell this was going to be short work. The contrasting rhythms they were setting was driving you to your breaking point faster than you thought possible and their mouths tracing your chest and shoulders was only adding to the sensation. You felt yourself already clenching around them and came suddenly, digging your fingers into Steve’s biceps as every muscle in your body seized and you vibrated with your release between the two of them.

They started picking up the pace then, humming as their lips brushed against your skin and you went into sensory overload. Your skin felt like it was on fire and every nerve was singing. Wherever their fingers touched you felt like you had been shocked with electricity. It was getting to be too much and you started to mewl unintelligibly as they moved inside of you.

Bucky nodded at Steve as you felt them starting to twitch inside you. “Almost done pretty girl, where do you want it?”

“Mmmm, inside me.” You whispered, completely fucked out as another orgasm wracked you.

Bucky pressed a kiss behind your ear and Steve pressed one to your lips as their hips suddenly stilled and they came inside you at the same time. You sighed as you felt their release leaking out of you and down your thighs and you let yourself collapse backward against Bucky’s chest. He carried you backwards until you were laying on top of him while Steve headed to the bathroom.

Bucky murmured soft praises against your hair as he rolled you over until he was spooning you, his metal arm wrapped around you as his other hand ran up and down the outside of your thigh. You sighed against the pillow when Steve returned with a damp cloth and ran it over the inside of your thighs to clean you off before he crawled into the bed with the two of you, pressing the front of his body to yours and pulling the sheets up over the three of you as you nuzzled yourself into his chest.

“Love you sweetheart.” He whispered, planting a kiss on the top of your head as you started to doze off.

“Mmm, love you Steve. Love you Bucky. Merry Christmas, boys.” You murmured before falling asleep between your two super soldiers, absolutely content wrapped in their warmth.

“Merry Christmas Barnes.”

“You too Rogers”

Permanent Tags:

@drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @stargazingfangirl18​

[winter-soldier-vibes]

Reason to Come Back (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Reason to come back

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 3574

Request: "can you do something where seb(or one of his characters)and reader used to date and one day he broke up with her and after a short time he comes up with a new girl(not cheating)and the reader thinks that she’s worthless and not beautiful or good enough and that’s why he broke up with her and tries to be better(you know what to do•_-) and silently suffering etc. and with a happy ending where they get back together"

Warnings: mentions of a breakup, angst, depression, very slight mentions of disordered eating and exercise (very slight, not like most of my other fics), general feelings of worthlessness, angst

Tags: @buckys2thicc @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @abitgryffindorky @freigeistundanderes @barnesplums @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @babyboibucky 

A/N: I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON THAT REQUESTED THIS SO LONG AGO AND THAT IT TOOK SO LONG! I don’t even know if they’re still here, I feel so bad. I got an anon request for this fic and I did not know about the inbox for Tumblr accounts until just recently because I’m incompetent. There’s no excuse for me taking so long to write it, but I wanted to even though it’s been 9 months since they sent it. If you’re still here anon, thank you for sticking with me!

NEW NOTE 06/04/21: I rewrote this to be for Bucky as opposed to Sebastian. It is still mostly the same, just reworded in some places. This is meant to take place in reference to the timeline of tfatws and mentions moments from the show. I am referencing “the time he was gone” as the series episode 1-6. I don’t know how much time passed but I assume it was at least a few weeks if not longer (especially between episodes 5 and 6). That’s how I wrote it.

------------------------

It was a quiet night, you under some blankets on the couch watching a movie. There was an empty bowl aside from a few popcorn kernels on the coffee table in front of you, the movie more for background noise than entertainment. You were scrolling through your phone mindlessly, looking for a distraction that would keep you occupied.

Not that it was working too well. There wasn’t much that could distract you from the fact that you were alone.

9 months. You had dated for 9 months. Not that he had been around for much of it. He had been with Sam on an extended mission, and he had been gone for a few weeks. You didn’t know much about the mission, Bucky wasn’t allowed to tell you. For your safety. You understood. It was his job, you knew that, but it could be lonely most of the time. He would call or text you if he could, but he couldn’t compromise his location. You were always happy to hear from him, but it wasn’t the same as when he was around.

You knew this would happen, and you had accepted that. It was hard, but you could manage.

You hadn’t heard from him in a weeks, but you didn’t think much of it. He and Sam must have gotten closer to the answers they had been looking for. You could only hope that he was safe. it took a toll on you, worrying about him, but you had been so happy when he had said he was coming home. But when he walked through the door, he didn’t seem excited at all.

You had wrapped your arms around him, and he had hesitantly hugged you back gently. You had known something was wrong almost immediately, pulling back and trying to meet his eyes. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“We should talk,” he said, struggling to meet your eyes.

You pulled your eyes together with concern. “Yeah, yeah what’s wrong?”

“I, uh… I don’t know if this is gonna work out.”

You shook your head, surprised. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“I just don’t think you and I work with 1,000 miles between us.”

“What?” you said in disbelief. “You’re the one who has to leave and I told you that I’m okay with it, and I am. I never thought you’d be the one with the problem with it.”

“Y/n -”

“We can work this out, Buck. You said it yourself, you don’t normally go away for that long. I’m not going anywhere, I - ”

“I can’t ask you to stay, y/n,” he said, cutting you off. You shut your mouth and shook your head. “Where is this coming from, what happened?” you asked.

He cleared his throat. “I should go.”

“You don’t get to walk away from this like that!” you exclaimed, nearly yelling.

“And I don’t have the right to expect you to wait for months while I’m out trying to save people. I thought it’d be fine but I couldn’t stop thinking about you here, alone. There’s going to be more missions, more danger. They recreated the serum. Who knows what else they’ll be able to create? You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me! I told you I’m okay with it and I still am, Bucky! I know the risks!” you said, tears pricking your eyes.

He looked away. “You deserve much better than me. Someone who can be there for you.”

You walked up to him and cupped his face. “You’re all I could ever want Bucky. Distance be damned.”

He sighed and pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tightly for a moment. “I have to go y/n. I’m sorry.”

He let you go and turned around, not even looking back to say goodbye.

That had been a couple of weeks ago. You had been crushed at first, devastated. But you were still able to function in your day-to-day life. You had a few friends to hype you up or cry with you, whatever the day was. You were able to still get to work, try to move on. And it was getting better, but the nights were still hard. It wasn’t the same when you knew he wouldn’t be coming home.

During the day you could pretend like you were waiting for that night when he would be able to call you. But at night, it was dark and you didn’t have a person you wanted to call.

You weren’t bitter, in a way you understood. You had known how relationships could be ruined by distance and work. But being a super soldier wasn’t a typical line of work. You had been okay with it, but you hadn’t thought that it would’ve affected Bucky as much as it seemed to. You had been emotional at the time, but looking back on it you could understand where he was coming from. Relationships were two-sided - just because you felt okay didn’t guarantee he was.

You knew what he did was dangerous. You had accepted that there might not have always been a happy ending. Maybe he hadn’t.

But then one day you had walked into a bar, only to see Bucky flirting with another girl, laughing away..

That was all you needed to see.

You didn’t want to read too much into it, any kind of situation could be misread. But him laughing with a very attractive girl over drinks shortly after becoming single - you couldn’t help but wonder.

You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter, that you were reading everything wrong, but your heart still felt as though it was breaking.

She was gorgeous. Much more so than you, you had thought.

Was that why he left? Was he just wanting to get himself back out there? Had he met her and just needed to get rid of you?

You didn’t want to think that way, none of it was true. He wouldn’t do that, he was a good man. But still…

Maybe if you were different it would’ve been harder for him to leave.

Maybe you hadn’t given him a good enough reason to stay.

And maybe, if you were better, prettier, he would come back.

It started small - making more of an effort to go to the gym, not ordering takeaways every night, that sort of thing. Not that you had much of an appetite to begin with. But you didn’t realize when your days had become full of going from work to the gym, nor why you had freaked out so much when you had sprained an ankle and couldn’t do your normal workout.

You had decided to work your arms those next few days to supplement the cardio you had missed. You had kept this up until you woke up one morning struggling to turn over because you were so sore. You decided that that day, you could take a rest day.

A rest day turned into a rest week, and soon enough you were only leaving your house to go to work. And only because you needed money.

You had cut yourself off from most of your contacts, still replying every now and then so they wouldn’t be concerned. You didn’t go out with them or call them because you were worried they would see right through you. Better to stay home. Your bed would never judge you.

You had become familiar with the spots on the wall, the streaks from god knows what, the way that light would filter through your window as the sun ascended and descended the sky. Hours could pass and you could still be in the same position.

You had to keep up a front around everyone. Letting people know how much you were hurting was not an option for you. Then they would ask what was wrong and pull you aside and look at you with this concerned face that you couldn’t deal with. It was the one that everyone always gave when someone was having a bad day, the one people put on when they wanted you to think that they cared. Sometimes they did, but most of the time a person with any sense of morals would put that face on to make a person think that they cared. It’s the same way “How are you?” is more of a greeting than a genuine question.

There were people who cared, but you didn’t want to have that conversation. You didn’t even know what you were doing anymore. It was an honest thought of bettering yourself, but it was for the wrong reasons. Trying to be better for Bucky made you realize how much you missed him. How angry you really were at him. But you couldn’t take it out on him, he didn’t deserve that at all, he didn’t earn that. But you were angry at...something, and maybe it was yourself, at letting him walk out that door, of not calling him and leaving him messages. Maybe if you had fought for him he would’ve stayed. If you had said something when he distanced himself.

You felt like this was your fault. And maybe if you changed something about yourself, you would learn from your mistakes.

Not that you knew exactly what you had done or what isolating yourself would fix, or teach you for that matter.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because your ringtone jolted you awake. You groaned, shutting your eyes again. You would let it go to voicemail, just like all of the others. If it was that important they would text you.

You let it ring, sighing when it had stopped. You readjusted in your bed, trying to fall back asleep. It was a Saturday morning, you had until Monday morning to sleep. You were going to make the most of it.

But then your phone began ringing again.

You opened your eyes again, picking up your phone to see who it was. You dropped the phone when you saw the name

Bucky Barnes

Why the fuck was he calling you? What could he possibly have to say to you?

You watched the phone ring through to voicemail, soon after seeing a voicemail was left. You didn’t bother listening to it, you didn’t need to. You simply rolled over in bed. If it were that important, he would have called sooner.

Bucky’s POV

As the call went to voicemail again, Bucky was confused. He had never known you to miss a call, ever. It wasn’t like you, he knew you would drop anything to take calls. You had said you hated people leaving voicemails because you hated them having to listen to your voicemail message. You had thought your voice had sounded weird. It was one of the little things he remembered about you that made him smile

And realize how royally he had fucked up.

Being away on a mission wasn’t anything new for him, but maintaining a serious relationship for him was. He had never met anyone like you, and he had missed you so much when he had left. He hadn’t felt anything like what he did when you smiled at him since the 40′s. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but all he could think about was how much he had missed you. And that made him think about how much you must have missed him.

He felt like he was holding you back in some way. He was used to being away in dangerous situations for periods of time but you weren’t. And no matter how much you had assured him that you were okay with the long-distance relationship, as the months went on he felt guilty for not being able to be there in the way that he wanted to.

In the way you deserved.

He broke up with you because he thought you deserved better than relying on phone calls and texts for months at a time. Someone who could be there all the time for you. Someone who you didn’t have to worry about getting shot when he left for a mission. Someone predictable and reliable. Something he couldn’t always do.

But God, did he miss you.

He regretted walking out that door. He regretted not giving you a better reason, for not calling you or texting you until now, weeks later. The more time went on, the more he felt it would be inappropriate to call you to apologize.

But he couldn’t take it anymore, so he dialed your number. And when it went to voicemail, he had gotten a little worried.

He knew he didn’t have much of a right or reason to be worried, but he had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. So, he decided to reach out to one of your friends.

Hey, is y/n alright?

Why do you want to know?

Look, I know I messed up. I just wanted to apologize and give her the answer she deserves. But she’s not answering my calls.

She doesn’t do phone calls anymore.

What do you mean?

She won’t answer calls. She won’t even come out with us anymore. Something’s up but she denies it.

When did this start?

When do you think?

Bucky’s heart sank to his stomach. This was his fault. And he had to go make it right.

Your POV

You were still in bed, wondering why Bucky had called you. It didn’t make sense to you, for him to call after all of this time. What could he possibly have to say to you? Did he want to inform you of a new girlfriend before the news caught wind of it? Did he want to come up with some dumb excuse to tell you he was sorry?

It made you scoff slightly, but the tug at your heart let you know that it wouldn’t be unwelcome.

You couldn’t deny it. As much as his leaving had hurt you, you missed him more than anything.

You wanted another chance with him, one that you weren’t sure you would get. And the thought of him coming back to you was comforting. Like maybe it wasn’t your fault. Or maybe you had done enough to win him back.

Wishful thinking.

You had lost track of time, once again, but were snapped out of your daze by knocking on your door.

What? Why would anyone be here?

You sighed. It was probably just some random person selling some random product or something.

More knocking. More insistent. You sighed, standing up and silently groaning at the soreness you felt in your body. Not necessarily from overuse, but more so from underuse. You stood you slowly, walking quietly over to your door.

More knocking.

You made it to the door and glanced through the peephole you had, eyes widening and a small gasp leaving your mouth.

Why the fuck was Bucky here?

More knocking.

You ran a hand down your face. Knowing him, he wouldn’t leave. But why did it go from calling straight to ‘I’m coming to your door’? As if he hadn’t been the one to leave you?

More knocking.

You swallowed dryly. “Why are you here?” you called out through the door.

Bucky let out a breath. “I just want to talk to you”

You shook your head on the other side of the door, wondering if you should let him speak. As if he wasn’t already living rent-free in your mind.

“Please y/n.”

You set your face hard, pulling the door open. At least you would get to say your piece to him.

“Now you wanna talk? Fine. Let’s talk.” you said, coldly.

Bucky was slightly taken aback, though he couldn’t blame you. He took in your appearance, exhaustion seeming to overtake you. Dark circles under your eyes, pale skin, you just - all life seemed to be drained from you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously before he asked quietly, “Can I come in?”

You stepped to the side, silently allowing him in, closing the door behind you. You crossed your arms over your chest and shrugged slightly. “What do you want Barnes?

“I’m sorry,” he said. You scoffed slightly, shaking your head and looking away. “Y/n look at me, please. I fucked up.”

“Well it took you long enough to figure that one out didn’t it?” you snapped, looking at him.

“Y/n please -”

“Tell me, when exactly did you figure out that maybe, just maybe, you should say you were sorry?”

“Y/n please - “

“Who was the girl? The one in the bar from a few days after we had broken up? The one you were hitting on over a couple of drinks?”

“The… what?”

“When did you feel the slightest bit of regret? When did you change your mind and decide that you didn’t want to leave?”

“I never wanted to leave you!” he exclaimed. “Can you please just listen to me?”

You looked at him, anger in your eyes but you closed your mouth. You gave him a look that said ‘I’m listening.’

He took a deep breath. “The woman at the bar was an old friend of Sam’s. He had introduced the two of us at one point. I was at a bar one night and and she came over to say hello and stayed for one drink. It’s nothing more than that.”

You took a breath. Situations could definitely be read wrong. You knew it had probably been nothing.

“When we first got together we had talked about me leaving for missions. Long-distance, unpredictable times, dangerous missions. A lot of people have a hard time keeping that going.”

“And I knew that and was okay with it.”

“Let me finish, please.” he pleaded. “I knew you knew the risks but I’m not sure I was as ready as I thought I was. I left and suddenly I couldn’t talk to you because I was worried for your safety. I couldn’t be there for you in all the ways I wanted to be. In all the ways you deserved. I just...you didn’t deserve that. You deserved so much more than that.”

You felt tears prick your eyes. “You already told me that. When you left. What’s really going on?”

He shook his head slightly. “ Sam’s sister had gotten a call with a threat towards her and her children. I couldn’t put you at risk. These people, they were super soldiers just like me. I had a few close calls with serious injuries. And I realized that if I got hurt I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t let you get hurt and I couldn’t let you worry about whether or not I would come home alive. I thought… I thought it’d be less painful for both of us if we stopped seeing each other before that happened.”

You shook your head slightly. “Why couldn’t you tell me that?” you said, a little more softly.

“I don’t know”

You shook your head. “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than I don’t know.”

“I - “ He sighed slightly. “I was scared. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was scared that I was going to lose you.”

“So you gave me up?” you asked.

“And made the biggest mistake of my entire life.”

You looked to the side and bit your lip slightly. “You know I thought it was my fault?” you turned your face back to Bucky’s confused one. “I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. That if I was enough you wouldn’t have left. Or if I was better you would’ve come back.”

He shook his head and started walking towards you to comfort you. “It was never your fault angel -”

You backed up slightly. “You don’t get to call me that. Not right now, not yet at least.”

He looked hurt slightly, but he nodded. After a few moments of silence, you scoffed slightly.

“You know, as much as I hate to admit it, I fell apart these past few weeks. Told myself that the only thing I wanted and needed was having you come back. And here you are and...I don’t know, Bucky.” you shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or think, you broke up with me because you were afraid of hurting me? I - “ you rubbed your eyes. “I just… I get it, but I just wish we could’ve had this conversation weeks ago, Buck.”

“Does this mean we’re done?” he asked timidly.

“I… I don’t know. I just…. I think i need a little bit of time. Please. Just some time to think.”

He nodded, though he looked slightly disappointed. “Yeah, of course.” you nodded, walking him over to the door, opening it. He turned around. “Is it okay to give you a hug, y/n?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding, letting him wrap his arms around your waist as you looped them around his neck. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, tears forming in your eyes as you realized how much you missed this. How much you needed this. When he went to pull away, you held him a little more tightly before letting him go.

He smiled at you before turning to leave. “Take as much time as you need, y/n.”

You gave him the smallest of smiles back. “I’ll see you later Bucky.”

And with that, you closed the door behind you, not having a clue what any of this meant. This didn’t make it okay by any means, but maybe, just maybe, the two of you could start fresh. Together.

[okay-j-hannah]

Devout Hands & Rubied Apples

The Lord of the Rings : Fic

Faramir x Reader

Word Count: 3241

Warnings: Man I’ve always loved Faramir but holy frick I think he’d be such a loyal and caring husband 😭 I love wingman Boromir too 

Request: “I’d love to request a Fic with Faramir where he and the reader (who was also apart of the fellowship) spend Aragorn’s coronation and the party that takes place after together. He’d slowly be building up the courage to confess how he feels while Boromir tries to be a good wingman. At the same time, Merry and Pippin are scheming ways to get them together. Just lots of fluff involving dancing, drinking, and cute interactions :)” @whitewolvesandwitches​

A/N:​ In light of the Ring being destroyed, the fellowship find themselves in need of a new task. One appointed by Boromir to aide his brother in winning over the heart of their healer and friend

(Y/N) took it upon herself to assist in the infirmary as much as she could. After leaving the battlements relatively unscathed, ensuring the remnants of her fellowship were all right, she turned her attentions towards the wounded.

Upon entering the rows of stretchers enveloping the interior of Minas Tirith, she was quick to notice her companion Boromir. Strong and steady, the warrior was knelt over a makeshift cot wielding a man of similar fair hair.

“Boromir,” she muttered, resting a hand along his shoulders, “He will recover.”

The older man reached to touch her hand behind him, “I know. How could he not with you watching over him? You saved my life against the Uruk-hai, and you will save his life against my father’s poor judgement.”

(Y/N) frowned at the memory of being told the Steward had made Faramir’s condition worse even after sending him to his death at Osgiliath.

“I am flattered, but I’m sure he draws strength from your constant visits.”

“I would beg to differ,” the man she saw as a brother stated. He drew another stool closer as she took a seat to stay. “He is just as comforted by you as he is by me.”

(Y/N) moved a hand to feel the sickly brothers forehead. When she moved it towards his cheek, there was the smallest of movements as he nuzzled her palm in his sleep.

Boromir rested his elbows on his knees, covering his mouth with both his hands. His knowing eyes flickered to (Y/N)’s face, wondering if she’d have a reaction.

���What are you looking at with such a smile?”

“Oh, simply pondering your verdict.”

(Y/N) grinned back, “His fevers broken. It won’t be long before he’ll be walking about.” She let her hand linger perhaps too long on the scruff of Faramir’s cheek, for Boromir was clearing his throat and standing to leave.

“I must get back to the front. Aragorn is holding a council for his coming coronation.”

“Then get at it, Steward.”

Boromir flashed a grin, taking a light bow, “As you wish, Healer (Y/N). Keep my brother alive for me, will you?” He turned on his heel, trying to hide that smile that almost gave him away.

And watch over Faramir, (Y/N) did. Though attending to other duties with the quickly recovering survivors, she spent every sparing moment at his bedside. With him out of immediate danger, Faramir was moved to his own chambers, a soft pillow beneath his head and plenty of books for (Y/N) to choose from.

She became accustomed to a schedule of attending the infirmary then grabbing a tray of food and making way for Faramir’s room. She’d share a meal with him, trying to keep him awake longer and longer each day before he fell into another unconscious stupor.

When he did, she simply picked up the nearest book and read passages from it, sometimes saying them aloud to him. She found peace in those moments alone by his bedside. Chaos was attempting to be reined in by Aragorn, Boromir, and Eomer – the new lords of Middle Earth. And the sanctuary of Faramir’s chambers was always sought after a long day.

Though she was never far from boisterous visitors.

“Evening, (Y/N),” came the cheery voices of Merry and Pippin. “How are you?”

“Perfectly content,” she mused, placing a book marker on her current page, “What can I do for you?”

Merry put his hands behind his back, taking slow steps to Faramir’s bedside, “We were simply wondering when the last time you saw the light of day was.”

She laughed, curiosity peaked, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“By our reckoning,” Pippin continued, at the foot of the bed, “You’ve done nothing but move between the infirmary, kitchens, and this room every day. You’ve done hardly anything else since the war.”

“We,” Merry gestured between himself and Pippin, “Are here to rescue you.”

(Y/N) sighed a smile, “I told you I am perfectly content sitting here. But thank you for showing such concern.” She had an impish tone to her words, “How are you healing, Merry?”

“Don’t you change the subject,” the hobbit retorted, “There is to be a party after Aragorn’s coronation, and you’ll have no one to see if you don’t leave this room to meet them.”

Pippin flickered his gaze between the bed and (Y/N)’s puzzled expression, but he added quickly, “There are many soldiers dying to meet the one that healed them after the field.”

She couldn’t see how Merry stamped on Pippin’s large foot. They weren’t supposed to encourage meeting other men of the field.

“You know I’ve got plenty of friends that’ll be there.” She thought of the fellowship and how joyous their reunion had been when the Ring was destroyed. “And I don’t much fancy being sought after by a handful of injured soldiers.”

“And why not?” came Faramir’s quiet voice from the bed covers, “Surely these soldiers have won the honor to seek your hand.”

“Oh, Faramir!” she said, standing to reach his forehead, “How are you feeling? You slept far longer this time.”

The young captain, though healed of his injuries, was still pale and weak from weeks stuck in a bed. “I’m all right. Your book reading keeps me well asleep.” He lingered his weary blue eyes on her expression, not wishing to do anything that would make her retract her hand from his face.

She was oblivious to how he was looking at her.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer his question?”

Merry stamped on his companions foot again.

“Oh, well…” (Y/N) seemed a bit flustered by the question, “I’ve never been one for courting, especially by strangers.” She moved her hands back into her lap and Faramir felt his brows slant in longing.

Merry and Pippin flipped their gazes between the two, peculiar smiles on their faces. Similar to the one that Boromir usually bore when he visited.

“What are you up to?” She questioned, “There is more than simply getting me out of this room.”

“You got us,” Merry resigned in mock defeat, “We need to get you out for a particular reason.”

“We need to speak to Faramir,” Pippin said in a rush, unable to conceal his excitement. A swift smack from his friend made him yell out, “Ow! What was that for?”

Merry sighed, “You have no tact, Pippin. Must be a Tookish trait.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh at her friends banter. The lovely sound made Faramir return his tired gaze to her.

“You could have just said so,” she said. “I have made promises to set up the festivities with Eowyn. Perhaps I’ll seek her out and start early.”

And once she had left, the hobbits were quick to let out the breaths they had been holding. Faramir, though still exhausted from his lack of energy, laughed at them. “I have a feeling Boromir has something to do with this.”

And speak of the man, Boromir inched his way into the room, looking around him as if to see if someone had spotted him yet. “Are we alone?”

“Completely,” Merry muttered, “(Y/N)’s off to find Eowyn.”

“Don’t worry, Faramir,” Pippin consoled his friend, “We’ve been putting in the good word for you the entire time you were ill.”

The poor man appeared entirely bewildered, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, “Good word?”

“Listen to me, brother,” Boromir said, a kind of light in his eyes. “The opportunity is almost ripe for the taking. The coronation is in just a few days, and that will be when you strike.”

“Strike?”

“We’ll all be there if you need us,” Merry continued, “We’ve just got to get you up and about. You still look like death.” Him and Boromir offered to help Faramir into a sitting position.

Such small a movement and it had Faramir straining, “I still don’t understand.”

“(Y/N)!” Boromir stated with such excitement, “Now is the time to confess your feelings for her.”

That woke him up real quick. “(Y/N)? Have you three been scheming behind my back?”

“Only because you were on your deathbed,” Pippin shrugged.

Faramir ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath, “I couldn’t possibly… how would I… like (Y/N) would actually…”

“Relax, Faramir,” Boromir smirked, “I don’t believe you have anything to worry about.”

“You should have seen her,” Merry sucked in his lips in exuberance. “She paid such special attention to you out of all the survivors.”

“Which brings us to why you have to get up, Faramir,” Pippin stated, “There’s a lineup of soldiers talking of charming (Y/N) at the coronation. You have to be better by then to take them on!”

Boromir raised a hand, seeing the slight panic entering his brothers face, “There’s no need to pick a fight with every man that comes her way. Because I am sure (Y/N) will pick you regardless.”

“You’re sure?” Faramir asked, almost breathless in his growing anxiety. “How could you possibly be sure?”

“You were not awake,” Boromir had a wicked grin, “She clearly has feelings for you. She is simply not as vocal about them.”

Merry urged him on, “I don’t see (Y/N) staying in any of her other injured soldiers rooms.”

~~

The coronation was a celebration beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. Aragorn was crowned King Elessar amongst a flurry of pale petals and ecstatic subjects. Friends and acquaintances gathered from every stretch of the map, offering bows of good faith and trust.

(Y/N) stood diligently beside those members of the fellowship she cherished most. Boromir clapped boisterously, whistling loudly above the cheers. It made (Y/N) smile.

Amongst the chaos, Boromir leaned around to get a better look, grasping someone near him and trading places. This new person bumped right into (Y/N), stumbling and finding that it was Faramir his brother had traded places with.

He gave her a sweet, apologetic smile, as if to say, “My brother is a menace.”

She blushed back, taking a step away from brushing shoulders with him only to discover Legolas standing steadfastly beside her. She caught a questioning, slightly smug, look on his face before retreating back to being shoulder to shoulder with Faramir.

She couldn’t possibly have noticed the minute glance the elf gave to Boromir over their heads.

And the newly made King Elessar came walking among his subjects, the fair lady Arwen on his arm. He peered at her delicate, radiant face with such devotion that it made (Y/N) blush. She could feel heat radiating off Faramir’s body against her shoulder.

She sneaked a glance and caught him staring at her, even as the King and his Queen trailed past. Faramir couldn’t seem to look away and in an attempt to appear normal, started clapping along with the crowd. (Y/N) couldn’t put her finger on it, but the expression on his face reminded her of the look on Aragorn’s only moments before.

When he looked upon his queen.

The festivities that followed were as celebratory and raucous as you’d believe, especially with friends such as Boromir and Gimli around.

(Y/N) had quietly followed Faramir and Legolas into the throne room, which had been decked especially for the occasion. A large feast surrounded them, fiddlers and minstrels in the corner, and grand chandeliers of candles above.

She found that within an instant Legolas had mumbled an excuse to leave, putting her and Faramir alone and at the edge of the party. She kept her hands folded and in front of her, a shawl gracing her back and elbows. A circlet of golden leaves and rubied apples surrounded her head, an extravagance that Eowyn insisted upon.

“Healers,” she had said. “You never do anything for yourselves.” And she proceeded to dress her friend in fine white gold and cornsilk trimmings.

It was Faramir that attempted speech first, “The crown you wear, I recognize it.” He had to lean forward slightly to be heard over the feast. “It is quite beautiful.”

(Y/N) hoped the dimness of the candles hid the crimson on her cheeks, “Thank you. Eowyn took it upon herself to dress me. She says infirmary aprons are not acceptable.”

Faramir laughed, “It suits your complexion.”

She swallowed hard; there was no way her cheeks were as red as those rubied apples. In a moment of silence she straightened the circlet nervously. Faramir appeared to notice as he opened his mouth to speak.

But (Y/N) got there first, “Eowyn told me of the summer wine.” She gestured to a table across the hall, “I simply must try some.” And she vanished in a flurry.

It was incredible how quickly his companions surrounded his shoulders.

“That could have gone better,” Boromir stated grimly, clapping his brothers arm. “I approve of the compliment though.”

“How could you possibly hear us over this crowd?”

Merry pulled himself onto a table of desserts, Pippin not far behind with a fruit pie in hand. “You’ve got her all in a tither already.”

“I’m scaring her,” Faramir frowned, trying to glimpse her golden crowned head amongst the wine glasses.

“You’re flustering her, brother, there’s a difference.” Boromir stroked his scruff, observing the surroundings. “We’re going to have to evade her defenses.”

Pippin popped a blueberry, “Back to the ways of the Green Dragon.” The hobbits shared a gleeful glance, skittering off towards the minstrels.

“What are you planning?” Faramir fretted, not wishing to frighten (Y/N) further.

Boromir waved an impatient hand, apparently deep in strategic thought, “It was not my idea. Though a clever one.”

“Must you be so vague.”

The line of fiddlers shifted in their seats, a new merriment in how they held their bows. Their hobbit friends trailed from them, grasping mugs of ale and finding the tallest table they could stand upon.

A quick, rousing tune filled the air and Faramir recognized it immediately as a sort of line dance. One that included trading partners and flying feet.

“Dancing is not…”

“It is exactly how we’ll sneak you into (Y/N)’s arms.” Boromir grasped his brothers shoulders and shoved him towards the forming circle of people. Merry and Pippin were on their stage, beginning a drinking song of the Shire.

He could already see a pale faced Eowyn greeting (Y/N) and gesturing towards the center of the room.

“Excellent,” he muttered, much to Faramir’s anxiety. “Hold her swift and don’t let go.”

A billow of fabric and laughs consumed Faramir, quickly caught by a fellow Gondorian. He looked at her petite frame surprisingly but recognized her friendly face. They danced a few paces, him memorizing the moves before passing her along – this new partner an acquaintance from Rohan.

Clapping and cheering surrounded them, the hobbits hyping the crowd with bellowing lyrics and chugs of ale. Faramir felt himself loosen as he grinned and tapped toes with different partners. He recognized many friends and shared a few laughs, though an old arrow wound flared in his leg.

He spun and found himself in front of (Y/N) – she was flushed from the dancing, but a delighted twinkle was in her eyes. He continued to smile brighter, taking her hand and twirling her as the dance instructed.

A laugh came from her strawberry rouged lips and he relished the noise, less afraid to grasp her waist as they danced about the hall. When the time came for him to pass her to the next soldier, he found himself simply trading places with him.

(Y/N) peered at him with a comical gaze, “That is cheating.”

Faramir shrugged, taking the liberty to twirl her again, “I simply could not let you go.”

This time she did not mind the butterflies in her stomach, choosing to grin back at him instead of running away. They danced like that, Faramir continuing to jump places with the soldiers so she only partnered with him, until the music died away with a flourish.

Everyone clapped, (Y/N) and Faramir included, neither seeming able to remove their eyes from the other.

“Your shawl,” he pointed out. It had fallen on one side and dangled from one arm onto the floor. (Y/N) twirled to grab the end, but Faramir lightly grabbed her shoulders, stopping her, “Allow me.”

He stood behind her, draping the fallen end around her elbow, smoothly linking their arms together as he did so.

She gave him a suspicious brow, though smiled.

“Care for a drink?” And he led her towards the refreshments arm in arm.

Behind them was a rally of stunned cheers from a certain fellowship as they watched the motion.

“Was the summer wine to your liking?” Faramir continued, not wanting the momentum of his confidence to falter.

(Y/N) was still marveling at the smoothness of Faramir’s actions, allowing him the grace of keeping her arm delicately through his. “It was far too sweet. A pity.”

He charmed her, “Perhaps the elven made wine, then? I can attest to its richness – I’m sure you’ll prefer it.”

She nodded, finding herself intrigued by the bubbling drink, golden in the candlelight. It was crisp and tangy on the tongue, a look of delight on her face as she smacked her lips. Faramir watched her, releasing her arm to find a glass for himself.

“It is delicious.”

He grinned, “I’m glad.” And his gaze lingered as she enjoyed her drink. It lingered so much that (Y/N) chose to stare at the bubbles in her hand then at that look. She was correct in believing it reminded her of the King and Queen.

It was a look of devotion.

“Earlier you told me you recognized my crown,” she spoke towards her toes, “What do you recognize it from?”

He settled his wine glass on a nearby table, “It’s Gondorian made – it comes from our family stores.”

(Y/N) grimaced, “Oh, I told Eowyn not to go snooping. I didn’t realize she took it.”

“It is no trouble,” Faramir stated lightly, “It had belonged to my mother.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, “I didn’t realize…” she immediately went to take it off, holding the circlet with a newfound gentleness. “Forgive me.”

“There is no need to return it now.”

She skewed her brow in apology, “This is far too precious an object, I should not be wearing it.” She offered it to Faramir, “Your mother was an honorable woman.”

Faramir held the golden crown with sincerity, gazing at the worn leaves welded upon it. He smiled sweetly, turning to (Y/N) and placing the circlet once more on her head. “My mother would be glad it was worn by someone as strong as her.”

He brushed her hair away, keeping his hands on either side of her face. “There. Beautiful.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth but found herself with no words to say. This time she returned his devoted stare.

“I have found myself growing very fond of you, (Y/N),” he whispered, “It would be shameful to leave this night with your face so apologetic.”

In an instant she was clear of the emotion – it was replaced with mingling shock and another delightful light in her eyes.

“The shame would only be my own; for my own misguided affections – I thought your fondness was only in gratitude for my healing.” That’s when he began to smile, “Then perhaps for the tolerance of your brother.”

He laughed, adoration plain in his features, “Perhaps I do feel those things. But first and foremost has always been for your heart.”

“My heart has always been open to you, Faramir.”

~~~

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[f1yogurt]

You're My Lifeline - Chapter 1

Minors DNI 18+

Series Masterlist

Ch. 1 Summary: It's 1917, and Oberleutnant Karl Horstmayer is an omega. Unfortunately, the German soldier is captured by French enemy forces and realizes all to soon that his heat is approaching. Karl suffers mistreatment and torture at the hands of his French captors, who are more than willing to take advantage of his impending heat. Will he be rescued in time?

AO3 Link – YOU'RE MY LIFELINE – Link to my Fic Request Guide

Fandom: Joyeux Noël | Merry Christmas (2005)

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI 18+

Relationships: Karl Horstmayer / Camille Audebert / Mackenzie Gordon (Joyeux Noël)

Ch. 1 Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Whump, World War I, Hurt/Comfort (comfort comes in later chapters), Angst, poor karl, I promise he gets better

Word Count: 1716

Ch. 1 Warnings: Minor Injuries/Violence, Brief Threat of Non-Con, Whump, Cursing

Lieutenant Karl Horstmayer winced and stumbled into the holding cell, nearly falling to the floor as one of the French guards shoved him roughly between the shoulders. He quickly caught himself on the cold wall of the cell, his palms smacking loudly against the surface.

“In you go, boche,” the guard spat in French. “We’ll be back to check on you in half an hour. Don’t do anything you might regret.” The man chuckled darkly, and Karl listened to the sound of the metal cell door being slammed shut behind him.

The German forced himself to watch as the guards disappeared down the long hallway, their footsteps slowly echoing into silence. The moment that he was certain that he was alone, Karl let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His exhale sounded more like a whine, and he groaned as he let himself slump against the cell wall.

Everything hurt, and he sank to the ground as his knees gave way. He was exhausted, and now he was also nursing quite a few new injuries thanks to his two French… interrogators. The guards had already tortured him for answers, multiple times, and had attempted to wring every bit of knowledge from his lips. By any means necessary.

He was sure that he was sporting a nasty looking black eye, and his ribs ached every time he touched his sides. His nose was sore from being punched in the face one too many times, and the blood that had run into his throat from the injury made him let out a hacking cough every so often.

As much as he was in pain, though, Karl was really only focused on one thing. He felt the familiar ache in his bones that usually preceded a heat, and he shivered involuntarily. A defeated chuckle escaped his lips. Oh, the irony of it all.

His heat suppressant pills had run out last month, and supply shortages in the trenches meant that he hadn’t been able to refill his dwindling stock. Only a few days ago, he had been taken prisoner by the French army, and this was the worst place to expose himself by asking for any kind of medication that might reveal his identity as an omega.

He had always projected himself as an alpha, because there was no room for any perceived “weakness” in his position as a German Oberleutnant. His commanding officers would have never allowed an omega to rise within the ranks as he did, simply because of their prejudices against the “weaker” classification.

“Omegas have no place at war,” Karl’s superiors had told their squad of young trainees. “Only alphas are worthy and capable of defending their country.” However, Horstmayer knew better, and he had signed up to serve his country despite the dangers. Now though, going into heat would provide the perfect opportunity for the enemy to take advantage of him. His omega nature would be his undoing.

As if sensing his worry, he heard the footsteps of the guards approaching again. He had no idea how much time had passed, but they seemed to be ready for another round of interrogation.

“Boche, we’re back,” one of the guards taunted, seeing Karl huddled pitifully in the corner of the cell. “I must commend you, you stayed right where we left you.” Karl winced at the sound of scraping metal as the guards pushed the cell door open. He glared up at the guard who loomed over him.

“You have told us many things tonight about your German comrades, boche,” the bigger of the two guards said darkly. “But I think there is still more in you.” The man, who was at least a head taller than Karl, reached down and fisted his hand in the front of Horstmayer’s uniform shirt.

Before Karl could react, he felt himself being lifted like a sack of potatoes, as if he weighed nothing in the guard’s hand. The German barely suppressed a grunt of pain as he was roughly shoved against the cell wall. Scheiße.

“I am going to get all of the answers from you, one way or another,” the man said, leaning all of his body weight against Karl to keep him pinned against the wall. Karl couldn’t prevent a quiet whimper from escaping his lips, and the heavy weight of an alpha against him triggered his natural omega desire to obey.

He felt himself begin to panic, because suddenly he was all too aware of the scent of alpha pheromones. The thick and heady waves of the odor from both of the guards were just another reminder of his oncoming heat which he was powerless to stop. To make matters worse, Karl knew that if he could smell the alphas so strongly, then they would likely be able to smell him.

The guard holding him against the wall took a small step backwards as he inhaled Karl’s omega scent, now enhanced out of Karl’s fear. The alpha's eyes widened in realization.

“Ah, an omega,” the guard said in surprise. “I would never have seen it in you, boche. An omega Oberleutnant? No doubt you have tried to hide that your whole life, hm?” Karl felt a flush of anger rise to his cheeks, but he refused to let himself take a violent swing at the alpha yet.

“This changes things, then,” the guard sneered. The big man still hadn’t released his hold on Karl, and Horstmayer tried to turn away, refusing to make eye contact with either of his captors.

“Pretty omega,” the taller man purred, pressing his body closer to Karl’s, “You’re going into heat soon. I can smell it on you.” His voice was sickly sweet, and Karl felt his stomach drop. “I know other ways of making you talk. More… pleasurable ways.” The man let his hand snake between Karl’s legs, groping his thigh over his uniform trousers. Slowly, the hand slid upwards towards Horstmayer’s crotch, his intent blindingly clear.

Karl snapped. He grabbed the alpha’s wrist in a firm hold, and with a furious growl, he twisted the guard’s arm until it was pinned behind the man’s back. Horstmayer managed to kick the alpha’s knees to force him onto the ground, keeping a firm hold on his arm and effectively putting the bigger man in a helpless position. The smaller alpha guard had barely blinked before realizing that his partner was on the ground.

“Do not touch me,” Horstmayer snarled, both terrified and enraged. “I am not some helpless omega you pulled off the streets. Keep your hands off me, du verdammter Hurensohn!” The pinned alpha snarled in anger and wrestled free from Karl’s hold, easily pushing himself to his knees and whipping around to face the omega. Thankfully, before the man could act on any furious desires, his partner stopped him.

“Leave him, Pierre! He is not worth it,” the first guard said, roughly pulling the other alpha back. “This boche would make for a terrible experience. He would fight too much.” There was a brief pause of silence, the sound of heavy breathing filling the damp walls of the cell.

“We will call the Lieutenant and ask him what should be done,” the first guard said, eyeing Karl warily. “He will know exactly what to do with this… omega filth.” Karl watched the man spit on the floor, as if to make an emphasis of the omega’s worth.

Pierre just glared darkly at Karl as he dusted himself off, the alpha barely containing his own rage.

“Yes, we will see,” he said dangerously, stalking towards Horstmayer slowly. “We will see what the Lieutenant has planned for this boy. No doubt something… similarly pleasurable.” At the word ‘pleasurable,’ the guard leaned forward to hiss in Karl’s ear. The omega suppressed a revolted shudder, but he stood his ground, refusing to cow to anything.

With that final remark, the guards seemed to think their work was finished, and Karl watched as they both left the cell. The door was locked securely behind them, and with one last glare in Karl’s direction, they turned to leave. Karl listened once more to the echo of footsteps that faded into the distance.

When they were gone, he finally let his knees buckle as he sank to the ground again. It took him a moment to realize that he was trembling. Horstmayer held up his hand in front of his face, watching as his fingers vibrated with nervous anxiety.

Scheiße, that had been close. He needed help, and he needed it fast. The longer he stayed here, the more he could feel the symptoms of his heat threatening to overwhelm him. Feverish chills, cold sweats, and a growing arousal that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Soon, he would be a willing omega to any alpha who came near him. Plying answers out of him would be as easy as slicing through butter with a hot knife. Karl dreaded such a humiliating experience, to be taken by an alpha who not only was a stranger, but who was an enemy. And yet, he knew it was inevitable if he was to ever get through his heat in a place like this.

A feeling of intense loneliness overwhelmed him at the thought. He had no alpha to protect him. No alpha to care for him, to ensure him that everything would be alright. No loving alpha to coax him through his first heat in what felt like ages.

Karl shivered again, and he couldn’t suppress a helpless whimper as he pressed his cheek to the cold wall of the cell, desperately trying to cool his fever-flushed skin. The Lieutenant. The Lieutenant, the guards had said, would know what to do.

Horstmayer had no idea what kind of man this Lieutenant was, but he prayed that he would be at least somewhat merciful. No doubt, the Lieutenant would be an alpha male, wanting to make an example of a weak omega enemy soldier in heat. Karl would have to bear it.

For now, though, all he could do was wait. Wait and prepare himself for whatever these French bastards had in store for him. As he relaxed, huddled in the corner of the cell, he slowly felt himself slip into a restless sleep.

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

kisses #14 for jmart? write or draw, whichever you prefer!

For the prompt "kissing each other breathless". I ended up going for Old Guard AU yonmartin for this one, and naturally it got VERY long and plot focused, so,, apologies hflksjdfk. There are some Pahlavi and Latin words/references in this, and I've put the meanings for all of them at the bottom of the fic! :0 Hope you enjoy!!

———————————————

Yonatan doesn’t generally consider himself a pessimist, but right now, he has to admit that he’d been expecting this whole trip to go wrong.

He had voiced as much when, days ago, Martinus had first presented the idea of returning to his hometown to see the sights, but Martinus had shaken his head and promised that all would be fine, that ten years would be far enough time for his former allies to give up searching for him, and they would be able to blend in as well as anyone.

Yonatan had been skeptical, claiming that ten years might have been enough to cease a rescue, but not enough to suppress the memory of a face, especially if they came across anyone Martinus had known, and if it came to a fight, Yonatan alone would not be able to hold back a whole force of Byzantine soldiers.

“Deliciae*, they won’t be looking for me,” Martinus had argued and taken Yonatan’s hand in his own, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “You remember what we left behind. They have no reason to suspect there were survivors.”

Yonatan had squeezed his hand and frowned, glancing up at his love from where his head rested on his shoulder. “Even if that is true, you could still be recognized. People knew you.”

“We won’t stay long enough for that to happen,” Martinus had assured him; all confidence, all certainty. “Please, I want to share this with you.”

And Yonatan had said yes, because of course he had. Martinus had looked so eager, so excited to share this piece of his life with him, and Yonatan had never been able to refuse him when he glowed like that.

Now, however, he wishes that he had.

It hadn’t taken long for everything to spin wildly out of control. Ten years had in fact not been enough to dull the memory of Martinus’s old allies, and an aging man dressed in familiar armor had cried out in alarm as he turned his face upon the pair of them in the marketplace. A fellow soldier - Martinus had identified him as - who had fallen ill shortly before their battalion was sent out, stopped in his tracks to gape at Martinus, his face going slack in disbelief.

The man’s shock had turned to fury faster than Martinus could attempt to deny his own identity, and then the marketplace had been swarming with onlookers and soldiers, all straining for a look at the so-called ‘deserter’. Yonatan had held tight to his beloved’s arm through the mounting noise, but then there were rough hands pulling Martinus away from Yonatan’s grip, more and more of them appearing when he shoved them away, and Yonatan should have been able to hold them off, to push them back, away from his love, but he saw the look in Martinus’s eyes as his hand fell on the hilt of his sword, and had realized that the gathering forces would be too much for him even if he did strike, undying though he was, and he had hesitated when it mattered most. The other soldiers had gripped his arms then and wrenched him to the ground, sealing their separation, and then Yonatan had watched as his beloved was ripped away and degraded for a crime that these men had no ability to understand.

Coward, they had called Martinus with spitting voices. Traitor.

God, he can’t imagine how much it must hurt Martinus to be treated this way by those he once called friends. Yonatan’s hands had shaken with the weight of their ignorance, cast so effortlessly at a man who didn’t deserve a syllable of it, but his fury could not change the fact that Martinus had been taken, and so Yonatan found himself abandoned in the center of the marketplace, surrounded by fallen produce and pastries, utterly alone for the first time in a decade.

He is now trying not to fall into the panic of that isolation as he searches for the prison where they have dragged his beloved, asking pedestrians in the street and following the clearly defined tracks of a struggle marking the dirt roads. He tries not to look too hard at the scattered dust underfoot, tries not to imagine angry hands around his gentle wrists, cruel tongues lashing at his ears. What if they hurt him on the way there? These soldiers are known for the punishment they bestow upon their captive foes; what if they attempt to maim Martinus the same? And then… What if, in doing so, they realize his secret? What if Yonatan is wrong about where he’s been taken, and cannot find him again? What if Yonatan does find him, but he cannot free him? What if Martinus is separated from him forever; cast out to sea or buried beneath stone or locked away somewhere unreachable? Yonatan feels his heart pounding in his chest in fear and tries to get his thoughts under control.

He is a warrior, whether he likes that fact or not, and his long years of fond sparring with Martinus have only sharpened that training, so he can handle this. He will handle this, he corrects himself, as he finally catches sight of the prison where Martinus has been discarded. He is more than a soldier now; he is half of a whole, and he has no intention of letting his beloved go that easily, especially not to some pretentious, dujdaft** Byzantians.

Besides, he tries to reason with himself as he looks over the small, stone prison, it isn’t as if they’ve dragged him to Anōšbord***. The building before him is fortified, certainly, but hardly a castle, and Yonatan doubts that it counts as any sort of masterful architecture. It doesn’t look big enough to hold more than a few other prisoners anyways, so he will be fine. He will walk out with his love like always, and then they will go back to their sanctuary together. They will be safe.

Yonatan repeats this to himself for hours as he forces himself to be still, lying in wait with bouncing legs and tapping fingers until the darkness of night falls around his shoulders like a cloak, and he is able to sneak close enough to see the prison guard’s head begin to droop. Finally, he thinks, and unsheathes his sword.

Yonatan holds his breath as he slinks around the entrance to the prison and strikes the guard from behind. The man barely has time to gasp in surprise before Yonatan brings the wrapped hilt of his blade down hard against the back of his head, his knees giving out as unconsciousness quickly takes him over. Yonatan hadn’t aimed to kill; he remembers Martinus’s eyes in the marketplace when Yonatan’s hand had brushed his sword, and honestly, he can’t bring himself to feel anything but relief for the excuse to avoid any further violence. He has enough blood on his hands to last a lifetime already, and he isn’t exactly eager to dip his hands in more.

Once he’s certain the soldier is out cold, Yonatan does his best to prop him up against the wall where he had been standing, and then, carefully, nicks the keys from his pocket and slips through the front entrance into the prison.

He hadn’t expected it to be so dark, he thinks at first, noting only a few lone torches illuminating the inside of the structure, but he quickly brushes aside the concern. Even if there was no light in here at all, he would find Martinus by touch alone; by voice or by smell. He puts a hand to the wall and withdraws one of the dark torches from its position on the stones, strikes it alight, and ventures deeper into the prison.

The cells are unmarked, but there are only a few prisoners and metal doors are easy enough to see through, so Yonatan makes quick work of checking through them, not sparing a second glance to any sleeping forms he doesn’t recognize, letting his eyes slide off one person to the next until he finally catches the wide eyes of Martinus - very awake and silently waving towards him - and runs immediately to his door. The torch clatters from his hand as he falls to his knees at once, eyes locked on the face of the man he loves.

“Martinus,” he gasps out in relief, wrestling the keys from his pocket and wrenching the lock on the door open without care for silence.

“Took you long enough,” Martinus breathes as he tumbles through the door, although his eyes are shining in the torchlight, and his chest is hitching with emotion, and he is clinging onto Yonatan’s arms the moment they’re close enough to touch. Yonatan feels a smile bursting across his face and tears pricking at his eyes as he returns the touch, wrapping his arms immediately around his beloved, his partner, his grāmīg****, feeling the press of his body against his, all the softness of his chest and stomach and arms, fitting perfectly into Yonatan’s arms and heart.

“Dušāgāh wīr*****,” he mutters into Martinus’s hair, the teasing insult leaving his lips like a blessing, and then he’s pulling back from the embrace and grabbing onto Martinus’s gorgeously round cheeks and sealing their lips together firmly, the kiss all pent up worry and relief and love, always love.

Martinus makes a small noise of surprise, barely a whisper, but quickly melts into the kiss, hands coming up to cup the sides of Yonatan’s face as he kisses him again and again and again, answering Yonatan’s relief with his own.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Yonatan pulls back suddenly, twisting Martinus this way and that in his arms, searching for drops of blood or torn fabric or anything to indicate that an injury might have befallen his loved one’s skin in his absence.

“No, no.” Martinus shakes his head, breathless. “I— They were going to, I think, but not yet.”

“Good,” Yonatan’s voice burns in his chest, relief scorching his throat, and he draws Martinus in to kiss him again, deeper this time, and a hint almost possessive in the way his hands curl around Martinus’s shoulders and his lips capture his. Martinus holds him back just as tightly, winding his hands in his hair and rubbing over his shoulders before finally tugging him away and breaking the kiss, ignoring the disappointed frown that tugs at Yonatan’s brow.

“Okay, okay. We still have to get out of here, cara******.” He mumbles, struggling to find the stuttering breath in his lungs, still overwhelmed by the kiss of the man he’s stood beside for over a decade.

“We will,” Yonatan agrees, his heart lighter now with the familiar presence of Martinus here to accompany him, and leans in to press one final kiss to his beloved’s soft jaw before stepping away and nodding. “Together, like always.”

Martinus smiles and takes his hand, and the pair of them take their steps together, like always.

* Deliciae - Latin for “darling” ** dujdaft - Pahlavi for “ill-breathing” *** Anōšbord - Also known as the Castle, or Prison of Oblivion. This was a castle and political prison in the Sasanian Empire that held several notable members of royalty over the centuries. **** grāmīg - Pahlavi for “dear” or “treasured” ***** Dušāgāh wīr - Pahlavi for “foolish man” ****** cara - Latin for “dear”

[ynscrazylife]

Hello once again. Could I please get a Daisy Johnson x Reader fic? Set sometime after the fall of SHIELD & Coulson has actually told the Avengers he's alive. The Avengers have called in SHIELD to help out on a mission where the reader meets Daisy. You can choose how that plays out. Reader is a super soldier that is mentored by Natasha & Clint who chooses to use a bow like the latter. Thanks

Yes! Thank you for requesting.

The Agent and the Avenger

Summary: Y/N, an Avenger, meets Daisy Johnson, a SHIELD Agent, when the Avengers need SHIELD’s help on a mission. What happens when Y/N and Daisy start to fall for each other?

“Bullseye,” Y/N said, smiling in satisfactory as her arrow hit the mark. She raised her bow and got into position and let go. “Bullseye . . . Bullseye . . . Andddd bullseye!” One after one, her arrows hit their target perfectly. 

“Is that your new theme song? The word ‘bullseye’ over and over again?” A voice from behind her teased. 

Y/N turned around and saw one of her mentors, Natasha, standing with her in the archery range and giving her a smirk. Y/N couldn’t help but smile as well. “It just might be,” she said, playing along with this little game. 

Natasha chuckled and walked over to her, peering at her target with all its arrows in it. It resembled a porcupine. “You might just be better than Clint,” the redhead observed.

“Hey!” Another voice interrupted, protesting. Y/N’s other mentor had joined the women. “None of that.” 

Natasha and Y/N laughed at the sour look on his face. 

“What are you two doing here?” Y/N asked, switching the topic and going to put her bow away. 

“Oh, right,” Natasha recalled, having momentarily forgotten why she and Clint came. “We’re gonna go on a mission, leaving tonight, and Coulson’s SHIELD team is gonna assist us.” 

Y/N raised her eyebrows in interest. “Is it a difficult one?” She asked. 

“Steve suspects it will be, yes, and it’ll be a big one. There’s a Hydra base far out storing some dangerous weapons. Some of it is also SHIELD technology, and it’s a large base,” Natasha clarified. 

Y/N nodded. “Who’s coming with us, exactly?” She asked.

“Coulson, May, Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, and Daisy Johnson. Coulson, May, and Daisy will be on the field with us, but Fitz and Jemma are going to stay with Bruce in the Quinjet,” Natasha answered. 

Y/N thought for a moment. She had met May and Coulson briefly because they were close to Natasha and Clint, but hadn’t met the other agents. 

“I’ll get ready, then,” she told both of her mentors, a smile on her face. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, the Avengers were settled in the Quinjet. They were just waiting on the SHIELD agents. Steve and Tony were at the pilots seat, Bruce was typing away at one of their computers, Thor was balancing Mjolnir on various objects, and Y/N sat in-between Natasha and Clint, the three of them talking on the couch. 

“Hello, hello, Mighty Avengers!” 

Y/N looked up from her conversation to see Coulson walking in with a smile on his face, May at his side, and leading the three other agents behind them. Immediately, all of the Avengers got up to meet them. 

Y/N followed Natasha and Clint and watched them greet May and Coulson warmly as Thor went over to speak to Steve and Tony. The two agents, Fitz and Simmons, Y/N guessed, quickly went off with Bruce which left Y/N looking around until her eyes fell on the only other person standing by herself.

Holyyyyy shit. 

She was gorgeous. One second Y/N was composed and a little nervous and the next she was . . . in awe. The woman standing in front of her must have put her under a love spell or something because Y/N felt her heart fluttering and butterflies flying around her stomach. 

“Hey! I’m Daisy Johnson, and you?” 

Oh Lordy lord. Even her voice was charming. Daisy held her hand out and Y/N swallowed a lump in her throat, shaking her hand. As soon as her hand touched Daisy’s, a new and bigger wave of nerves crashed into her. 

“I’m, uh, I’m Y/N . . . Y/N Y/LN,” Y/N introduced herself, stumbling over her words and smiling shyly at Daisy. 

Daisy grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” 

Just hearing her name come out of Daisy’s mouth made Y/N feel like she was going to pass out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After everyone was introduced, they took their seats. Y/N resumed sitting in-between Natasha and Clint, as May and Daisy sat across from them. During the ride, Natasha and May were deeply engaged in a conversation, while Clint and Daisy chatted occasionally. Y/N, however, was distracted the whole time, mostly by how pretty and charming Daisy was. 

“Okay, team! We’re landing, so listen up,” Steve said in a loud voice, catching everyone’s attention. “We’re gonna divide and conquer. Clint and Tony, Natasha and May, myself and Coulson, and Y/N and Daisy. Leopold and Jemma will stay with Bruce.” 

Everyone nodded, gravitating towards her partners, but Y/N froze. 

She was paired up with the woman she had a growing crush on? It was like Steve wanted her to blow the mission for them all (granted, he didn’t know she had a crush on her, but still).

“Hey, looks like we’re partners,” Daisy’s voice drew her from her thoughts. 

Y/N whipped around to look at her and nodded, biting her lip because she thought that if she spoke, she’d likely make a fool out of herself.

Minutes later, the teams were all set. They had landed and everyone moved out. As Daisy and Y/N had moved into their section of the base and were walking down one of the hallways, Daisy suddenly stopped in her tracks, hailing Y/N too.

“We need to get to the bottom of something,” Daisy said, and turned off her comms. 

Y/N stared at her, confused. Daisy motioned for her to turn off her comms too, which she did after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Who do you have a crush on?” Daisy asked. 

Y/N blinked. “What?” She asked in return, dumbfounded. 

Daisy cracked a smile. “You have a crush on someone! I can tell. It’s making you all nervous and stuff,” she insisted. 

“I don’t have a crush on anyone,” Y/N protested, but she betrayed herself when she blushed. 

Crap. 

Daisy picked up the pace again. “Well, it can’t be any of the Avengers, right? They’re too old for you . . . I haven’t seen you on your phone on the Quinjet so it can’t be someone else . . . you barely talked to Fitz or Simmons and Phil and May are too old for you so . . .” she trailed off and turned to Y/N, stopping again, as realization dawned on her. 

Fear suddenly struck Y/N. The mission was forgotten. “I don’t-” she started to say, but Daisy cut her off as she wore a confident, quirky smile. 

“For the record, I think you’re cute. Can I take you out on a date after the mission?” She asked casually, as if they weren’t on a very important mission and Y/N hadn’t just been outed for a crush. 

Y/N’s jaw dropped for a moment. Did Daisy really just say that? She struggled to compose herself, and couldn’t stop a goofy smile from wiggling its way onto her lips. She nodded. “I’d like that. Speaking of the mission, we should probably turn comms on and keep going,” she said, chuckling.

[wherethewordsare]

I’ll Stay with You

Hey everyone, a little up front, this is a major character death fic and nearly 4k long. Be advised. Content warnings include: Bloody and Injury, Fatal Injury, Major Character Death, and Implied misuse of potions. Please be advised before reading! Thank you!

~

There had been no warning. Only the sound of a sword being drawn above him woke Jaskier from an already fitful sleep. He just managed to roll out of the way, Geralt’s name already on his lips. 

A firm arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him down to the ground as a volley of arrows whizzed overhead, close enough to ruffle his hair. His heart hammered as they stood, each taking defensive positions. 

It hadn’t been the first platoon Nilfgaard had sent for his witcher and it wouldn’t be the last, but Jaskier would die on his feet before he let anything happen to Geralt. His own short sword connected with flesh and he yanked it back again before swinging for the next soldier. His form had gotten better and he had learned to fight, not just slash and hack under Geralt’s tutelage. 

He wasn’t a witcher though. He wasn’t able to hear the notch of a bow and the release of an arrow as it flew through the throng and buried itself into his thigh. 

Jaskier cried out but kept his feet. He still fought though he was growing faint and the hot wetness that was soaking the outside of his trousers was too much too fast. They needed to get away. 

“Geralt!” He yelled and the witcher was there, his arm wrapped tightly around Jaskier’s middle, pulling him close. 

“Hold on,” Geralt breathed against his shoulder. Magic vibrated in the air around them as Geralt let loose an aard, sending soldiers flying back from them and then another wave of magic as Jaskier broke the talisman around his neck. 

A one way portal dropped them into another clearing miles north of where they had been. Jaskier fell to the ground, gasping as his fingers fumbled for the arrow that was still buried in his leg. 

“Geralt, fuck, help.” He shook as he looked down. There was far too much blood. Even Geralt seemed to go pale as he looked down at the damage. Most of their packs were back where they had been ambushed. The only thing left to them was what Geralt had grabbed, Jaskier’s own pack with only his notebook, a spare shirt, and a salve for minor cuts. 

“Hold on, Jaskier, hold on.” Geralt moved quickly, making quick work of the spare shirt, tearing it into strips and tying above the wound. “Here, take my hand,” he whispered, his voice gentle, his eyes wide with fear. 

 “Geralt- Geralt, dear heart. Listen…” Jaskier swallows and takes Geralt’s hands, lacing their fingers and squeezing as tightly as he can. “If I don’t make it, if you have to go on-” 

Before he could finish his thought, Geralt pulled the arrow from his leg in one smooth motion. Jaskier screamed through clenched teeth, his body shaking from it. Geralt was quick to bandage him up, all the while murmuring softly to Jaskier. 

“There’s an oversized bed with your name on it at the keep, you just have to stay with me,” Geralt said, his eyes never leaving the wound. 

Jaskier took back Geralt’s hand after it was done with the bandages and squeezed it again, this time barely having the strength to press down into that firm palm. 

“Always, dear heart, always going to stay with you.” He licked his lips and gave a wet laugh. It was now or never or he was going to go to his very early grave regretting it. 

“I know where we are. This is the tail end of the path into the Blue Mountains. We’re so close I can smell Eskel’s goats.” Geralt was worried. He only talked like this with sick children and shriveled old women he couldn’t save. 

Jaskier only swallowed and nodded. They set camp that night and in the morning began the long and painful trek into the mountains. 

~

Three days. They had been on the move for three days. Every hour, Jaskier could feel his strength leaving him and every hour he tried to make Geralt face him, to hear the words he needed to say before…

Jaskier sat against a cave wall, shivering as sweat soaked through his shirt. His leg had been itching like mad since he had woken up and he feared that there had been more to that arrow than just steel. He wondered if Geralt had smelled it on him, if that was what was causing the Witcher to climb as quickly as they could into the mountains, to where there might be safety. 

He looked across the small fire where Geralt cooked two winter-thin hares. He looked haggard with the closest thing Jaskier had ever seen to true fear on his witcher. 

“Geralt?” He croaked, his voice cracking. 

“Hmm?” Geralt didn’t even look up, seeming to instead find anything else to look at than Jaskier’s fading body. 

Jaskier gave a sad smile and weakly patted the bedroll next to him. “It’s going to be cold tonight. Why don’t we have those for breakfast and you come get some sleep?” 

Geralt looked up at him then, his face drawn into something he couldn’t interpret but took the rabbits off the flames and nodded. 

He crossed the small space and slipped in next to Jaskier, pulling him gently down until they were tucked in the bedroll, his arms winding around the bard with barely a word. He felt rigid and unsure under Jaskier’s hands as he shifted, careful of the wounded leg. 

Jaskier pressed in close to Geralt’s chest and timed his breathing to the sound of the witcher’s heartbeat under his ear. Geralt, for his part, wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him close, burying his nose into his hair. He thought with a faint chuckle that he must have reeked but Geralt didn’t seem to mind, only pressing in closer. 

Sleep came for Jaskier sooner than he thought it would. He did not dream, nor did he really notice the pain. All he could feel as he drifted off were warm, though chapped, lips pressing to his forehead and words he couldn’t quite catch. 

They sounded like “Stay with me”.

~

When morning came, Jaskier couldn’t explain what he was doing standing near the entrance of the cave, looking in where Geralt was still huddled with his back to him. His head felt foggy like he couldn’t quite remember what it was he was doing. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called suddenly, “Jaskier!” 

“I’m right here,” Jaskier took a step towards Geralt and found that his legs felt sound under him. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt sat up, leaning over something in front of him, his shoulders shaking. “No, no no, you fucking idiot, no. Not like this, Jask, please.” There was panic in Geralt’s voice and he was on his knees leaning down. 

Jaskier stood frozen behind him as he watched over Geralt’s shoulder, where he, Jaskier, lay, pale and blue-lipped. 

Geralt leaned down, trying to breathe life into his body, Jaskier's name a chant on his lips between every curse and promise he could make. Jaskier touched his own lips as they seemed to tingle for a moment but then the feeling was gone. 

Geralt only pressed against his chest a few times but seemed to quickly give up before gathering Jaskier into his arms, his nose pressing back into his hair. 

“Jaskier, no. I’m sorry, I’m so… I…” There was a choking sound echoing in the cave and Jaskier realized it was broken sobs as Geralt only held his lifeless body closer. 

“Geralt, dear heart, I’m still- You don’t have to be sorry, Geralt. You’re safe, that’s all I could ask for.” Jaskier came around the other side and dropped to his knees, his hands reaching out for Geralt as he sat there, rocking back and forth on the frozen stone floor. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. We weren’t supposed to end like this.” He wanted to scream.

“You were supposed to stay, Jask. You were supposed to stay with me.” 

“Always,” Jaskier promised, “I’m always going to be here. I’m not going anywhere, Geralt. I love you, I’ll stay.” 

Geralt laid his body down gently, bringing the bedroll they shared over Jaskier’s face. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I got you killed.” He looked away, swallowing, tears streaking down his face as his eyes slid right over where Jaskier’s ghost knelt in front of him. “I love you. I’m sorry I never told you.” 

Jaskier was sure if he still had a heartbeat, it would have skipped right before he shattered into a million pieces. There was nothing left for him to do but to keep his promise. He followed Geralt from that cave, watching as Geralt cast an aard that closed the entrance, burying Jaskier inside, his face completely void of any emotion as he did so. 

The rest of the journey to Kaer Morhen was quiet, Geralt barely stopping to eat or sleep until he had finally reached the keep. Jaskier trailed behind him in the halls, catching the looks that Geralt missed from his brothers, from Vesemir, from Yennefer when she showed up with Ciri not three days later. 

He followed his witcher into his rooms and watched as he drank himself into a stupor that still couldn’t bring him sleep. 

“You don’t have to do this to yourself, Geralt. I’d die for you a thousand times if it kept you safe,” Jaskier whispered. He couldn’t brush back the silver hairs that fell into Geralt’s face as he slumped over his writing desk. 

He looked down at the book that was open and recognized it as his journal. He was sure he’d blush if he could. It was a page towards the back that Geralt had opened to, where Jaskier had done a rough sketch of Geralt grooming Roach. It hadn’t been his best work, but he kept it with him anyways. 

“Oh, you were never meant to see that,” he winced, sliding up onto the desk beside Geralt’s outstretched arm. He reached down as if to grab his hand and sighed when his fingers only managed to slide through it without so much as a twitch. 

“Should have protected you, should have saved you. Always losing you,” Geralt slurred, his eyes closed. “Always losing the ones I should have protected.” 

“Oh, dear heart,” Jaskier leaned his elbow onto his knee, wiping a hand over his face. He wondered how long he would be like this, not that he was complaining. He had promised. He was still going to follow his witcher.

~

The years slipped past them, Geralt witchering, Jaskier following. The only difference seemed to be that Geralt had finally found it in himself to start talking to Jaskier, only when Jaskier couldn’t respond. 

That first season out, Geralt found a contract on a notice board. 

“Looks like a cockatrice, Jask,” he murmured quietly, reading over the paper. “They’ll swindle me for sure, always with fucking cocatrices.” He gave a small smile looking up. “You know, the only time they didn’t was when you’d come flying at the alderman like a cockatrice yourself, all color and spit and barbs.” 

“You always stopped me though.” Jaskier leaned against the board, his head resting on the worn wood as he watched Geralt fondly. “I worry you’ll never see a proper payment again unless you find another bard.” The idea twisted something where his chest used to be. Geralt travelling with anyone else always seemed to do that, even before his untimely demise. “But at least now I can follow you into battles without you having to worry about me getting hurt, eh?”

Jaskier followed Geralt like he always had, trailing behind him as he met with the alderman, to his room at the inn, watching as he checked over his potions. 

“Come back in one piece.” Jaskier winced at the old habit that hadn’t seemed to die with him. 

“Stay out of trouble while I’m-” Geralt turned and frowned at the empty room. “Right then.” He only growled and slung his swords over his back before stalking back out of the room. 

They had stopped on the edge of a ravine and Geralt looked down the craggy face, scowling. He downed his potions without a second thought and began the climb down. 

And then-

Jaskier was suddenly back in the room at the inn, Geralt with his back to him, grunting as he curled in on himself. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Jaskier asked. He came around the other side of Geralt. There was a nasty cut along his arm but it wasn’t anything Geralt couldn’t handle, he knew. 

“Bollocks! Really!? Finally, a way to follow you into battle and, what? I can’t? Why?” Jaskier threw his arms in the air in frustration. 

Geralt made a low sound, the needle shaking in his hand as he stitched his arm. His eyes kept flicking up to his potions, lined across the low table. Jaskier looked him over, watching the last of the toxicity fade from his veins. 

“You know, I keep asking why am I here, but I’m starting to wonder.” Jaskier tried to run his hands through the muck that still clung to Geralt’s hair, sighing as his fingers simply faded through him. “Am I here because you’ve chosen to let me haunt you?” He clucked his tongue. “Foolish witcher, let me go. You don’t need to punish yourself.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt stood, crossing to the basin to wash away the remaining blood on his arm and hands. 

Jaskier climbed into the bed and waited for Geralt to take his usual position beside him. He sang quietly as his witcher drifted off into his usual restless sleep, Jaskier’s name never far from his lips. 

~

And so it went for several seasons, Geralt fighting battles Jaskier could not witness, only able to linger beside him when the nights grew quiet and Geralt would try to drown himself in women and liquor and the desperate pace of travel. 

After one fight, Jaskier returned to find Geralt hunched over his potions, muttering to himself as he pulled one from the bag with surprisingly shaky hands. 

“What are you doing? Did you not kill the beast?” Jaskier was kneeling in front of him, unable to reach out, unable to be heard. He looked between the bottle and Geralt’s face and frowned. 

“I see,” he whispered softly.

It had been a long time at this point and Jaskier was realizing that the only time he was not with Geralt was when Geralt didn’t think of him, so far only when he gave himself over completely to his witcher senses and instinct. 

“Does thinking of me hurt you so deeply, Geralt?” If he were able to cry he would. Instead all he could do was look on as Geralt slowly uncorked the bottle. “I do not blame you for wanting to outrun your ghosts, but please. Not like this.”

Geralt brought the bottle to his lips and for a moment it felt like his eyes had flicked to Jaskier’s, wide and wounded. He pulled the bottle away, corking it and shoving it back into his bag. 

“You’d think me a coward, I know.” Geralt pulled out his flask instead, taking a hard pull of the White Gull he kept with him constantly now. 

“Still the bravest man I know.” Jaskier smiled sadly. 

~

As years went on, Jaskier noticed he was starting to lose time. Slowly there would be a day missing where he started with Geralt in one place and ended up somewhere else completely. Usually when he would appear again, Geralt was already settling into a room or brushing down Roach, idle things that let the witcher’s thoughts wander. 

“Would you have written new songs by now? You’d be what, sixty?” Geralt hummed. “You’d hate old age, vain as you are- were.” 

“Oh, back to this are we? Haven’t been insulted in a while. Though kind of you to say sixty. I think we’re coming up on eighty easily, dear heart.” Jaskier murmured fondly, leaning against the stall to watch Geralt work. 

The time between these moments was clearly growing. Every time he saw Geralt he looked more worn, more weary. New scars were cropping up between his visits. He especially hated when he came back to find Geralt sewing himself back together after a particularly bad fight or when he was being chased out of various towns. 

It felt like that was when he thought of Jaskier the most, when there was no one there to defend him. No one to care for him. He showed in the moments Geralt felt most alone in the spaces Jaskier used to fill. His gaunt face still holding the same disappointed scowl it always did when villages turned on him. Jaskier knew it made Geralt feel like a monster. It filled him with a rage so powerful, it nearly vibrated the medallion on Geralt’s chest. 

“You’re not, Geralt. I know you’re not! I wish you listened to me then or could hear me now.” Jaskier pleaded, pacing in front of the witcher, his arms thrown wide. “You’re still a hero.” He would have wet his lip the way he used to if he could feel it. “Still my hero, witcher.” 

“Maybe they’re right. I just bring death wherever I go.” Geralt murmured as he set up camp. 

Jaskier felt himself slowly fade, flickering as Geralt knelt for meditation, every breath blurring his vision until the void took him again. 

~

It was dawn or maybe dusk, but all Jaskier knew was that it had been a long time since Geralt last thought of him. There were too many scars along his wiry arms where his sleeves were pushed up, his feet dangling into the water of a stream. He sat on the edge of a rock, his head in his hands. 

Jaskier went to say something and found that he couldn’t, his mouth opening and closing but no sound came forward. 

“A hundred years,” Geralt swallowed. “A hundred years and I’ve forgotten the sound of your voice.” He sounded wounded, his voice cracking with sorrow and age. “I’d give every single one of them back if I could just… remember.” He pressed his palms over his eyes and shook. “The world keeps changing, and you’re still gone and I’m still here.” 

Jaskier dropped to his knees beside Geralt, his hands reaching out to touch the man that would not let him go. 

It was his hands that caught his attention. They were barely shadows at the ends of his arms. Jaskier looked down in silent panic as he realized he was fading. Geralt was forgetting him. A mixture of relief and agony tore through him. All he wanted to do was scream but all he could do was sit there in silent horror as he watched Geralt fall to pieces. 

Rest, witcher. He thought, swallowing down the silent tears he was no longer able to shed. Rest, my love, your path is almost at its end. Do you know all the good you’ve done? 

Geralt took a steadying breath, looking up and out over the river, his once brilliant yellow eyes dulling around the pupils. 

I’ll stay, Geralt. I promise. As long as you’ll have me, I’m going to stay. Jaskier silently promised. He leaned forward as though to press his forehead to Geralt’s shoulder. He could have sobbed when the world tilted and he simply passed through him, unable to even comfort him from the other side. 

Beside him Geralt took another breath before pulling his feet from the stream. He turned and gathered his swords and once more, there was nothing. 

~

Time had lost meaning. There had only been brief fleeting moments where Geralt seemed to remember his bard, unable to perceive the ghost that followed him still. Jaskier’s own memory was starting to grow fuzzy. Why was he here? Why did he want to protect this man sitting alone by the fire? Where was his voice? 

He remembered having a lute and a book of songs and an amazing adventure filled with heroics and heartbreak, with destiny and death. He could remember the taste of wine and the smell of sea salt and the feel of a calloused hand cupping his cheek as he laid in a cave decades upon decades ago. 

Jaskier stood in the door of a dusty stone room, the window overlooking a mountain range he could not name. 

“Toss a coin to your witcher,” came a voice, cracked and ancient and so very very tired. 

Jaskier followed the voice to a pile of deteriorating furs. He knew that face, scarred and weathered as it was. He knew that song. Something in him flared as he reached out with almost solid fingers. 

“Geralt?” He whispered. 

The pile rose with a shaky breath and then the man, the witcher, his witcher, drew no more breath. 

“Oh dear heart, you took so long.” Jaskier chuckled sadly. “I’m so glad you thought of me. I’d never be able to live with myself if you died alone.” 

“Can’t live with yourself anyways,” came a rumbling voice from behind him. 

Jaskier whipped around and gasped. Geralt stood only a few strides away. His body whole again, the scars faded to fine silver lines, like threads of moonlight caught under his skin. Around him was a warm glow and it called Jaskier home like a beacon.

“Geralt!” Jaskier stood frozen on the spot.

“You stayed.” Geralt hummed, taking a small step forward. 

“You asked me to. Besides, what was I going to do, let you go on without me?” Jaskier laughed, his arms itching to reach out, to see if he could just…

“Stubborn,” Geralt growled but there was no heat to it as he stalked closer. 

“Yes you are, dear heart. Come here.” 

“Two hundred years, Jaskier.” Geralt took another step, his chest seeming to heave. 

“You took so much longer than I thought you would.” Jaskier shot back but he was grinning. 

“Jaskier.” It was the same old warning bite that Geralt used when he was treading on thin ice. 

“Hello.” He was beaming. The room around them had been dim when he appeared but now it seemed to glow. 

“Hard-headed.” Geralt surged forward, his arms wrapping solidly around Jaskier, lifting him easily as he buried his face into Jaskier’s neck. 

“Are you going to kiss me, witcher or just keep throwing-”

He was cut off when Geralt pulled back just far enough to crush their mouths together, warm and perfect and bright as the sun. 

“Absolute bastard.” Geralt smiled as he pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. 

Jaskier laughed, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck. “I’ve missed you too.” He felt tears, actual tears slide down his cheeks as he clung to Geralt. The room around them seemed to vibrate as they clung to one another, filling with a warm light once more before falling forever dark again, the wind whipping through where they once stood.

They say deep in the Blue Mountains, if you are brave enough, there is a keep that once belonged to the witchers of old. For many years, they said it was haunted by the ghosts of all the ones the witchers had lost. 

They say Jaskier had stayed. He had stayed and waited, doing in death what he had done in life; following his witcher. That only when his witcher followed was he able to finally leave, hand in hand.

But that is only if the stories are to be believed. The ghosts of the witchers have long since departed, only staying as long as they were needed. 

[amiedala]

SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, canon-compliant violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse/trauma

SUMMARY:  “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday! this chapter is truly a whirlwind, it's hard and sweet and intense and simple all at once. there are very graphic descriptions of violence and death in the one (in the form of Force visions, no one's actually dying, I PROMISE!!!), so please be aware that there is potentially triggering material in what you're about to read. it mentions past abuse and dives pretty deep into current violence, so please just read with caution! i hope you enjoy this journey—i certainly did writing it! more notes at the end!!! <3

*

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

Not how Nova originally thought, anyway. The throne room is filled with wary, armored people. Some are the guards that usually stand watch outside, through the giant palace doors. Nova recognizes Koska Reeves and Axe Woves from the brief, charged encounters she’s had with each of them. Bo-Katan is there, of course, regal and pristine, her shoulders pushed back, her red hair impeccable. There are a handful of villagers that Nova’s seen in passing, but besides the few faces she recognizes, most of the people gathered in the throne room have been hidden somewhere on Mandalore, away from this strange Capitol, away from the everyday. Half of them are without armor, without impressive beskar helmets to hide their wary expressions. Bo-Katan’s icy, measured gaze is clearly a popular currency on Mandalore, because every single person in this room looks skeptical at best and enraged at worst. Nova keeps her eyes on Din, who’s decided to stand at the helm of the dais instead of taking a seat on the beskar throne, watching his every movement to ensure he’s safe up there, and that he stays unharmed.

“I want...to be your leader,” Din says, his voice quiet but earnest. He sounds like he’s incredulous at his own words, like he’s reading off a script he’s never seen before. But there’s power hidden underneath whatever’s scaring him, an undercurrent that Nova knows is unfettered, genuine passion. “I wasn’t raised in the way of Mandalore. Not in the ways that you were—”

“Clearly,” Koska whispers, and the Mnadalorians standing closest to her proximity offer uncharacteristic smiles and snorts. Nova steps forward, but Bo-Katan raises her sharp hand at her side, and they immediately fall silent.

Din looks back at Nova, and for the first time, she can see the fear in his eyes. She nods, encouragingly, even though she has absolutely no clue what point he’s trying to make. Every time she closes her eyes, even if it’s only for a heartbeat, she sees the strange, young hologram of her face, with the word MURDER, MURDER, MURDER flashing back at her, a ceaseless and terrible pattern. Nervously, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, realizing that she’s the only person in this room who isn’t outfitted in Mandalorian regalia. Her black shirt has remnants of dust on the sleeves from the amphitheater. Her pants saw their best days weeks ago. Her shawl, the only proof that she wears any sort of allegiance to the throne, Mandalorian blue and regal, is thrown haphazardly over her rounded shoulders. The boots on her feet are older than her relationship with Din, picked up planets and planets ago, somewhere sunny and warm and an entire lifetime away. When Din’s panicked brown eyes find hers again, Nova smiles, taking a half-step forward, trying to portray anything other than her own frenzied state, the hammering heartbeat that could likely be heard outside of the palace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Din finally continues, turning back to the crowd. Even from this angle, with most of his face obscured, Nova knows how hard it is for him to stand here, in front of dozens of people, without his helmet, how many rules he thinks he’s breaking, how this must feel like agony. He reaches for the Darksaber hanging on his belt, and when it ignites, every single face in the room is on Din, on that horrific, captivating blade of electricity and death. “I won this in battle. Twice. Both were accidents,” He inhales heavily, studying the flickering, wicked blade. “But they still happened. I wasn’t born on Mandalore. I wasn’t raised here, either. I’ve given some of you this speech before, when I first took the throne.” He exhales through his nose, and Nova wets her dry lips. Her throat feels like the middle of the day on Tatooine, parched and treacherous. “I...I am not a Mandalorian in the way that you’re Mandalorians.” Nova chances another half-step forward, letting the captive, tensioned room blur in her vision as she just focuses on Din. There’s a tremor in his voice, something alive and unsteady, something she only notices because she’s spent over a year studying every inch of him, memorizing Din right down to his bloodstream. “I follow a Creed that you don’t. I’ve spent most of my life trying...trying to be a good soldier, a true Mandalorian. I know I’m not the leader you wanted. I’m not even sure if I’m the leader I wanted. But I’m the one we’ve got, at least for right now. And—” Din exhales sharply, his breath strained, and Nova knows he’s suppressing a sigh, “I swear, I will try my best to do right by this planet. But—but I’m not only the reigning Mand’alor. I’m—”

“Right,” Axe interjects, but there's no malice in his tone. Nova stiffens, crossing her arms over her chest, staring over at him. But he doesn’t look threatening. His smile seems genuine, like he;s just attempting to get Din to lighten up. “And a bounty hunter. A damn good one, at that. He’s caught me twice.”

“Three times,” Nova corrects, and her eyes go wide when she realizes that everyone’s attention is now on her. “But,” she continues, rather nervously, trying to square back her shoulders in a shoddy imitation of Bo-Katan to not display that nervousness, “Din hasn’t been just a bounty hunter in a long time.”

Din sheathes the Darksaber, and instead turns his outstretched hand to Nova. Heart pounding, she slides her hand into his large, gloved one, trying not to show the massive tremble in her fingers. Quietly, he reaches for the Skywaker lightsaber hanging from her belt, and when Nova hesitates, he lets her hand close over the grip instead. Bo-Katan moves forward, so quickly Nova doesn’t even notice, and when she ignites the crisp, illuminated blue blade, half of the people gathered in the throne room draw a weapon. Nova’s expecting Bo-Katan to do the same, but she raises one impeccable eyebrow and turns back towards the room.

“Stop,” she says, and immediately, the majority of the room lowers whatever weapon of choice they’re gripping. Nova manages a tiny, stuttered breath. “She’s not going to hurt us.”

“She,” a voice says from the back of the room, “is wanted by multiple parties. Contacts all over the galaxy will pay a pretty price for Andromeda Maluev, you know. I accepted the cult member as Mand’alor. I accepted you standing down from the throne, Bo-Katan. I will not accept harboring a criminal,” he continues, voice as icy as Hoth, “and a Jedi, at that.”

Din moves forward, all tension, all rage, but Bo-Katan holds up that same, steady hand, and the man making his way across the foreground halts in the same beat that Din does. Nova pulls her own lightsaber back, pocketing it, pulling the shawl higher over her shoulders, trying to unclench her jaw before all of her teeth break off in her mouth. She’s tired. So tired. Exhausted, slogging through this conversation, her heartbeat accelerating, stars shooting out behind her eyes. And still, this time, when she closes them, all she sees is MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.

“Her name,” Bo-Katan returns, measured and cool, “is Novalise Djarin. And yes, she is wanted by both the scum that still survived after the Empire’s demise, and a middleman somewhere in between which we cannot identify yet. Yes, she is a Jedi, or at least is certainly heading in that way. Yes, I stood down from the title. But that wasn’t because I was weak, or because I wanted them on the throne.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Nova,” Bo-Katan interjects, “I’ve got this.” She steps off the lowest stair on the dias, posture perfect, right arm curled around her distinctive helmet. Everything in her screams royalty, regality. Behind her eyes is a fire so much stronger than the ice in her voice. “I didn’t want this. Neither did you. But Din won the Darksaber, fair and square. And Mandalore isn’t what it used to be. None of us are, either. We’re good at surviving, but we’re even better at fighting. And I believe,” she says, pointedly, glancing over at Din, who’s still coiled in an attack position, “that was the point our Mand’alor was getting to. So let him finish. With your mouths closed.”

The man who spoke, wizened but grizzled, exhales angrily through his nose, but his mouth stays clamped shut. Bo-Katan stands at attention, nodding back at Din.

“War is coming,” Din continues stiffly, and half of the people crowded around the room roll their eyes or mutter under their breath.

“War is always coming,” another woman enunciates, “it’s what the galaxy knows best.”

“War is coming,” Din repeats, and Nova has to force herself to unfurl her palms. Before she can even try to jump to his aid, though, he walks down the steps and presses his flat palm against the holotable. Reflected in the glittering dome above them is thousands of pixels of blue light. Nova’s juvenile mugshot is up there for the entire room to see, but so are statistics from every mission they’ve engaged in, anything even remotely related to the Order. Hundreds of faces swarm the screen, all with interwoven lines connecting them to other profiles and rotating planets. There, at the center of the screen, is the First Order’s name in menacing, large letters. Underneath are the silhouettes of Luke, Nova, and Grogu. When Din opens his mouth this time, his words are vivid and clear. “I know that Mandalore has been razed and sieged. I know that in your eyes, I’m not one of you. I know that none of you signed up for another battle. But I also know that fighting,” Din says, his voice weary, but his dark eyebrow raised, “is what’s in our blood. All of us.”

“I won’t follow a ruler who isn’t a true Mandalorian,” the same man finally continues. He steps towards them, and his face is angry and ghastly in the flickering blue light. His rage is barely concealed, and Nova’s hand flies unconsciously to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “And I certainly won’t protect a Jedi who doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, then,” Nova says, and she’s so bone-dead tired that she doesn’t realize she’s the one who’s speaking until the second word is out of her mouth, “good thing I can protect myself.” She chances a glance at Din, who could very easily be aggravated at her stoking the fire. The only thing written across his face, though, is pride. Nova’s eyes flicker over to Bo-Katan, who is somehow, unbelievably, wearing the same exact expression.

Din slams his fist down on the holotable, sending all of the blue light back into the atmosphere it came from. The low light of the war room is returned to its usual state, but no one speaks. “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

Still, no one moves.

“Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan snaps, icily, all of her usual vigor and venom back in her voice, and it’s like she’s given an order no one can deny. Half of the Mandalorians nod in wary agreement, and the other half keep their low mumbles close to their chests, all of them shuffling out of the throne room, presumably to disperse outside. When the heavy door closes shut, with only the three of them remaining, Bo-Katan turns back to Nova. Din is already climbing the steps back up the dais where the menacing beskar throne sits to retrieve his fallen helmet. When he pulls it back over his handsome face, it’s like closing an open wound.

Nova looks at Bo-Katan, who doesn’t look nearly as threatening in this low light. Her hair is slightly ruffled, and the hard set of her jaw is tense, electric. “Bo-Katan,” Nova whispers, and her gaze snaps impeccably back to Nova’s. “Thank you,” Nova continues, earnest, “for defending me. Defending us. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Bo-Katan counters, but there’s the ghost of a small smile on her beautiful, cold face. “They were wrong, and they needed to hear that. See? I’m not always a total bitch.”

The word—so commonplace, so foreign—sounds absolutely ludicrous coming out of her mouth that it makes Nova laugh out loud. The sound is both musical and jarring, and the tension held in Bo-Katan’s shoulders evaporates, even if it’s only momentarily.

“Noted,” Nova says, smiling. Maker and all the stars above, she’s exhausted. Bo-Katan glances back at Din, armored and impenetrable, and then back at Nova.

“You need sleep,” Bo-Katan allows, pulling her own helmet back over her head. “Both of you. I’ll stay down here and monitor any incoming correspondence. I’m too wired to go to bed anytime soon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her usual edge is back in her tone. “And I will. Go.” She raises that commanding arm again, and Nova’s too exhausted to resist. She wants to take a shower and wash the last few days off of her, and then sleep for three more. Her scar hurts. Her shoulders ache. Her head feels impossibly heavy. Silently, she lets Din lead her over to the heavy double doors, her ears buzzing with fatigue, but before they step into the hall, Nova hears her name chase her across the war room. In tandem, she and Din turn, watching Bo-Katan ignite the blue holotable. There’s something unreadable about her, even under the helmet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and the heaviness of her words is louder than the doors when they close on her impenetrable face.

*

Steam from the shower fills the entire fresher. It’s wet and hot, the humidity seeping deep into Nova’s skin, burrowing under the residual ache from the last few days, nestling between her cold bones from the chill back on Ahch-To, the frigidity back on Hoth. Din joins her once he wrestles off the rest of the armor, and before Nova can explain she wants him, but it’s impossible right now with how exhausted she is, how she can barely keep her eyes open, Din wordlessly lathers up his hands with her favorite, clean-smelling soap, gently raking the suds through her hair.

Nova sighs in the silence, letting her shoulders hunch over, her body weight alleviated by sagging against the warm shower walls and by the soft grip Din has on her arms, making sure she stays upward. For what feels like years, they stand together under the warm running water, reveling in the steam, the heat, without either of them needing to say anything. Din wraps Nova’s long hair up in the freshly washed towel, while she dries off the residual runoff down her arms, her thighs.

The room is cool and dark in the blue twilight, that same fog and haze sinking over the horizon. Wherever the rest of the Mandalorians went, they’ve all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Everything is an eerie kind of quiet, no bugs, no animals, no clamor, nothing that signifies any kind of sentient life outside of the castle. Most nights, that kind of awful silence makes Nova wired, like it permeates even into her dreams, but not here, not now. She has what feels like years’ worth of sleep to catch up on, and the second that Din pulls back the fluffy, silk comforter on their giant bed, Nova steps out of the towel and into the soft cocoon. Din’s barely even settled up behind her before she drifts off somewhere peaceful, somewhere that’s not here.

*

She sleeps. For hours, maybe days, Nova sleeps. It’s dreamless and empty, warm and safe. Usually, nightmares flicker and flash through her mind, her legs sprinting away from whatever menace or threat is chasing her, but not tonight. Nothing wakes Nova up, not the strange quiet, not Din tossing next to her, not the immeasurable weight of saving the galaxy on her shoulders. She sleeps, uninterrupted and powerfully, swaddled up under the light blue blankets that are somehow keeping all the bad things away.

In the end, it’s not a nightmare that startles her away, nor is it Din’s unshaven face pressing into the crook of her neck. It’s the sleepy, quiet beeping of her commlink, which has somehow been removed from its usual place on her wrist and is buried under the extra pillows that stand sentinel over their bed when neither Nova or Din is there.

Din, at this very moment, is also nowhere to be found, and Nova rakes a hand through her hair, tries and fails to suppress a yawn, and digs through the array of pillows on the floor until she can see the bright, red light. “Hello?” she asks, her voice still off somewhere in dreamland, and she rubs sleep from her eyes as she collapses down on the bed, body still stuck in sleep.

“Hey,” Nova hears, and it’s halfway through another yawn before she realizes it’s Cara calling. “Listen, I’d love to actually catch up, but—”

“You have news?” Nova asks, suddenly wide awake. She smooths the comforter out under her hand, crossing one of her legs underneath the other. Outside, the sky is dark.

“I have news,” Cara confirms, grimly. “I know Wedge called you to Hoth a week or so ago because there was a prison break somewhere outside of my jurisdiction.”

Nova nods before she remembers Cara can’t see her. “Yeah,” she adds, belatedly. “Yeah, but no one seemed suspicious or in league with the Order, and it was a holding cell full of minor offenders, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“Well, it was,” Cara sighs, “until it wasn’t. We were right, kind of, because no one who escaped was linked to the First Order. But the night after that prison break happened, your photo with your old name and manufactured crimes popped up as a hit from the Guild.”

Nova’s heart sinks. Something suffocating is blocking her airway, and she tries to swallow past the feeling before she can exhale. “What does that mean?” she manages, barely, hand fluttering around her necklace, pressing into the embossed star.

“Someone’s setting you up,” Cara continues, and her voice is gentler than Nova’s ever heard it. “Someone who likely knows you or Din, knows how to get under your skin. The reason why this is so dangerous is because whoever did it knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve tried, and Karga has tried, but we can’t even identify where the hit originated from, let alone who put it out. We’re not going to stop looking, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who did it. And because the warrant is for you alive or dead…” Cara trails off, the silence buzzing and dangerous.

Nova closes her eyes before she fills in the blanks. “I’m going to be in danger anywhere I go.”

“Listen,” Cara tries, but it’s too late. Nova’s still exhausted, she’s in pain, she has no idea where Din went, and all she wants to do is to bury her face in Grogu’s head and smell his sweet, reassuring baby smell. Her heart aches. “Novalise, I’m not going to let them get to you. You have some of the strongest forces in the galaxy who’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Nova whispers, “and I appreciate that, Cara, I do, so much, but—but Mandalore isn’t exactly a safe haven, either. The planet knows I can use the Force, and besides that, most of the people Din’s supposed to be ruling hate our guts. I’m not scared of being left to defend myself, because it’s kind of what I’ve learned to be best at. But with what you’re telling me, there’s not a single safe place left in the galaxy for me right now.”

Cara’s silence is deafening. Nova’s heart sinks just a little bit deeper, swimming around somewhere in her stomach. “It’s not forever,” she says, but her voice is a little too glum to be anywhere near reassuring.

“I’m so tired,” Nova admits, feeling tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes. “And I can’t rest, because that’s when someone can get me. I mean—what would you do, if you were me, Cara?”

Nova can hear Cara moving, a soft rustle underneath the comm. When she speaks again, her voice is low and clear, like she’s telling a secret that only Nova can hear. “I would do what we both know you’re going to do. You’re the rebel girl, remember?” She pauses. “So rebel.”

Nova watches as the comm clicks off, everything in her body electric, a live wire. Before she can bolt to Kicker, or try to find where Din’s hidden in the chambers of the palace, or call Wedge and tell him she’s coming back to Hoth, the door opens, and Din walks in.

“Hi,” Nova breathes, suddenly very aware she’s not wearing any clothes, which is completely ridiculous, because Din has seen, ravaged, and worshipped every inch of it. “Where were you?”

She watches as Din crosses over the floor, the low light of the day catching on his armor. He sighs, moving closer to Nova until he’s standing in between her open legs. Halfheartedly, he hooks his fingers under the rim of the helmet, but gives up completely the second Nova’s hands reach to pull it off instead. Underneath, his mustache isn’t manicured, his hair has been weighed down by the metal, and he looks about as exhausted as she feels.

“Ruling,” Din says, tiredly, and there’s a flint to it Nova hardly hears. He lets out a small scoff in the silence, and she reaches out the smooth palm of her right hand for his cheek to nestle against. “Trying to get the people of this planet to recognize I’m not here to destroy it, or that you—we’re not the enemy.” He catches his slip almost as quickly as it comes out of his mouth, but still, Nova’s heart sinks deep down in her chest again. “I didn’t—look, Nova, I’m not blaming you—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, even though they both know it’s not. For a second, Din just stares at her, and then he presses his forehead against hers. The warmth his skin gives off is almost enough to make her forget about where they are, about the people that refuse to see her as an ally, about having to save the galaxy from forces that want her dead or for their own malicious intent. “They’ll come around,” she offers, her voice barely there, and Din shakes his head, his hair rustling against Nova’s forehead.

“What if they don’t?” Din asks, and by the weight in his voice, it’s clear he’s not just talking about Mandalore accepting her as the Mand’alor’s riduur, as an ally, as on their side, but about the infiltrated Guild that’s out to kill her, and the First Order that’s out for worse.

Nova’s quiet for a long time, just listening to him breathe, trying to map both of their heartbeats, yearning for the constellations hiding above the hazy Mandalore sky. “What if we can’t do it?” she whispers, her mouth hollow, her head aching. “Any of this? What if we can’t pull this off, Din?” She doesn’t point out the specifics, the weight of planets hanging over both of their heads. They both know what she means. The silence is horrible, but Nova keeps her eyes closed, just like she used to, predicting every move Din will make in the dark.

“Then we don’t,” Din breathes back, and Nova’s about to resist, tears springing back to life in her eyes, and then Din’s mouth is on hers and nothing else matters. She lets him sprawl her back on the bed, the smooth satin coaxing and cool under her skin. Stars are burning out behind her eyes, the same celestial imprints that flood through hyperspace, something more, something deeper, something beyond this planet, this moment, this darkness. When Din’s mouth leaves Nova’s, her eyes stay shut, and his lips trail down to her ear. “I’d give everything else up but you.”

They both know he’s lying—Din’s heart is too big, Nova’s purpose is too bright—but neither of them say it out loud. Nova keeps his words in the hollow of her mouth, something shiny and devastating, a supernova or a pearl.

Din kisses Nova like he’s never had her before, low and desperate. It’s an echo of what happened in the amphitheater just hours ago, but it’s sustained, huge, warm. His mouth is made to devour, and if he’s whispering anything to feel the silence, Nova can’t hear it. She’s focused on where his kisses are trailing, desperate and hot and everything she didn’t know she needed. It’s freezing in here, but he’s so warm, his body heat louder than the cold.

“Kiss me,” Din whispers, his voice rough, a plea. One of his hands comes up and braces against Nova’s chin, not an order, but a question. She reaches towards his neck, trying to pull him down, to anchor their bodies together. It’s dark in their room. Without the stars shining above, it’s even darker.

She’s so tired. Still, even after all that rest, it’s like the exhaustion has permeated Nova straight down to her bones. She shudders and sighs as Din moves down her naked body, his lips planting kisses that she doesn’t know she needs until he’s already there. It’s easy and devastating and wonderful and crushing all at once. When Nova tries to return the favor, Din gently pushes her down, mumbling something about taking care of her.

It’s sweet. So sweet, even, that she’s on the verge of tears. Nova would do anything to stay here forever, to feel her husband’s lips on her bare skin, washing away all of the horror, the trauma, the darkness. She doesn’t open her eyes, even though she wants to. Din’s spent so much time without his helmet to appear like one of the people that call themselves Mandalorians, and she wants to give him back every single second of the time that prying eyes stole away.

Before long, Nova’s already close—her orgasm bubbling up quietly, without fanfare, without dramatics, just because Din knows exactly how to make her body sing—and when she taps at his arm to let him know, his mouth unlatches from the small hickies he’s leaving on the terrain of her bare stomach, and moves in between her thighs.

Effortlessly, he hold her legs up, hooking both of them around his shoulders so that his tongue can stay anchored in place. Nova moans, a quiet, radiant thing, and Din’s tongue finds exactly where she needs it to go. It pulses there, on the sweetest of spots, over and over again until she’s finished.

Breathless, she claws at his pants again, but Din shakes his head, his mouth dropping to her forehead as he pulls her into bed. “Rest, Nova,” he whispers, his voice faraway, a deep rumble. He pulls her in against his body, warm and soothing, and both of them are out before their heads hit their pillow.

*

Din’s asleep next to her, his slow, even breaths barely anything even in all the silence. Nova wants to fall back to sleep, but she knows she can’t. Her heartbeat is running itself rampant, and she’s a tangle of wants and needs, everything pulled in opposite directions. As quietly as she can, she slides herself out from the protective warmth of Din’s arms and the comforter, gently placing her feet on the floor. Even in the cool darkness of the night, her wardrobe, sleek but huge, has nothing but clothes in the same shades of Mandalorian blue, of beskar silver, but right now, Novalise doesn’t want to be a Mandalorian. She doesn’t want to be royalty, doesn’t want to be a figurehead. She doesn’t exactly want to be a Rebel either, because both titles mean the ultimate fate of the Outer Rim and beyond in her hands, so she settles for somewhere in between.

When she’s all dressed—black monochrome right down to her scuffed boots, in a weak imitation of the Luke Skywalker style—she braids the top half of her hair back, sleek and functional, and chooses a shawl buried at the back of her closet, underneath all of the Mandalorian haze of clothing. It’s a stormy grey that shimmers with the silver her husband wears when the fabric catches the light. If you pay close enough attention to the shawl, small, intentional stitches of rust and orange are woven into the fabric, hidden, furious, tiny flames.

Not exactly Mandalorian, but not entirely Rebel, either. And when Nova looks at herself in the mirror, studying the way her eyes flash with all that fire she was so certain was gone a few minutes ago, she sees herself right down to the quick, the high wire in between—she looks something like a Jedi.

So she pulls the Skywalker family lightsaber out of the hook on her door and pulls it to her belt loop, watching as the metal sways and dances in the low light. The weapon seems ancient, like something from another world. Something holy, even though she knows Luke Skywalker is a man and not a myth.

When she closes the bedroom door behind her, Din doesn’t even move. Usually, Nova’s the loud and clumsy one, worlds more obnoxious than Din’s practiced quiet, but she’s grown into her stealth over the last few weeks, especially living here, in a palace that has more rooms than the planet does people. It’s strange and eerie here at night, down the sprawling marble stairs, and she takes the first corridor she can find, just trying to walk off some of the pressure, to put her head back on her shoulders.

It’s lit only by candlelight, an archaic, flickering warmth, so in contrast to the rest of the steel and metal that Mandalore is made up of. It’s like she’s stepped into something that’s been around for years, even though she knows that it’s not possible. Mandalore was sieged, usurped, sieged again, razed and brought to the ground, destroyed. The planet’s atmosphere is mostly ash and haze, all that leftover war from years ago. But this part of the palace looks older, like a tomb that somehow survived.

It’s too creepy, Nova decides, even though the curious part of her is itching to explore it. She wants to pore through every aspect of it, try to find remnants of lost Mandalore, like her father used to unearth texts, like her mother used to excavate history. Before the war, before the Alliance was necessary, before all this death and darkness. When Nova comes out the other end of the corridor, she’s right next to the intimidating double doors of the war room, the holiest place Mandalore has. She pulls her shawl a little closer to her body, trying to retain the warmth she left back upstairs, trying to hold onto a memory more than anything tangible.

Nova isn’t intending to slip into the war room, let alone walk towards the sprawling dais that holds the beskar throne, but she does. It’s still quiet, so quiet, and the dark is coaxing her closer, pulling her up the steps, something beyond a simple want or need. She has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not supposed to be in here, not this late, not without Din, not when she has no legal or physical right to this place, but when she sits down on the throne, something deeper echoes out from within her chest.

It feels like a hymn and a battle cry. Before she has a second to adjust, to rationalize anything, everything becomes starry and disconnected. It’s been so long since she had a Force vision this immediate, this intense, and it hurls her through the proverbial hyperspace, everything dropping away.

It takes three steps forward in this strange, terrifying liminal space before Nova can even identify what’s scaring her. It’s the same kind of evil she felt way back on Takodana, before she was married to the ruler of a planet, before she even knew it was her destiny to be both Rebel and Jedi. There’s a mask she doesn’t recognize, twisted and devious. Behind its menacing, blank expression is something horrifying. Looking into the visor, it’s like her own soul is being fractured into pieces.

It’s humanoid until it’s not. The figure wearing the mask of destruction is tall, easily a foot taller than she is, horrible and menacing. But when the lightsaber they’re using ignites, it’s scarier than the vision of the person at all. It’s awful. It looks like it was forged out of lava, menacing red, the blade flickering and hissing in a way that’s somehow even more terrifying than the stark contrast of the Darksaber’s blade. Nova gasps, the light too bright, too sudden, and she can feel the residual thud on the floor, even in the vision. She knows when she comes out of it, she’ll be hurt, but the blade is getting closer. It looks like a giant rapier, a sword made only for evil things. At the hilt, spraying out in both directions, the blade extends. When the figure in the mask swings, it’s without remorse, so quick, so terrible.

But Nova’s not the target. She rolls away, out of the strike zone, and then she hears Luke Skywalker’s voice cutting through the darkness. She turns, and suddenly she’s not in the horror of the vision, anymore. She doesn’t know where she is. The ground looks icy, like Hoth, but there’s red powder spit everywhere, vomited across giant salt deposits. It’s so bright that her hand comes up in front of her eyes, and when she lowers it, Luke is gone. She’s gone, too. She turns around, hair whipping in the furious wind, trying to find where her name is being cried, and she trips over a mound on the salty ground, and when she falls to her knees, it’s a person, newly slain. The blood is so red, redder than the powder, redder than the evil lightsaber. It drowns through the lines on her hands, slips through her long fingers. She screams, trying to back up from the body, and then she realizes it’s Bo-Katan, gurgling through the slit in her throat, and when Nova tries desperately, in vain, to buffer the blood spilled, Luke Skywalker calls her name again.

But it’s not Luke. It is him—for a second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment—but then it’s not. His lightsaber floods with red, cancelling out the green light. The hallway flickers, once, twice, and then Darth Vader is charging towards her, and all Nova can hear is her blood pounding frantically in her ears and his heavy breathing through his mask, the sound that used to fill all of her nightmares. She’s slamming on the door at the other end of the hallway, and when it opens, the only person standing there isn’t a person at all, but a small alien baby all of two feet tall, green and adorable, and Nova drops her body around her son, protective and sobbing, curling every single inch of her around his tiny little frame, trying to shield him from Vader’s wrath, but when she cries, the vision changes again.

She can feel the motion sickness bubbling up in her stomach, horrible and nauseating. When Nova lands, she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s seen more than enough. Even right now, in the middle of her Force vision, all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel the ache she slept away burrowing right back into her bones. Her scar is pulsing, enraged and angry. The headache she spent the last two and a half weeks fighting off is back, radiating straight down to behind her left eye. It’s all too much, and she can’t look. She doesn’t want to see anything else.

“Novalise,” she hears again, and the only reason she opens her eyes this time is because it’s her mother speaking. Her mother, who only ever called her Andromeda. Her mother, who spent half her life in the stars. Her mother, long dead. Her mother, who never got to know this version of her daughter, this Jedi-in-training, royal Rebel Girl that just desperately needs a hug from her mom.

“Mom,” she cries, and it’s so white. Everything here is antiseptic and deafening. It doesn’t even look like a planet, or even a room, or anything at all. She’s not even sure if there’s a floor, but Nova starts running like she’s never ran before in her life. Her breath is ragged and coming out in bursts. The jiggle in her chest and thighs burn under her speed, but she doesn’t care. She’s racing towards her mother, towards open arms, towards everything she’s been cheated out of for the last ten years.

It lasts for a second. Just a second. The figure is Piper Maluev, her skin dark and radiant, her hair down to her waist. Her lips are wide open and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the seams. She’s tall and radiant and strong, and she’s everything Nova’s missed for nearly half her life.

And then it isn’t Piper. It’s not Luke, either, or Darth Vader, or whoever the dark, terrible, masked figure was. It’s not her usual nightmare transformation of Jacterr Calican. It’s not Bo-Katan, convulsing and dying. It’s Din. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of relief, and then it’s not Din, either.

It’s a woman Nova’s never seen before, and her hand is clamped firmly around Nova’s windpipe. Like it’s nothing, she pulls her right off the disappearing floor and choking the life out of her. Her eyes are light but so terrifyingly menacing, her hair is a mess of a dark blonde. She’s pale and awful and her face is gleeful as she pulls the life out of Nova, a sucking, open wound.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t even want to plead for her life. If she’s this close to death anyway, and she just saw her mother, Nova figures there’s a pretty damn good chance that both of her parents are just over the other side. The woman is so happy to be killing Nova off, she doesn’t want to fight it. When her grip recedes, just for a half a second, Nova chokes out a confession that makes everything else grind to a halt.

It’s four words. Barely anything. Tears are streaming down her cheeks when her lips finally open. “I want my mom.”

Then she’s being dropped onto the floor, which very much exists now, and the light room filled with nothingness curls away, receding like it’s being burned. It’s dark in here, the tiled floor slippery and treacherous. In the background, there’s a makeshift trophy made from what looks like bones. Nova’s gasping for air, fighting back with a newfound vigor, kicking her legs helplessly to try and get some leverage on this woman who wants her dead, when, suddenly, she’s at eye level with her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she seethes, a terrifying smile still spread across her horrible, beautiful face. “When I find you, you’re going to be begging for your life instead of your death.”

“Who—who are you?” Nova manages, through agony. Her shoulders hurt. Her headache feels like it’s trying to split her jaw in half. Her scar feels like it’s being reopened. Everything is torture, and she can’t even breathe.

“You’ll see,” the woman whispers, and her voice is so deadly that Nova internally corrects every time she’s ever called Bo-Katan venomous. Bo-Katan Kryze is a flower. One of the iridescent, gorgeous ones, that lined all the brush on Yavin, the ones Nova’s spent years pressing into the pages of every journal she’s ever owned. She’s kind and lovely and Nova’s very best friend, and when she gets out of this alive, Nova’s going to tell Bo-Katan that. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Andromeda.”

Nova heaves one giant breath into her lungs, trying to muster up anything that she can, even if it’s just more air. “I—” she starts, and the woman smiles again, loaded and dangerous. “I—I already did that, you miserable bitch,” Nova manages, and when she’s slammed into the awful floor, it’s worth it. There’s some kind of desperation behind the woman’s eyes, now and when her hand finds Nova’s throat again, she spits in her face.

And then she’s out of it. Hurtled out of it, actually, like a dying starfighter in the middle of space. She gasps and heaves on the floor, and as her sight comes back, her breathing does, too. Her head is still killing her. Her shoulders feel like they’re trying to carry the entire weight of Mandalore. Her scar is awful, white-hot and painful to the touch. Somewhere, distantly, her knees hurt like she’s fallen to them, and when she gains back her sense of sight and the feeling of her life being choked out of her body subsides, Nova realizes she has fallen to them. She’s fallen a lot, actually, down multiple steps leading to the floor from the raised platform where she was once sitting in the beskar throne. Nova shudders, inhaling through a terrible wheeze, curling her legs up close to her chest, trying to shake off the absolute shitshow that just hurtled her through the most traumatic Force vision she’s ever had.

“You,” comes a booming, rueful voice, and when Nova’s eyes flutter open, she’s expecting it to be the malicious, purple-haired woman from her vision. Her eyes take a second to adjust, her left one throbbing from the horrid ache pulsing behind it, and when she finally locates the source, it’s the miserable man from the gathering earlier.

“Can I help you?” Nova asks, her voice shooting up at the end, on the verge of tears.

“You aren’t supposed to be up there,” he spits, and Nova squints up at the throne she’d just fallen from.

“I know,” she whispers, dully. She presses a shaking hand to the ache behind her eye, trying to shut out this conversation like she wishes she’d ignored the vision. She tries to stand up, but her knees are too bruised to sustain pulling her to her feet, so she just slumps back against the step she’s on, trying to muster all the strength she has in her exhausted body to not break down. “I’m sorry,” Nova tacks on, the words barely there. “I—I wasn’t intending to sit here, or even come in the room, it just—”

“Happened,” he finishes, oddly calm. His voice sounds closer. Much closer. Nova opens her right eye, and he’s only at the bottom of the staircase. There’s something so wretched and dangerous about the energy he’s giving off, and she wants to run, but she’s in no position to even stand, let alone fight him off, so she just sits there, curling her knees into her chest, pulling her shawl as tight as she can against her upper body. “You’re an abomination.”

A laugh, the traitorous thing, bubbles up inside Nova’s throat. It’s not funny. It’s not. It’s pathetic, and likely racially motivated, but she can’t help herself. Her ribs ache, like they got banged up in her distant fall down these sharp, steep marble steps. “That, surprisingly, is not the first time I’ve been called an abomination in my life.”

“Do you know what the Jedi did to our people, little girl?” He’s angry. Nova can hear it in his voice. And normally, it would scare her, trigger her fight or flight reflex, keep her moving, but after her paranormal face-off with two of the scariest figures she’s ever seen, this one isn’t really that high up on our list. “I do. You were eradicated for good reason. You scorched our planet down to nothing, and now you and your cult leader husband come back here and try to take over? Not on my watch.”

Nova can feel him getting closer. He’s so much bigger than she is, up close, tall and buff, menacing and taut. She weakly pulls her hand away from her eye, trying to at the very least give him her full attention, but she’s so fucking tired. It’s in her bones, at this point. She doesn’t want to be royalty. She doesn’t want to be a Rebel. And, in contrast to what the man in front of her is screaming, she doesn’t want to be a Jedi.

She wants to be the Novalise she was on Naator, with nothing but domesticity and yellow leaves and pink skies. She wants to be the protector she was out there in hyperspace. And, for the first time in ten years, she wants to be Andromeda Maluev, fifteen and gleeful, running around Yavin knowing the stars were her destiny and that evil could always be defeated.

“I don’t even want to be here,” Nova whispers, finally, and it’s like something inside her breaks.

“Good,” the man spits, “then we’re in agreement.” And then his hands are yanking away the hood of her shawl and tangling in her braided hair. Nova’s scream gets cut off as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, like her body’s giving up. She chokes out something horrible, fighting to get to her bruised, banged up knees, sore from the fall, aching from the blissful time riding Din’s face less than an hour ago, but she can’t summon the strength. Somewhere, she knows Luke Skywalker is yelling at her to use the Force, but Nova’s had enough force today to last a lifetime. When she’s kicked in the stomach, brutal and awful, she just curls in on herself, hoping her death isn’t a slow one. He startles towards her again, ripping her shawl off of her body, clawing at the meat of her upper arm, and something snaps inside of her. If she’s going to die, really die, it’s not because she succumbed to the injuries this rabid Mandalorian is giving her to try and put the blame on her shoulders. She survived Moff Gideon. She survived Din and Grogu leaving her. She survived her parents dying. And she survived the abuse of Jacterr Calican’s awful hands. Novalise can survive this.

When her lightsaber roars to life in her hands, it’s not only Nova swinging. She can feel the weight of what it being the Skywalker family lightsaber, of Luke and Leia before her, of his father before him, of all the generations yet to come to wield this weapon, this holy sword, this impossible thing. It takes all of her energy, a brilliant beam of blue light, and then she falls to the floor, knowing that even if this is where it ends, that she fought back.

Everything next comes in flashes. It’s in these tiny fractals like what happened when the Crest had died right over Dagobah and crashed to the surface. She sees a blade ignite, and in between the rhythm of her fading in and out of consciousness, Nova thinks she’s just watching herself fight the man back. Suddenly, he drops to the floor, his body nothing but dead weight, and she wants to scream, but she’s back out. It’s horrible and deafening. She’s being scooped up, she can feel that. She’s crying. She’s definitely crying. There are voices, loud ones. When she has enough strength to open her eyes again, Din is slamming his gloved fist against the airlock on Kicker, his voice frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying, though, and another face appears above her. Din gently transfers Nova’s limp body into someone else’s arms, and when Nova looks up, it’s Bo-Katan, her face so panicked it’s almost impossible to recognize who it is.

“Nova, you gotta stay awake,” Bo-Katan whispers, her palm slapping softly at Nova’s cheek. “C’mon, I mean it. If you die here on this planet you hate, I will haunt you in the afterlife. I swear, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t—” Nova starts, and Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“You literally should not be talking,” Bo-Katan says, her eyesight dipping to Nova’s neck. Her eyes widen for a second and then her smooth fingers ghost over the outline. Nova coughs at her light touch, and she realizes that the marks from the vision she had of being choked within an inch of her life are here, that they followed her back out of the vision and into this moment. “Nova, no, shut up, I’m serious—”

“I don’t—don’t hate Mandalore,” she manages, her voice sounding like shards of glass, and Bo-Katan offers her a hasty, worried smile.

“You do,” Bo-Katan argues, but her voice is so gentle. “But don’t worry, princess, we’re getting you the hell off of it. No complaints now that you’re off Mandalore, you got it? The second you got here, I knew both of you wanted to leave.”

Din’s at her side again, and Bo-Katan kneels down, gently placing Nova in her familiar tangle of blankets and pillows. Nova’s eyes close again, and when they slide back open, Bo-Katan is standing, trading worried glances and hushed tones with Din.

Nova’s head hurts. So bad. It’s splitting down the middle of her skull, actually, but all she can do is press a hand over her eye and try to block out the familiar low light of the ship that smells more like home than this entire planet ever had.

“Listen, about what I told you back on Hoth—”

“It’s fine,” Din cuts her off, and his next few words are warbled. “I get it. Your allegiance is to Mandalore, not to us.”

Nova can’t hear Bo-Katan’s answer. In fact, she’s not even sure if there’s even words being spoken, because the next time she looks up, Bo-Katan is just staring down at her, incredibly concerned, such an obvious change from her usually stoic expression. Nova’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. She’s exhausted. Bo-Katan kneels down again, just for a split second, to pull the loose end of Nova’s shawl over the rest of her folded body. Nova wants to cry.

“Flower,” she garbles, nonsensically. She’s trying to tell Bo-Katan that she’s sorry for all the animosity, that she trusts her, and more than that, she likes her. It doesn't make a single lick of sense to anyone outside of Nova’s head, but Bo-Katan offers a tiny smile anyway.

“Here,” Din says, stiffly, holding out the sheathed blade of the Darksaber to Bo-Katan. Nova’s eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, and when they open back up, Bo-Katan is pushing the weapon back into Din’s grip.

“It’s not mine,” she insists. “Besides, you’re not getting out of it that easy. You’ll be back.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Take care of her,” Bo-Katan interrupts. Nova blacks out again until they’re up in hyperspace. Din’s body is shielding her from the cold, his limbs draped all over the places that hurt the least. When she opens her eyes, they’re floating through the cosmos, and all her eyes can see is sweet, sweet stardust.

*

TAGLIST: @myheartisaconstellation | @fuuckyeahdad | @pedrodaddypascal | @misslexilouwho | @theoddcafe | @roxypeanut | @lousyventriloquist | @ilikethoseodds | @strawberryflavourss | @fanomando | @cosmicsierra | @misssilencewritewell | @rainbowfantasyxo |  @thatonedindjarinfan | @theflightytemptressadventure | @tiny-angry-redhead | @cjtopete86 | @chikachika-nahnah | @corvueros | @venusandromedadjarin | @jandra5075 | @berkeleybo | @solonapoleonsolo | @wild-mads | @charmedthoughts | @dindjarinswh0re | @altarsw |  @weirdowithnobeardo | @cosmicsierra | @geannad | @th3gl1tt3rgam3roff1c1al | @burrshottfirstt | @va-guardianhathaway | @starspangledwidow | @casssiopeia | @niiight-dreamerrrr | @ubri812 | @persie33 | @happyxdayxbitch | @sofithewitch | @hxnnsvxns |  @thisshipwillsail316 | @spideysimpossiblegirl | @dobbyjen | @tanzthompson | @tuskens-mando | @pedrosmustache | @goldielocks2004 | @fireghost-x @the-mandalorian-066 | @ka-x-in

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*

[katieraven]

SOMEBODY TO DIE FOR

Summary: Elizabeth Jones is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent frequently on missions with the Avengers. When one mission backfires, she is left to deal with the resulting trauma and some unresolved affections for a certain Sergeant ...

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/OC

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+ smut, language, graphic depictions of violence and torture, implication of non-con elements (on the antagonist's side), self-destructive behaviour, so much angst and trauma, eventual fluff and happy ending

Word count: 14638

Notes: Hello there, fellow Bucky simps, it is wonderful to see you.

I started writing this thing shortly after watching episodes 1-3 of The Falcon And The Winter Soldier, although this fic has nothing to do with the series at all, it simply served as inspiration. The story got a little out of hand and was originally meant to be a short, self-indulgent, silly little thing, but well, here we are. I do hope you enjoy it. If you want, you will find this fic on AO3 here.

Love,

Katie

P.S.: @sventeen-daybreak, in case you were wondering, this is the fic I was talking about that I couldn't shut up with.

P.P.S.: Also I am apparently overly motivated, I made a playlist for this, and there is a second moodboard.

~~~

The room is pitch dark. I hate the dark, hate when I can’t see. I can hear Steve in my earpiece, trying to coordinate this mess of a mission.

Boy, did it go wrong. So quickly, too. Civilians cry and scream above me in the upper levels. I hope they get them out before it’s too late.

“Steve, civilians on the second floor, western wing”, Bucky’s voice crackles over comms. I release the air I’ve been holding. They will get them out. I know they will.

“Got it”, Steve answers.

“Top floor’s clear”, Sam notes.

Carefully, I take a step forward. All my senses are heightened in the darkness. Gun out in front of me, I advance further into the room. Back against the wall. Slowly, my eyes are getting used to the dark, dusty room. It smells like old plastic and metal and reminds me of the copy rooms in the library I used to go to as a kid.

I start to make out the shapes of old computers around me. Lines of shelves full of old folders and crates. Jackpot.

“I found something in the basement. Looks like they used the hostages as a distraction, there’s all kinds of data down here.”

Steve’s answer crackles into my earpiece seconds later, “Anything of value?”

I step up to one of the hulking grey computers on the nearest table. My eyes are adjusting more and more to the darkness surrounding me. As dusty and unused the rest of the room looks, the computers are surprisingly clean.

“They’ve been used recently.”

“You alone down there, Jones?”, Bucky asks.

“Seem to be. Can’t hear anything other than the scuffle upstairs.”

“Be careful”, he just huffs, then I hear gunshots cracking in the distance.

It feels wrong. If the hostages really are a distraction, why would the basement be deserted?

“I don’t like this, Steve. It’s too quiet.” I murmur.

“Can you get in there, Jones? Find what they’ve been hiding?”

I hesitate. It’s not that I think I wouldn’t get in, but I’d have to let my guard down. The bad feeling in my stomach builds.

“Sam, can you have Redwing scan the basement for heat signatures? Make sure I really am alone down here?”

“Sure thing, J. Gimme one sec”, I hear him grunt.

I wait, gun in both hands. Then, “All clear.”

The gun placed next to me on the table, I gently lower my fingers on the keyboard. Clean, too. Not unused, though, the letters are fading. I reach into my pocket to pull out a flash drive and shove it into the PC's slot. The machine begins to whizz, then the screen lights up. Within a few seconds, I have a scanner running. Nothing.

“Seems they prepared for this kinda situation; I need more time if I’m to get something outta these things.”

“You have three minutes, then we have to get out of here. Take what you can get. Anything else we’ll have Tony have a look at later at the –“

An explosion shakes the building around me. I instinctually grab the gun. Dust falls around me like snow.

Then everything happens at once.

“This is a distraction, they’ve set the place to blow, Steve!”, Bucky shouts over comms. I curse, sticking the flash drive into my pocket.

“Get out of there, Buck! Jones, you too!”

Gun drawn, I make my way over to the door.

“Shit, Jones, you’ve got company!”, Sam shouts and I freeze.

Down the hall, I can hear the shuffling of boots. Three. Maybe four.

“How many”, I murmur into the earpiece.

“Four, more coming from the other side!”

I’m surrounded. This was a trap the entire time.

“Stay low, I’m coming.” I can hear the strain in Bucky’s voice, a grunt as he fights his way down to me.

“They blew the stairs, Bucky, we will have to find another way-“

“Five more from the east, Jones! Get out of there!”

I flatten my back against the wall. Breathe. You’re not going down like this. This is not the end I tell myself, feeling my pulse quicken. This is a trap. I am trapped.

Comms are silent. The first HYDRA agent steps through the door and I shoot him in the neck. He goes down and the next one follows. Shouting words in a language I only know broken pieces of, he dodges my bullet, going for my legs. One shot misses, I react only on reflex as I kick his legs out from under him and lock him between my thighs, firing at the next one.

“I’m coming, Jones.” Bucky huffs over comms.

“Busy”, I growl as the next guy pulls out a knife and swipes at my arm, narrowly missing the skin.

The door on the other side of the room bursts open and gunfire erupts around me, Bucky, I think, but I am only greeted by more Russian. Scrambling, I duck behind one of the office chairs for any kind of cover, bullets coming from both sides. One of them just misses by mere millimetres and punches a hole through the soft backrest of the chair.

It is then that I pick up what the agents are saying. It’s only bits and pieces, broken sentences, but I hear hostage and leverage and take her alive and then I hear winter soldier. And I understand.

“I can’t get to her, Steve, I can’t – I don’t know how –“ I hear him over comms. I can’t allow him to get down here. They can’t get him.

“We’re gonna get her out of there, Buck, just –“

“Listen to me!”, I grunt as an agent slams me to the ground and I barely roll out of the way of his fist coming down.

“They’re here for Barnes, you can’t come down here, they are only here for you, you need to leave –“

“I am not. Leaving you, Jones.” Bucky growls.

“It’s a fucking trap, Barnes! Quit playing hero and get out of –“ A bullet catches me in the abdomen and all the air leaves my lungs in a pained yelp.

“There’s too many of ‘em, Steve, she can’t take ‘em all!”, I hear Sam’s voice in my ear.

They’re closing in now. I scramble for my gun, but someone kicks it away against the wall. I curse and grab the knife from my belt, slashing at the arms that try to grab me. I lost track of the entire situation, I don’t know how many are in the room with me and the low, thrumming feeling of despair in my stomach tells me what I already know. I am not escaping this. I can’t get out.

“Leave,” I croak over comms again, trying desperately to at least have him not run into this trap like I did.

“Please, you need to leave –“ a second bullet pierces my shoulder and I hiss at the sharp pain erupting in my upper body.

“No fucking way, Jones.”

“Buck she’s right, this is exactly what they want, we have to find another way!”

A fist meets my jaw, my head snaps back against the wall and I taste blood from where I bit my tongue. I try to deflect the next blow but the knife in my hand swings wide, then someone twists it out of my grasp. I look up into cold, green eyes.

“Jones? Jones, do you copy?”, Bucky’s desperate voice shouts into my ear and I pray to anyone who will listen that he stays far away from these people, that Steve has some common sense. He can’t allow them to take him.

Another fist throws my head against the wall and I feel a light, warm trickle of blood tingling in my hairline. My vision is blurry. The faces before me swim and merge into one, then break apart into a million.

“Please”, I whisper.

“Jones? Tell me you’re still there. Please, Jones, I –“

“You need to leave, Bucky, please –“

I feel myself being lifted up from the ground, hands under my arms, my feet dragging on the ground. The wound makes my shoulders scream in pain. I think I’m crying.

“Promise he’ll be safe”, I manage to get out. A slap against my bruised cheek. “Stop talking”, one of the agents commands in broken English.

“Nobody will hurt him, Jones.” Steve answers calmly, but I can hear the fear below.

“No, Jones, no, please, Steve we have to help her –“

Muffled voices around me. Pain shooting through my shoulder and abdomen, my head pounding.

“Jones, please, answer me.”

My throat refuses to work. The agents keep dragging me down the hall. My eyes flutter closed.

“Jones?” Bucky’s desperate voice pierces my heart. But he will be safe. I know Steve will make sure of it.

“Jones, please. Lizzie. Tell me you’re still there.” Tears push past my eyelids. He will be safe, I keep telling myself.

“Baby, please, I’m begging you –“, a muffled sob shoots through comms and my heart breaks for him. There is so much I want to tell him, but I can’t bring my mouth to obey me. The air around me changes, the stuffiness of the basement gives way to something cleaner, more polished. They will take me and hold me hostage for the others to come save me. This is all part of their plan; it must have been from the beginning. I can’t allow them to use me to get to Bucky. He has worked so hard to be free from HYDRA, it can’t all have been for nothing.

I feel myself being placed on the bottom of a van, the motor rumbling through the metal beneath me. My eyes blink open. I can’t let them use me. The man next to me has his gun leisurely dangling from his hand. With all the strength left in me, I push myself up into a kneeling position and grab the weapon.

I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, I can’t let them use me, fear rushes over me as I put the gun against my temple and try to pull the trigger, but my fingers slip, the last bit of strength I had leaving me when I need it the most. The men around start to shout, the nearest one kicks the gun out of my hand. Another one pushes me to the ground. I know they will use me. And I can’t stop them.

“I’m sorry, Bucky”, I whisper before they rip the earpiece out. My last link to him gone. I sink down to the ground and something heavy hits my head, sending me into oblivion.

*

The first thing I feel is the light. It sticks pinpricks through my lids, no matter how hard I clench them shut. Artificial light piercing my brain.

The second thing I feel is the pain. My whole body aches as if I’ve been run over by a truck. I can feel the place my head hit the wall, the blood now crusty and tugging on single hairs in my neck. I feel the gunshot wounds on my shoulder and my abdomen, searing pain creeping through my body.

The third thing is the cold. They stripped me down to my underwear. I shiver against the freezing metal chair beneath me. Drawing a slow, wheezing breath I dare to open my eyes.

More sharp, artificial light. A tiled room. Someone standing over in the corner across from me, casually leaning against the wall in stark contrast to the environment. Glancing to the left and right, sensing the empty space behind me, I seem to be sitting in the middle of the chamber. I breathe in and out again, coughing as the air hitches in my dry throat.

“Oh, you have awoken”, a voice rasps in broken English and it takes me a few seconds to realise it belongs to the person across from me. The man saunters over to my chair and stops just short of touching my knees. I have to look up at him. He wears a lazy smile and his green eyes glint in the harsh lighting. My mind flashes back to earlier in the basement. The same cold, green eyes. His tac suit has been exchanged for something more put together, a collared shirt and suit pants. He feels overdressed.

He curls a calloused finger around my chin and lifts my face higher until my neck hurts from the unnatural angle. The muscles in my shoulder twitch and a pained whine escapes my lips. It only broadens his smile. I hate myself for it. I want to scream at him, claw his eyes out, punch him, anything. But my body won’t obey me, and I’m strapped to a chair.

His fingers stroke my chin and I turn my head away to somehow try and escape his touch. “Now now, don’t get all pouty on me.”

I keep my eyes locked onto a chipped tile in the wall. It has the tiniest piece broken out of it, in the top right corner.

“Pretty thing”, the agent whispers above me and a chill runs down my spine. I don’t want to know what comes next.

His hand slides over to the back of my head where my hair is still caked in blood.

The crack in the tile almost has the shape of a star if you look at it the right way. Like the star that used to be on Bucky’s arm, my delirious brain thinks. God, I hope he stays as far away from these people as possible.

“They will come get you, pretty girl, and then he will be ours again.” Please god, make him stay away from them.

“Maybe we can have him kill you. Just for fun.”

He told me what they did to him, once. On a balcony at Stark Tower, at three a.m.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Bucky’s metal fingers clink onto the railing as he steps out to the balcony.

I shake my head. “Nah.”

The sounds of New York at night-time are rushing below us like a river, dampened only by the height we are standing at.

“Tough mission?”, he asks, and I nod absentmindedly. Too much death. Too many casualties. It was supposed to be a stealth mission in an empty warehouse and then suddenly it was outside. Crowded. The screams and looks of terror are still burnt into my brain.

I sigh and turn around, elbows propped up on the railing. I look over to him on my left.

“And you? Tough mission?”, I repeat his question.

He shakes his head. “Nightmare.”

His eyes are underlined in dark purple, his hair a mess, he is standing out here in a pair of sweatpants and a dark shirt. Must have just gotten up. He notices me studying him and looks over. I lift an eyebrow.

“Wanna talk about it?”

I can see him hesitate. His eyes dart over my face. “Intense stuff. Wouldn’t wanna keep you awake with it, too.”

I snort. “Not like I can sleep anyways.”

My eyes fall to the scratch on my arm. “I just …” Sometimes I feel like I don’t suffer enough for all the lives I fail to save. I don’t dare tell him.

“I heard what happened today.” His low rumbling voice smoothes over a rough patch on my heart, and suddenly the lump in my throat is just the tiniest bit smaller.

“There weren’t supposed to be civilians.”

I close my fists and feel the familiar sting of the nails pressing into the soft skin of my palm.

“It was supposed to be a quick mission. In, out. Just the files. No death. And especially no civilians.”

He extends a hand to my left fist and carefully pries it open. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

I look at the red crescent moons my nails left in my skin and can’t help but remember the red hole in a young woman’s forehead. My stomach lurches and I press my hand over my mouth, biting my tongue. Tasting blood.

“It’s not your fault.”

I want to believe him so, so bad.

“How do you know?” My eyes search his face for something, anything to reassure me in the fact that I couldn’t have saved them.

“How do you know I couldn’t have done better?”

His fingers still cradle mine and rub calming circles over my hand.

“Because I know you by now, Jones. And I know you always give your all.”

But it’s not enough.

“You can’t do more than that, Jones. None of us can. All we can do is do our best and save as many people as possible.”

The screams still won’t leave my brain, though.

“I see them when I close my eyes, Barnes. I see their scared faces, their still faces, empty eyes turned upwards and I can’t –“ A violent sob breaks out from my body and I curl my arms around my chest, trying to keep myself from falling apart.

Bucky slowly walks over until he’s standing in front of me, gently placing his hands on my arms.

“Jones. Hey.”

But all I hear is screams of innocent people, all I see is lives cut short. My knees give.

He catches me as I fall and then we’re sitting across from each other on the metal floor.

“Sometimes I wonder if I deserve to have this, Barnes, to live, while all their lives ended before their time”, I manage to push out. I never told anyone this before. But I feel like he would understand.

“Hey, look at me, J.”

I try to steady my breathing and look up into his slate grey eyes, cool and soothing. For a few seconds, we just sit there silently, no words, as the hiccup sobs die down slowly.

“This is our job, Jones, we try to save as many people as we can. Think about how many more had died if you hadn’t been there.”

“None, Barnes. If I hadn’t been there, if there had been no mission, they would have just continued living their lives.”

He sighs.

We don’t talk for a while. Above us the dark night sky of New York, below us the bustling nightlife.

“You still wanna know about my nightmare?”

I look up at him, pulling my arms tightly around myself. And nod.

With a sharp twinge of pain, I get pulled out of my memories.

“You listen when I talk to you, bitch.”

Three other men have moved into the cell, one of them stepping close to the agent in front of me and quietly talking to him. I can’t make out the words, but as the agent steps back, the man before me is smiling a violent smile. I can see a chipped front tooth.

“They will come get you, darling, they just need a little motivation.”

I feel the punch coming. It still hits me unprepared, head flying backwards as pain blooms from my jaw. My ears are ringing.

The agent pushes back his sleeves and pulls a phone out from his pockets.

“Look alive”, he trills as the sharp light of a camera flash hits me. I squint too late, shapes dancing over my closed lids. A second punch hits me, the eye this time. Suit-guy chuckles gleefully as he slowly stalks around me. When he crouches down next to the chair, I shiver, his lips against my ear.

“You know what we will do now, darling?”

I couldn’t answer if I wanted to. Flashes of torture ghost through my head and sickening fear crawls up the walls of my stomach.

“We’re gonna call your friends and see if that doesn’t quicken their pace. I don’t wanna sit around here waiting for Mr. Barnes to show up. We got work to do.”

My stomach lurches. “No”, I cry, and “Please”, but he just grins down at me menacingly, holding the phone out in front of him.

The room is silent except for the beeping of the call. He put the phone on speaker.

“Who is this”, Bucky’s voice shoots out after not more than three seconds and I have to bite my tongue to not cry out.

“I’m sure you figured that out by yourself, Sergeant. We have something you want. Come and get it.”

Biting my lip, I shake my head. Please don’t come. Please.

“Where the fuck is she”, Bucky growls through the speaker, and I can almost see him clench his teeth.

“Oh, don’t worry, she is right here. Darling, won’t you say hello to your friends?”

I press my lips together and glare at him. In the background, I can hear low voices, Steve, and Tony too.

“I’m not going anywhere until I know she is alive.”

One of the agents steps behind me and places both hands on my shoulders, thumb pressing into the wound. I feel the bullet under my skin, wedged deep into the flesh. White-hot pain shoots through my body and I wince, desperately trying to be quiet. I can’t give them what they want.

“Listen to me, Barnes. Here’s what is gonna happen. You will come to a location I will send you shortly, and you will come alone. You won’t put up a fight and then, maybe, we will let her go.”

The cold, thin blade of a knife is placed against my throat and my breath hitches. My nails push into my palms as I try to stay quiet, refusing to make this any easier for them.

But then the agent pushes his thumb back into my shoulder. And I can’t move away because of the blade at my throat, and I try, I try so hard not to make a sound, but the pain is blinding, and I cry out.

“See, she is here. Stubborn though, I see why you like her –“

“I will kill each and every one of you. I will make you suffer until you wish you never set foot on this godforsaken continent.“

“Fine by me. As long as you come alone. We can take you, Barnes. You’re not invincible.”

And with that, he ends the call.

The knife is removed from my throat. The thumb from my shoulder. And I hate myself. I should have pushed against the blade. They would’ve stopped, they need me alive. Instead, I caved. Made him hear me.

Because I know he will come. But I also know he will be blind with fury, and they will take him, and make him their Soldier again. All because of me.

“See, darling, that wasn’t too hard, now, was it?”

Slow, hot tears roll over my cheeks. He has the audacity to wipe them away.

“It’s amazing what love can do to people. Almost too easy to break him, now.”

I scoff. Love. “The fuck do you know about love”, I snarl at him, and he smiles, as he crouches down again.

“Enough to see it in people. Enough to use it to my advantage.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

He downright wheezes with laughter, and I hear the others chuckle underneath their breath.

“Sure he doesn’t. And here I was, thinking you were smart …”

He doesn’t love me. I’m his partner, part of the team, he’d do this for anyone. We stick our heads out for one another, it’s just how this works.

“I guess I should thank you, darling”, he muses as he gets up and saunters off to the door. “You made this almost too easy for us. He’s gonna walk right into our trap, the fool. All heart-eyes and blind.”

He stops before leaving and turns around in the doorway. “The best part of all this is that he thinks he’s saving you.”

I look at him, head pounding.

“He thinks we’ll let you go when he’s here. I don’t see why we should. Two flies with one stone, you know. No, we’re gonna bring the Soldier out, and then he will kill you. Slowly, and painfully. See, that’s the best part. He knows what he’s doing, deep down. He’ll know. He just won’t be able to do anything against it.”

With that, he turns to leave.

“Hey, Viper”, one of the agents calls after him as they begin to leave the room.

“Lemme play with her a bit?”

The “Viper” seems to contemplate, before shrugging.

“Sure, why not. Just don’t break her. We don’t want her dead too early now, do we?”

A shuddering fear runs up my spine. The others leave the room, save the one who asked. As he closes the door behind him, a wicked smile on his face, for the first time I truly understand what HYDRA does to hostages.

*

My throat is hoarse and dry from screaming. Every single muscle in my body is aching, the sharp pain of the gunshots burnt down to a dull, rolling pain. I can barely keep my eyes open, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The agent before me grins violently, teeth bared. He opens his mouth, but I can’t hear, it feels like my head is wrapped in cotton. He drags a knife along my shoulder, my arms, down to my wrist, just enough to make me feel it. The cut is shallow, a burning line along my body. It barely registers. I feel like I am floating above myself, looking at the scene from a stranger’s perspective. Out of touch. Aloof.

He slaps me. I know my head flies to the side, I know blood spatters onto the ground. I know all this. But I don’t feel it. My wrists are still bound. They’ve gone numb by now.

After the first hour, I couldn’t cry anymore. After the second hour, I couldn’t scream anymore.

He left me then, for a while, leaving me to drift into merciful, dreamless unconsciousness. Then he was back. He looks like a shark in bloodied water, frenzied, thirsty for the pain he greedily drinks out of my voice, my eyes, the way my body reacts without me having any say in it.

I lose track of time. The windowless room, tiled top to bottom, claws at my sense of orientation and slowly pulls the ground from under my feet. It feels like days since I last saw daylight.

This was not how the mission was supposed to go. It was supposed to be a small thing. Minor hostage situation, yes, high stakes, sure, but nothing the four of us couldn’t handle. Nothing HYDRA, just a drug cartel. We went in fully prepared. But then it went tits up, too many opponents, more than there were supposed to be.

My nose registers a sharp smell, something wet touches my nose. My conscience is being dragged back to earth, to this broken room, this broken body. My eyes flutter open.

“Don’t you fall asleep on me, pretty.” He is back. His shark grin broadens as he sees my eyes register him.

“Can’t blame the Soldier for wanting a piece of this.” His fingers slide along my face, curl around my chin to lift it up so I look him in the eyes.

“You know, I been thinkin’, why should we let him kill a pretty thing like you right away? It’s not like we get girls this easy ‘round here often. Gotta use the opportunity.”

My stomach roils and I can taste bile in the back of my throat. Please, no. Not this. Please.

His hands let go of my jaw and glide lower, over the sweat-and-blood-soaked underwear they graciously left me, and he pushes my legs apart. I am shaking, I realise, I can’t even stop myself. Cold terror washes over me at the sight of his hungry eyes. He reaches out to grab my hips.

And then everything happens all at once.

A metal arm wraps around his throat, lifting him up away from me and sending his hands scrambling to free himself.

“Touch her again and I will rip you limb from limb.”

The arm sends him flying against the wall, a sickeningly wet thud as his head impacts.

And then he’s there. I must be hallucinating. He is there, and he is alive, and he is himself. He is there. Bucky’s there.

“Fuck, Lizzie, please tell me you’re still in there. Please.” He sinks to his knees and cups my face gently, so gently. It can’t be real. I can only stare at him, drink him in, some kind of fever dream.

“Baby”, he whispers. His hands reach behind me to cut the rope they bound me with, and the lack of suspense sends me falling. But he catches me. I can feel his hands keep me from crashing to the floor and a tiny piece of me returns. He is real. He is here, Bucky is here, and they didn’t make him the Soldier again and he came. He came to save me.

“We need to hurry, this place will be crawling with agents in a few.” I recognise Steve’s voice and as my eyes blink into focus, I see him guarding the door.

They came for me. I’m still shaking, I realise, as I feel my teeth chatter against each other. Bucky’s eyes look heartbroken.

“Can you stand, Lizzie?”

I don’t trust my knees. I don’t trust my voice, either. Bucky takes that as a no.

“I will have to carry you, baby. Is that okay? We have to get you out of here.”

“Buck”, Steve’s voice is cold with warning.

I nod. I can do that, so I nod, the tiniest movement. But he understands.

Slowly, he stands back up, hands still holding me so I don’t double over, and he ever so carefully picks me up, cradling me against his chest. I feel his steady heartbeat through is tac suit. It feels like it slowly drums the life back into my body, pushing the numbness further and further away. God, my feet are cold. My whole body is cold. No wonder I’m shaking.

He carries me out of the room with Steve walking ahead. I curl up against him, closing my eyes against the bright neon lights above. I am safe now, right?

Right?

Shots echo in front of us. Bucky pulls me against him further.

“It’s okay, Lizzie. Everything will be okay. I got you now.”

“All clear”, Steve comments, catching his shield, and we continue. My head is thrumming. The feeling slowly returns to my body but with it returns the pain.

We round a corner and Bucky curses, ducking back around it and shielding me from the gunfire ahead. His metal arm pushes against my wounded shoulder and I cry out, cold sweat coating my forehead. Then it’s quiet again. Inside, my head feels like it’s about to burst.

We round another corner. Fast footfalls follow, then an impact. We tumble and he pulls me against his chest as we fall, but my head meets the ground with an angry thud. Black dots dance over my cloudy vision and Bucky snarls on top of me. The sounds of fighting ensue. I can only lay there, breathing shallow, feeling warm blood trickle down my head, wound newly torn open.

Then he is above me again, hands cradling my face.

“No, Lizzie, stay with me”, he whispers as my eyes flutter shut.

“You have to stay with me, please. Baby, please. Look at me.”

But the warm darkness is so welcoming, if I could just let myself fall …

“Lizzie, baby … please, I need you to stay with me.”

His hands pick me up so carefully, pulling me close against his chest again.

“I need you to stay awake, Lizzie. Please.”

I want to, so bad. But I can’t will my eyes to open. The darkness is all over me now. And I let go.

*

Dark, thick boots in front of me, barking voices, a hand grabbing me by the throat and pulling me up, up, up, until I look into a shark-toothed smile again.

“When I’m done with you, pretty, you’re gonna wish we’d let him kill you.”

Tears roll over my cheeks as he grabs my shoulders, knees giving out from under me as I crash onto the ground, the pain, god the pain, I can’t take it anymore, it’s too much, please let it end, please –

I startle awake, hands frantically pushing up until I’m sitting. Breathing heavy, fists curled up into something soft. The room is warm, welcoming even. There’s no sound apart from my breaths. I am alone. That’s good. Nobody can hurt me if I’m alone.

Then the pain registers and my upper body implodes. I gasp and my arms give out from under me, having me fall back down to the bed.

There’s a knock at the door. It startles me, and immediately I am on high alerts again.

But HYDRA wouldn’t knock.

“Yes?”, I try to say, and wince at how quietly and croaky it comes out.

Nevertheless, the door opens, revealing a tousled head of red hair. Natasha.

“Hey, Jones.” She’s quiet as if trying not to spook me. Like a wounded animal. “How are you?”

I look around the room. This must be Stark Tower. The peace is in such harsh contrast to the last … hours? Days? I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real. How am I supposed to know if this is happening? If it’s really, truly happening, or if I’m just hallucinating? But Bucky saved me. Right?

“Is this real?”, I rasp out. Natasha studies me carefully.

“Will you believe me if I say yes?”

I don’t know, will I? But would it be so bad if it was a dream? It’s so quiet.

“Where are the others?”, I ask. Where is Bucky?, I mean.

“Safe.” She understands. “Strewn all over Stark Tower, working to shut that base down they kept you at.” She slowly approaches me, studying my face.

I try and carefully sit up, much to the dismay of my ruined muscles.

“How did – why were – what happened?”, I try to form a coherent sentence.

“Well, for starters, going in alone anywhere in this kind of situation is a no-go, so fuck that.” She wears a half-smile, pulling a chair over so she can sit, far enough from the bed to give me my space.

“I’m not gonna bore you with the details here, but long story short, someone kidnapped our friend, and we kicked their asses.”

I attempt a smile. Not sure if it works, if it doesn’t, Natasha doesn’t let on.

My throat is dry. I can’t remember the last time I drank something, I realise, right before my lungs explode into a coughing fit. The gunshot wounds pulse red-hot pain through my body and I collapse onto the bed again.

“It’s okay, Liz, here. You’ll be okay.” She reaches over and grabs a glass of water from the nightstand, before handing it to me and carefully stabilising my upper body. The cool water runs through my parched mouth and somehow it calms my panicked nerves.

Right as she places the glass back on the nightstand, the door opens again, gently, and a small whimper leaves my throat as I see him. He’s safe. He’s here with me and he is safe.

His eyes widen. “Thank god you’re awake”, he breathes and rushes over, falling to his knees next to the bed.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

My hands reach out to him and he grabs my fingers, carefully pulling them close. Something inside me shatters.

“You’re safe, you’re okay, thank god you’re okay, I –“, my words fail me as I break into sobs, “I failed you, Bucky, it was all my fault, I –“

He looks up into my eyes. “Shh. Don’t say that. I’m just glad you’re here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

*

It’s better, now. I don’t question my sanity anymore, my reality. When I wake up at night, drenched in cold sweat, asking FRIDAY who is on my floor and she tells me it’s Steve, or Natasha, or Bucky, I believe her. I know they can’t get to me anymore.

But I have gotten wary. Paranoid, even. Sometimes I ask FRIDAY to list the people in the tower over, and over, and over again. She does. An AI’s patience, I guess. I still wake up in the middle of the night, throat screamed hoarse, seeing monsters in the shadows. Or in the too-bright lights. Feel phantom fingers press into my shoulder and force my legs apart.

The gunshots have healed well, thanks to the skilled hands of the Stark Tower’s med bay. They still hurt, sometimes. It’ll be a wrong movement and a twinge of pain will shoot through my shoulder or my stomach. I’ll grimace and pull through.

There’s new rules, too. Nobody goes in alone. Anywhere. Ever.

And I’ve been avoiding Bucky. He spent the first days keeping vigilant watch, at my bedside or outside the door. His absence hurts somewhere deep inside of me, a deeper pain than the gunshots, something the pain killers can’t reach. But I can’t look him in the eyes. If I hadn’t gone into the basement alone, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have endangered him.

There is an empty feeling in my chest that I will start to notice whenever it gets too quiet, whenever my brain has time to roam. I miss him. I miss our late night balcony talks when we both can’t sleep. I miss the bickering at the start and end of successful missions. But I can’t go back on missions yet. And worse than missing him is the guilt.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, told me it wasn’t my fault. Steve got all emotional. Fury short and to the point. Natasha with a sharp look in her eye. She understood. To Sam I almost spilled my heart out, he has that effect on people. And of course, Bucky. Again, and again. In the first days, when he didn’t leave me for longer than two hours, and later on, too. The few times we do meet in a hallway, when my eyes look anywhere but into his. I know he says it to ease my mind. I know that he probably even believes it, but I can’t.

He told me, once, that he remembers every single person he killed while under HYDRA’s influence. Every target, every civilian that got into the crossfire. He told me of the torture they put him through. The cryo. And because of me, he almost fell back into their grasp. And I just can’t make myself not feel guilty about it.

Some days I wordlessly stand on Sam’s doorstep, running shoes in hand, hair in a ponytail. I think he understands the need to run from my thoughts, from my brain writhing and clawing at itself. I know he wants to talk about it. He knows I don’t. And he won’t push.

The gym is empty as I step into it quietly, pulling the door closed behind my back. My eyes roam around the room.

“FRIDAY, anyone in here with me?”

A short pause, then: “You are currently the only person on this floor, Agent Jones.”

I breathe out the air I held in anticipation. I go look for a place slightly out of sight from the door, that still allows me to quickly observe the entire room. Waiting for another few seconds, I ask FRIDAY again. Still alone. Just me.

Mechanically, I go through stretches. Lunges. Sit-ups. I don’t listen to music while working out anymore, too distracting. Too easy to be surprised. Instead, I concentrate on the rhythm of my heartbeat.

Still, my mind wanders. The last couple of missions have not been great. Mostly successful, yes, but too many casualties. Not to mention the last one. I was clumsy. Careless. Not quick enough, not strong enough. Not good enough.

I find a punching bag and let loose on it. Throwing punch after punch, blow after blow, until I’m panting and sweat is dripping off my forehead, plastering strands of hair onto my skin.

Next punch.

Crying hostages.

My fist flies into the bag again.

A young woman running in front of me, staggering in her panic, then a stray bullet hits her in the head. Her vacant eyes come to rest on me as she falls.

My knuckles curl and I punch the bad again.

Bucky’s voice over my earpiece, pleading, begging.

“Jones, please. Lizzie. Tell me you’re still there.”

Skin connecting with fabric.

A green-eyed agent, sneering down at me.

“You made this almost too easy for us. He’s gonna walk right into our trap, the fool.”

I grit my teeth and my fists meet the bag again.

And again.

And again.

Dark spots dancing before my eyes.

I continue. It’s all my fault. It wouldn’t have happened if I had been stronger.

One more punch.

If I had been faster.

I feel myself swaying.

I’m not good enough.

*

I’m not out for long. My first thought when I come to results in a frantic question to FRIDAY.

The AI answers patiently. “You are currently the only person on this floor, Agent Jones.”

Same answer as always. It’s soothing, a sense of normality. Of routine. I take a look at the clock. Nine p.m. Time to take a shower and go to bed, I suppose. Not that I expect to be able to sleep. Walking to the elevator, I contemplate having Natasha knock me out cold so that I can for once experience the benevolent veil of unconsciousness.

Halfway up to my floor, the elevator stops and the doors open. Immediately I step into a defensive stance before I realise it’s just Steve. Just sweet, kind Steve, whose heart I can see break in slow motion when he sees my reaction.

“Hey, Liz.”

I sigh and my shoulders drop.

“You okay?”

I’m not sure if I will ever be the same. I’m not sure if I will ever not flinch anymore when someone I didn’t spot moves too quickly. I’m not sure if I can ever look Bucky in the eyes again. I’m not sure –

“Yeah.” I attempt a smile, but it crumbles before it can become convincing.

The elevator picks up speed and Steve leans against the wall.

“I feel like things between you and Buck have been … strained, lately.”

Putting on my best façade, I throw an innocent look his way.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, lifting his eyebrows at me, but indulging my little act.

“The two of you were different, before. Partners. Joking around, and I do understand it’s hard to fall back into it after what you went through, but Bucky …”

My eyes snap towards him.

“… I don’t know. It’s not my place to say anything.”

Whatever the hell that is supposed to mean.

“Everything is fine between Barnes and me, Steve. Same as before. I just don’t go on missions yet, so we don’t see each other as often. Right?”

He studies me for a moment, arms crossed.

“Right.” I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

When the elevator stops again, we’re on my floor, and I make my way out of the doors. Just before they slide closed again, Steve puts his foot between them.

“Liz, wait.”

I turn around, back against the wall.

“I just …” He struggles with what to say and what to keep to himself.

“Don’t let this ruin something good. Don’t let them break you, still.”

There is an ache in my chest. Deep-rooted, a few inches below my left shoulder.

“Yeah”, I manage. He studies me for a few more seconds, then he steps back and lets the elevator close between us. As soon as he is out of sight, my shoulders slump forward. Don’t let them break you, he says. They already did.

*

I wake up with a gasp. Silent terror behind my eyes. My brain making up scenarios.

Bucky came alone in this one. Unarmed. Prepared to offer himself up for me to be let go, but I know they won’t. They told me.

So they take him, and break him, and then they let him loose on me. I don’t have enough strength to run, to fight. Not like I could.

He is upon me quickly, metal arm around my throat, squeezing until there are tears escaping from my eyes.

But his eyes are his own. Tortured look behind the cold façade, eyes wide in terror. I can see he knows what he is doing. The panic of not being able to stop his body from complying.

I shake my head. Brush my hair off my sweaty face. The usual question to FRIDAY. The usual answer.

My gym clothes are still lying in a pile on the ground next to my bed and I slip into them. Need to get the images out of my head. Try to, at least.

The gym is empty. No surprise, if I am honest, it’s the middle of the night. The same time Bucky and I used to meet on a balcony, each fighting our own ghosts.

I find the punching bag again. It feels good to have an impact on something, an ounce of control over something that can’t hurt me. My muscles still burn from the last time I was down here. The bag gets pushed to the left, to the right, and I feel the skin on my knuckles heat up. Then crack open. The sharp pain crawling over my hands feels good, too. It is nothing, compared to the pain I put innocent people through. To the pain I almost put Bucky through.

The familiar dark, dancing spots creep into my vision. They beckon me with honeyed lips to give in, and I grit my teeth through the oncoming dizziness.

Behind me, a door falls shut, and I flinch and whirl around, staggering at the too-quick movement. Dark hair, slate eyes, underlined in violet. Bucky, my brain registers, before my vision blacks out for a second and I feel my knees connect with the mat below me.

He’s there in an instant, hands steadying my shoulders. The touch sends shivers down my arms. My vision clears again, and I attempt a carefree expression. The look on his face tells me he is not convinced.

“It’s fine. I’m fine”, I try to tell him with a reassuring smile.

He is on his knees before me, reluctantly letting my shoulders go. Eyes still studying my face, he huffs out a breath of air.

“So are you gonna tell me what you’re doing down here in the middle of the night?” He sits back onto his heels, still kneeling on the ground. I want to reach for him, touch him, pull him so close to me that nobody will ever get to him. Instead,, I just curl my hands into fists and cock an eyebrow at him.

“What about you?”

“Can’t sleep”, he explains, and I shrug.

“Well, there you have it.”

I can’t look directly into his eyes. He is too good at reading people, something born from trauma and survival instinct.

His hands are resting on his folded legs, metal fingers calm on top of his right hand. He’s wearing his “I woke up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep” outfit, sweatpants and a black shirt. Reminds me of the nights spent talking on the balcony. It’s like HYDRA took this from me, too, this small refuge after a day spent trying and failing to save people. The time he spent putting all the pieces of myself back together.

“So you go down here and punch a bag until you collapse?”

I shrug again, trying to keep the raging storm that is my mind inside for nobody else to see. His shoulders sag a little and he angles his head so that he can look me in the eyes.

“Can you at least look at me, Lizzie?”

Something compels me to do so. Maybe it’s the pet name. He is the only one who ever calls me Lizzie, everyone else says Liz, or J, or Agent Jones. Bucky usually only uses it when we’re alone. My mind races back to a few weeks ago.

“Jones, please. Lizzie. Tell me you’re still there.”

His broken voice replays in my head.

“Baby, please, I’m begging you –“

I only just now realise. He never called me baby before, either. I feel like I’m missing something, like the pieces are there, just out of my reach. It frustrates me.

“You’re not fine, are you?”, his smooth voice is the last straw, gently pushing into the walls I put around my heart in the last few weeks until they burst. There’s a lump the size of a tennis ball in my throat as my breath hitches and my shoulders sag and then hot tears spill out of my eyes and I can’t stop it from happening.

“Lizzie, no, hey, come here.” He holds his arms wide open and waits for me to give him permission to touch me. No pressure, just an offer. I feel my hands reach out and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to his chest. My fists clench into the soft fabric of his shirt and I curl up tighter around my aching chest. He just holds me. Gentle hands stroking soothingly over my back, up, down, up again, down again. And fuck, he feels like home.

The sobs die down into quiet hitching breaths, dull stitches in my sides. Bucky remains where he is, not saying a word, just holding me.

“I feel like they broke me”, I finally gather the air to whisper into his chest. He presses his lips against my hairline, silently waiting for me to continue.

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

He stirs, then.

“What for?”

“I let you down.”

It’s the first time I am saying this to anyone. I don’t know what it is that makes me tell him, of all people. But it feels right.

“No, Lizzie, you didn’t.”

I look up, blinking the tears away until I can see his eyes.

“I put you in danger. They almost got to you because of me.”

Bucky sighs. “They almost got to me through you. Not because. None of this was your fault, you know?”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone keeps telling me it wasn’t my fault and yet I let them take me, and I was the reason you came to them and for some reason, you got fucking lucky enough to not fall right back into their hands!”

His face is calm, collected, even, but I see the pain in his eyes.

“None of that happened because of you. It happened to you. What were you supposed to do, fight ten of them and get out unscathed? Nobody does that, Lizzie. It was a damn trap.”

I fist my hands into his shirt. “And I walked right fucking into it, didn’t I?”

“We all did. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“You don’t get it, do you? It was my fault. I knew something was wrong and I stayed down there in that goddamn basement!”

“What did you do wrong?”

I pause. He looks directly at me, eyes locked onto mine. “Tell me what you did wrong.”

Something inside me cracks.

“I let them take me even though I knew they would use me to get to you.”

My fingers are still closed into his shirt. “I tried to fight them off, I even tried to –“ My voice breaks and I swallow against the lump in my throat.

“I knew they needed me alive, so I …”

His eyes are studying me carefully and I can see the slow realisation of what I am about to tell him dawn in the back of his mind.

“One of them was careless with his gun. I tried to put a bullet through my head”, I whisper, not daring to look at him.

He inhales sharply. “Lizzie, no …”

“I was too slow.”

“Baby …”, he whispers, in a voice I have never heard from him before. He sounds small. Broken.

His arms wrap around me carefully, as if scared I might shatter if he pushes too hard. His scent envelops me, pines and leather and metal, underlined by clean linen and sweat. It’s strangely soothing.

“Please promise me you won’t do that again. I can’t – I wouldn’t even know what to do without you.”

My hand flattens against his chest, heart pounding underneath.

“It wasn’t your fault”, I whisper against him.

“No, it was. They were there for me. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

I want to grab him by the shirt and shake him, remind him it’s not his fault, it’s them, that he never did anything wrong. Instead, I just shake my head.

“We weren’t careful enough, Lizzie. We should all have expected it to be a trap. Me, Steve, Sam, too.”

“Don’t say that”, I mutter into his shirt.

“Can I tell you something?”

I nod.

“Can you look at me while I do? Please?”

I sigh, but look up at him, skin itchy from the drying tears.

“You can’t keep putting the blame on yourself whenever something goes wrong.”

My shoulders slump.

“It doesn’t make anything better, you hear me? It doesn’t help anyone. It just makes you sink deeper and deeper into your guilt. And trust me, I know what that’s like.”

He pries my fingers from his shirt and gently folds them open. His thumbs smooth over my palms, circling around the crescent scars in the soft skin.

“There is enough pain in this world, Lizzie. And you’re putting yourself through enough already. Don’t blame yourself for what happens to me, too. It’s not your fault.”

When I fall into bed later, it’s the first time in weeks that I sleep through. Probably just the exhaustion.

*

I lie awake again, the next day. This time I never even fell asleep. There’s too many faces when I close my eyes. Too many screams. The voice of a green-eyed viper.

A noise outside my room spooks me into sitting up. Slow, sluggish steps on the corridor. They stop right in front of my door, then it’s silent.

“FRIDAY, who else is on this floor?”

The AI answers dutifully. “Currently, you and Sergeant Barnes are on this floor, Agent Jones.”

Bucky? It must be Bucky outside, then, anything else security would have picked up on.

A few seconds later, there is a quiet knock. I rub my eyes and fully sit up in the sheets before I answer. The door opens, just far enough for him to stick his head through.

“Heard that you’re awake. Can I come in?” His eyes look haunted.

“Sure.”

I pull the blanket closer to my body as he kneels down next to the bed.

“You can sit on the bed, you know?”

His chin resting on his left arm, he slightly cocks one eyebrow. “I did not.”

But he doesn’t move. He just looks at me and I at him, until his intense gaze gets too much to hold. My eyes roam over his face, the stubble on his chin, the curve of his jaw, the worried lines on his forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re safe”, he whispers, and my eyes return to his.

Something compels me to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, along his temple. His eyelids flutter closed. My palm comes to rest along his cheek, and he melts into the touch, my thumb caressing his cheekbone.

We just stay like this for a few minutes, for once not battling our inner demons. Savouring the peace we have in this moment, knowing the other is safe here.

It’s me who breaks the silence.

“Why’d you sit outside my door?”

He blinks a few times, adjusting to the soft lighting in my room, too bright after the darkness behind closed eyelids.

“Had a bad dream. Wanted to make sure nobody would hurt you”, he mumbles against my wrist. He lifts his right hand and I reach for it, fingers intertwining.

“I’m okay”, I whisper and he squeezes my hand.

“Sometimes I ask FRIDAY if you’re safe”, he admits and I smile. Seems we both use the AI as a support system. Although that’s what she’s there for, I guess.

He’s still kneeling before me and I shake my head.

“Come on, the ground’s a little cold, don’t you think?” I pat the blanket next to me.

“You sure?”, he mumbles and I nod. He sits up, still holding my hand. “I wouldn’t want to – “

I roll my eyes, “I offered, Bucky”, and shoot him a small smile. He shrugs and smiles back, standing up and crawling across the blanket to where I’m leaning against the headboard. The warmth he emits slowly engulfs me and it feels so safe, so much like home, that I move closer to him almost subconsciously.

“C’mere”, he mumbles and tentatively puts his right arm around my shoulders. He pulls me closer until my head lies on his chest. Intuitively, I inhale his scent, so undeniably Bucky, and sigh. Slowly, we both sink deeper and deeper into the bedding until we’re both lying down, and I curl one leg over his, foot threading between his shins. My arm comes to rest over his stomach and I feel his slow, steady breathing. It feels so right, my body against his. Like we’re made for each other.

I feel tempted to shake my head at myself for that thought. I’m tired. No idea how late it is but considering he had woken up, it has to be at least midnight. Probably past that.

“Can you promise me something?” His low voice rumbles in his ribcage, amplified by my ear pressed against his chest.

“Hm?”, I answer, half asleep.

“Next time you wanna punch a bag until your legs give out, tell me?”

I huff against his shirt. There’s a part of me that wants to scream I’m not worth his time, his concern, but the other part just misses him so fucking bad. And I’m just glad to have him back, so I nod.

“Good. Thank you. Now try and sleep, you need it.”

His steady breathing gently lulls me in.

*

The bed next to me is empty when I wake up. Immediately, I jump, heart pounding, but then I hear the shower running. He’s still here. I try to calm myself down again. The shower is turned off, and a few moments later Bucky walks through the door, hair still wet, wearing only his sweatpants. He pauses, towel in hand. A few stray droplets of water catch the light, glistening across his bare chest. I can’t help but follow the trail of muscles down, down, until my eyes get caught on the waistband of his sweatpants. I blink.

“’morning”, I rasp, clearing my throat.

A grin ghosts over his face, and I swear there is a smug glint in his eyes. “Good morning to you, too. Sleep well?”

A blush creeps up my cheeks and I avert my eyes, stretching to cover up my embarrassment. “Yup.” Had to get caught ogling my team partner, didn’t I.

“For once”, I add.

His smile turns softer then, and he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m glad.”

We just sit there for a while, stealing glances at each other’s faces. After what feels like an eternity, he clears his throat. “Breakfast?”

*

My fists fly into the punching bag. This time, it’s not being pushed around. Bucky is standing behind it, holding it firmly in his grasp, watching me closely and giving advice when he sees fit. It’s not the first session we share. Over the last few days, we have developed some sort of a routine, one of us showing up at the other’s room wordlessly, silent terrors behind tired eyes.

My time in the gym has become less self-destructive since, with him there to keep a close watch so I don’t push myself until I black out. Instead, he eases me off my adrenaline high, pulls me back out of my spiralling brain into reality. The time spent with him slowly fills the hole left by our nightly meetings on the balcony. It helps me tire myself out, I get to sleep through most of the times I go to bed afterwards.

“I just remembered something", I start one time we take the elevator back up to our respective floors.

He’s leaning against the wall across from me, elbows propped up on the railing. Sweat still glistening on his forehead, his hair a tousled mess, despite its shortness.

His eyes flicker over to mine. “Hm?”

I clear my throat. “When I was … held hostage by HYDRA, their commander said something, I never quite understood why.”

It feels … unsettling, to talk about that day. Bucky just looks at me patiently, without pressure.

“He said it was amazing what love could do to people.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow.

“He was talking about you. Us. He said that it was easier to get to you because they had me.”

There is something in his eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on. He looks taken aback, almost. He flexes his right hand, still looking right at me.

“And I told him he was wrong. They thought they had you all figured out, you know? Thought they could convince you to come alone just because they had me, of all people. I mean, I guess Steve would’ve been harder to catch, but you know …”

He still hasn’t said a word. I start to squirm under his gaze, slate eyes intently watching me, a muscle in his jaw twitching. It dawns on me, then, that bringing up HYDRA playing mind games is probably not the best thing. Sure, he knows, but did I have to remind him of that? I want to punch myself at the pained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry I brought it up”, I murmur, not daring to meet his eyes. He slowly exhales, and part of the tension seems to leave him.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He attempts a smile. It fails so miserably it almost hurts.

The elevator doors open with a quiet ring. As if being startled awake, Bucky suddenly straightens up and walks through the door, muttering a “Goodnight” under his breath.

I look after him confused, doors sliding closed. It feels like I lost some small part of him. The elevator picks up speed again and I make for the door as it opens on my floor.

*

That night, my dreams are haunted by the pained expression on Bucky’s face, mixed with what my brain pieced together from the few things he told me about his time with HYDRA. I wake up shaking and sit up, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead.

“FRIDAY, can you check in with Sergeant Barnes? If he’s safe?”

“Sergeant Barnes shows no sign of physical distress, Agent Jones.”

Seconds later, there is a knock. I get out of bed and walk over, opening the door. Bucky looks at me with tortured eyes that widen with worry as he takes me in. “You okay?”, he asks softly, lifting a hand to brush my hair out of my face. I nod and take a step back, allowing him into the room. He closes the door behind him and I wrap my arms around my torso, still feeling guilty for the conversation we had earlier.

He’s standing in the middle of the room, as if he doesn’t know where to sit – or if to sit at all. I sit down on the bed and study him for a while. We both start talking at the same time.

“I’m sorry that – “

“I shouldn’t have – “

We stop, sheepish smiles ghosting over both our faces. Something flutters in my chest. It’s quiet then, for a while, until he opens his mouth again.

“I’m sorry that I just left like that. Earlier.”

I shake my head. “No, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a step towards me, gesturing over at the bed. “May I?”

I nod, making room for him on the blanket next to me and he sits down, his weight shifting the mattress. He looks like he’s debating something in his mind, torn between one thing and another. I gently touch his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He stills. Then he sighs. It breaks my heart seeing him this way, tense shoulders, eyes lined violet. He draws a slow and deep breath until he looks over at me. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

I blink, startled. He takes my surprise as hesitation and makes to get up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you – ” Before he can get up entirely, I wrap my hand around his wrist. He pauses, eyes flying to my hand and then to my eyes.

“Bucky.” He slowly breathes out. “Of course you can stay.”

I let go of his wrist and crawl up to the headboard, leaning back against it.

“C’mere.”

He follows, but instead of sitting next to me, he lies down, curling up with his head on the pillow. I extend my left leg and he inches closer, left hand coming to rest on my thigh. My left hand finds its way to his shoulder, tracing soothing circles over it and slowly up his neck until my fingertips are tousling his dark hair. I can’t help but muse over its softness. He sighs against my leg and I can almost see the tension leaving him, shoulders slowly slumping.

“Thank you”, he mumbles, barely audible.

“Any time, Bucky.”

*

I wake up later, barely, to his hands stroking my shoulders.

“Lizzie, hey.”

I squint and try to open my eyes further.

“Everything is fine, I just … your back is gonna hurt if you stay like that the whole night.”

I’m still leaning against the headboard.

“Mkay”, I mumble, eyes fluttering closed again. I think I hear him chuckle, then he gently picks me up and places me down on the mattress so that I’m in a proper sleeping position. My eyes blink open again when he comes to rest next to me, face inches from mine. “Thank you”, I whisper, and without thinking about it, I place a kiss on his cheek. The surprised look on his face barely registers with me, before I sink back into unconsciousness.

*

When I wake up again, it’s morning. Bucky has assumed the position I was in last night, leaning against the headboard, a hand softly placed on my shoulder. I look up at him and smile, eyes not yet fully open. He smiles back, the softest look in his eyes.

“Morning, Lizzie.”

I yawn and rub my eyes, rolling onto my back.

“You know, Bucky, I always seem to sleep better when you’re next to me.” My cheeks heat up as soon as the last words leave my mouth and I scramble to say something less embarrassing, I shouldn’t be allowed to talk until I’ve been awake for at least ten minutes, for fucks sake, but then he smiles.

“I do, too.”

The soft morning light makes him look ethereal, his eyes almost silver in the direct sun. He squints down at me, eyes roaming over my face, before settling somewhere below my eye line.

“You’re beautiful”, he says softly and I pause, before I sit up, his eyes following every movement. I can’t help but stare at him, painted in golden light, and yet he tells me I’m beautiful.

I move towards him until my knees almost touch his legs. His right hand slowly reaches out, carefully, as if to not startle me, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. He cups my cheek, thumb smoothing over my cheekbone and my eyes flutter closed. He moves closer, bedsheets rustling beneath his knees, and then I feel soft lips on mine. The ghost of a kiss pressing against me. My eyes fly open and immediately, he pulls back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I just – I can’t –“

His hand leaves my cheek and it feels strangely cold. Before he can pull back further, I grab his hand. Gathering all the courage I have, I look him in the eyes.

“Kiss me, Bucky.”

He draws a shaky breath and then he is there, lips pressed against mine. I close my eyes, curling my arms around his neck, and he grabs my hips, pulling me closer, closer, onto his lap. His hands slide over my thighs to the small of my back, and then upwards, until they flatten against my shoulder blades, holding me like he needs me to live. Maybe he does. Maybe I need him, too, I wonder, as my hands find their way into his hair, pulling gently.

He pulls me closer, rocking me against his abdomen and a small, breathless sound escapes my throat. Bucky moans in response, teeth nipping at my lower lip. His tongue follows and I melt into him, hands pulling him closer towards me. Almost on instinct, I roll my hips against him again. His fingers curl into my shirt as he groans, sending a rush of blood down into my core.

We pull apart then, panting, dizzy from the lack of oxygen. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. I shudder when his gaze meets mine. We’re still so close to each other, noses almost touching, breaths mingling between us.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been wanting to do this”, he whispers against my lips, and goosebumps trickle down my spine.

“You have?”

He nods, tongue wetting his lips. His right hand slides up around my neck, thumb smoothing over the sensitive spot right below my ear, following the curve of my jaw. I let my head fall to the side, baring my neck, eyes closing. He places a barely-there kiss against the skin, then another, tracing a line down to my collar bone.

“I’m a simple man, Lizzie. Give me a beautiful woman in a tac suit, and I’m done for.”

I chuckle and open my eyes, facing him as he lifts his head to look at me. “Really that easy, hm?”

He nods earnestly, corners of the mouth twitching up. “If she can also handle a gun? Man …” He sighs. “I suppose I’ve been in the military for too long.”

I shrug. “Well, me too, then.”

One eyebrow shoots up, then he grins, “How long you been here, Lizzie?”

I roll my eyes at him. “You know what I mean, Bucky.”

He acts as if contemplating whether or not he needs me to elaborate, then he gets a smug look on his face. “Yeah, I’ve seen how you look at me sometimes.”

I groan, hiding my face in his shoulder. His low chuckle turns into a hum when my lips meet his throat and I work my way up the same way he just did. My hands on both sides of his face. His fingers curl around my wrists and I look into his eyes.

“It’s not like I do much to hide … anything, really.”

“Anything?” He kisses the palms of my hands, holding them against his face.

“You just look good in black, Buck. Don’t tell me you don’t know it.”

He cracks a crooked grin, looking up at me through his lashes and I draw a shaky breath.

“No, I know. I’m old enough to see when a woman looks at me and likes what she sees.”

I roll my eyes at him and he chuckles.

“I’m kidding, Lizzie.”

He pulls me towards him and gently places his lips on mine. I sigh and can’t help but smile into the kiss, fingers playing with his hair. His tongue caresses my lips and I open my mouth to let him in. His hands drop to grab my hips, rocking me against him again and heat shoots through my body, lips suddenly become sloppy and desperate, my hands trying to get a hold of as much of him as possible.

He tips us to the side, keeping me close with his right arm and holding himself up with his left. Then he carefully places me onto the bed, lips never leaving mine. His fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, leaving butterfly touches on the skin below it. His mouth wanders, pressing kisses to the corners of my mouth, the underside of my jaw, underneath my ear, down the curve of my neck.

I bite my lip and my hands curl into his hair, following his movements slowly down my upper body. All the while his hands slowly push up my shirt, exposing the tender skin of my stomach. His fingertips ghost along the underside of my breasts. My breath hitches.

“That okay?”, he mutters into my ear, lips fluttering against my ear. I have to bite back a moan and can only nod. “Talk to me”, he adds.

“Fucking hell, Buck, just take my shirt off.”

He chuckles against my ear and pulls the fabric up, up, over my head. I open my eyes and catch his, roaming over the stretch of skin now exposed to him. He dips his head low to place a kiss on my chest, and then his hands are on my sides, tracing upwards. His thumb rubs over my nipple, cold metal in stark contrast to the fire inside me that he keeps feeding with each touch.

My hands pull on his hair and he moves up to me, lips pressing down and fingers caressing the soft skin. The clash of his cold hands on my chest and his warm lips against mine send a rush of blood into my lower body and I sigh into his mouth, before he leaves again. I complain until his mouth is where his fingers were just seconds before, closing around my hardened nipple, tongue rolling against it. A twinge of pleasure lets the muscles in my stomach contract and I gasp, my back arching up into him, reacting on reflex only.

His hand pushes me back against the bed, his mouth still kissing and nipping on reddened skin. Then he looks up at me and parts my legs with a knee, pushing upwards, gaze fixed on my face. He pushes further and my mouth falls open, making an effort to keep eye contact with him while he moves against me, coaxing a slow moan from deep within me. Still, I am looking directly at him. His lips part. I prop myself up on my elbows and only when my mouth meets his, I close my eyes.

“You’re gonna drive me insane, one day”, he mumbles between kisses and I smile lazily, lowering myself back down.

“Am I, now?”

I like the feeling of having him wrapped around my little finger and he knows it, sees it in the glint in my eyes and the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Hands placed on both sides of my body, he moves his knee against me again and I gasp.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Lizzie.”

Then he dips down, kissing a trail down my stomach until he hits the hem of my sweatpants. He sits back onto his heels and hooks his finger into the waistband, cocking one eyebrow. I nod again, and he pulls them down, off my feet, leaving them to fall somewhere next to the bed. His hands slide up my legs until they meet the line of my panties and my breath hitches when his rough fingers touch the soft skin of my thighs. His lips follow his hands and now I am panting, head falling back when he follows the outline of the fabric against my skin. His hands placed on my thighs, his mouth placing lazy kisses against my stomach, and suddenly his thumbs stroke down my core, my back arching off the bedsheets.

He takes his hands off me, then, and I groan, propping myself up onto my elbows again.

“Quit teasing.”

He hooks his fingers into the band of my panties and cocks an eyebrow, waiting for my reaction.

“Talk to me, Lizzie. What do you want?”

I draw in a shaky breath, looking down at him with heavy eyelids. “Take them off.”

He obeys, pulling the fabric off along my legs and discarding it as well. He looks at me again and I groan, head falling back. He just waits until I’m squirming under him, and even then he doesn’t touch me. I lift my head again and he brings his head down to my thighs, peppering them with small kisses, just enough to make me breathe heavily but not where I actually want him.

“Bucky …”, I whine, and he hums against my skin.

“What do you want, Lizzie?”

“For you to use that snarky tongue of yours.” I get a chuckle from him for that.

“You’re bossy”, he mutters between kisses and I huff, hands closing into the blanket below me. “I like when you’re bossy.”

Before I can complain, he dips his tongue between my legs and licks upwards in one long stroke. I moan loudly before I can bite my tongue, hands flying into his hair. His tongue laps over my clit in a steady rhythm and all the air leaves my lungs, hands scrambling to hold onto something, anything, and clenching into the sheets.

“Bucky …”, I moan his name and he hums against me in response, sending goosebumps down my legs.

“Happy now?”, he teases, before going back to kissing and licking and I chuckle breathlessly.

“Almost.”

This time I don’t have to explain. He understands anyways and slowly slides a finger into me. I almost see stars for a second. Then he curls his finger upwards and I do see stars, the knot inside me coiling tighter and tighter with every lap of his tongue. I press myself against him, relishing in the white-hot pleasure shooting through my body. My back arches off the bed, thighs pressing against his cheeks. His left hand holds me in place and he adds a second finger, following the rhythm set by his tongue. I whisper his name over, and over, and over, like a prayer, and he responds with a hum, tingling against my overly sensitive skin.

He slightly changes the angle of his fingers and I gasp, the rising feeling inside me almost at its peak.

“Bucky, wait –“, I pant, and he stops immediately, lifting his head, concerned eyes meeting mine.

“If you go on like this I can’t promise to keep it together much longer.”

He licks his lips, the sight of him between my legs alone almost enough to send me spiralling. “I don’t mind.” He dips down again and I moan loudly and pull at his hair to get him to look at me again. He looks up at me, continuing to move his fingers and I swear I’m going crazy.

“But I do”, I pant, and he stops. I tug at his hair again and he pulls his fingers out of me, before crawling up to meet me. I sigh into the kiss, butterflies in my stomach at the taste of his tongue. I pull back just enough.

“I do, because I want you, Bucky.” He blinks, inhaling sharply.

“You sure?”

I kiss him in return, not bothering with a vocal answer. He takes it as a yes, kiss deepening as my fingers fumble along the hemline of his black shirt. He leans back, takes it off, and comes back to me again.

“You got a condom?”

I nod and roll over to reach for the nightstand while Bucky takes off his pants, before leaning down and pressing soft feathery kisses along my spine. I allow myself to savour the feeling of his lips against my skin, then I turn back around. He rips the condom open with his teeth. I sit up when he lies down, his hand reaching out.

Our fingers interlace with each other, he tugs and I follow until I feel him hard against my core. I suck in a breath and he places his hands on my hips, pulling me towards him. I lean forward and reach for him, and then he is there, slowly pushing into me. His fingertips press into my skin as I slowly lower myself down. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are watching me intently. I can’t seem to look away, he’s holding me in his gaze and we both moan at the same time.

Then I place my hands on his chest and roll against him, my hair falling into my face. His hands leave my hips and reach for my breasts, pinching and thumbing over my nipples, sending sweet jolts of pleasure down to where our bodies meet. My breath comes heavy, and when he starts moving with me, my mouth falls open. He grabs my hips again and holds me in place, before he suddenly flips us so that I’m below him. My hands fly up to the headboard, trying to find something to hold on to and he grabs them, pinning them above my head. My back arches of the bed and the angle changes slightly, I can almost feel it, he almost hits the spot, just –

His metal hand reaches for my knee and pulls my leg up against his hips, pushing my thigh back against me. It’s the exact change I needed. He hits the spot again, and again, and my head falls back, a string of nonsensical words leaving my mouth. He curses underneath his breath.

“Look at me, baby, please”, he whispers and I can’t help but obey him.

He thrusts into me and my hips roll against him, meeting him halfway.

“Fuck, Bucky, I –“

He groans in response, brows furrowed, sweat on his forehead. Every muscle in my body is tense in anticipation, I feel myself tighten around him. He moves his hand from my thigh to where we’re connected, thumb smoothing over my clit, jaw set as he adjusts the angle of his hips again. He hits the spot. Once. Twice. My hands strain against his grasp and my back arches and then I feel myself explode. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes snap closed.

“Dammit, Lizzie …”, he growls as I contract around him and then he follows me down, hand gripping my waist. His breath leaves him shuddering and his hips buck. One last swipe of his thumb that has me trembling underneath him, before he removes his hand and lets go of my wrists. My hands snake down and I grab both sides of his face. He lowers himself onto his elbows, one on each side of my head, and eases into a long, satisfied kiss. His hands curl into my hair that’s sprawled around my head on the pillow and I melt against him. Then he pulls back. Opens his mouth.

“I love you.”

I pause. Did he really – my eyes open, slowly, to not break the moment. Suddenly I’m staring directly into his eyes, noses mere inches apart. I open my mouth. Close it. He sighs, pulling away to better look at me.

“I’m sorry if that was a bit … forward. But I’m tired of hiding it. And I wanted you to know that this”, he nods his head down at our entwined bodies, “means something to me.”

He loves me. All the small moments I have been repressing for the last weeks come crashing over me like a tidal wave. “I am not. Leaving you, Jones.” Suddenly I understand why he reacted the way he did when I told him about HYDRA’s comment. “It’s amazing what love can do to people.” And I really didn’t see it. Hell, even HYDRA knew. His reaction when I told him I tried to end it. “I can’t – I wouldn’t even know what to do without you.” The times he spent in the gym with me, at night. On the balcony before that. The times he sat outside my room, just keeping watch. “Had a bad dream. Wanted to make sure nobody would hurt you.”

“Can you … say something?”

I blink. Maybe I should react. That would be appropriate, I guess.

“That’s –“, my voice is rough and I clear my throat, “unexpected.” Bullshit, fucking hell, Jones.

He pulls away, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have … goddammit I had to ruin it, didn’t I?” No, you didn’t ruin anything, I just don’t know –

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, I –“

I sit up and grab his arm, pull his hand away from his face. I take his other hand, too.

“I was wondering when you had started calling me ‘baby'.”

He huffs out a breath of air and closes his fingers around my hands.

“It just … slips. I don’t even do it on purpose, I just …”, he shrugs, a pained expression on his face, and I realise what this must be like for him. He sleeps with the woman he loves, tells her, and she freezes. I take a deep breath. Fucking hell, I’m an idiot.

“I love you, too, Bucky.”

The moment I say it, I realise its truth. Its utter, crystal clear truth. His eyes go wide.

“I’m just bad with my emotions. I’m sorry”, I try to salvage some of it.

He lifts a hand up to my cheek, staring at me in utter disbelief. His thumb smoothes over my cheekbone and I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. Of course I fucking love him. I would’ve died for him. Didn’t even hesitate.

The softest of kisses brings me back down to earth. To where I am sitting naked on the bed with the man I love. I melt into it, arms curling around his neck, pulling him towards me.

“Don’t apologise for things like that”, he mumbles against my lips and touches his forehead against mine.

Then he squeezes my hand, “Be right back”, and with a peck on the lips, he gets up in the direction of the bathroom. I sigh and let myself fall back onto the sheets. There is a slight, sweet burn between my legs, a gentle reminder. I yawn, stretching in the sun like a cat that just woke up. When I open my eyes again, there’s a shadow in front of me. I blink up at him as he’s just standing there, watching, a soft smile on his face.

The sun is behind him now, lighting up bits of his hair like a halo. Sunshine suits his eyes, I realise.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking beautiful, Bucky?”, I mutter and he comes crawling over to me. There’s a slight heat to my cheeks but hell, I’m naked in front of him, and after what just happened it’s not like I can’t call him beautiful. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least.

“You’re cute, Lizzie", he responds, kissing my nose. I smile at that and pull him back down to me. We roll over onto our sides and he grabs the blanket, tucking me in and planting a kiss on my forehead. And finally, I feel like I can maybe, someday, be whole again.

[jaegckerman]

Notes in Constellations

~ This fic was inspired by the song of the same name by Chiodos ~ Description: Eren wasn't as oblivious as everyone thought - Mikasa's feelings for him were perfectly clear to him. However, it seemed that everyone around him was very oblivious to how he felt about his best friend... even if he could never let her know. Set in canonverse, leading to a slightly different way more smutty version of Chapter 123, but don't expect a happy ending. Tagging: @kirsteiiins because she's awesome. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.6K CW: : Smut, I guess?; Angst; Mentions of death and violence; Manga spoilers! Link to AO3

I see her smile in her sleep I know that she's a dreamer I follow every move she makes

If you asked anyone in the Survey Corps, and even before that in the Scouts Regiment, everyone would have told you that Mikasa Ackerman was hopelessly in love with Eren Jaeger… which was too bad, since the boy seemed to have nothing but killing titans on his mind. He was constantly barking at her, taking her kindness for Mikasa simply being annoyingly overbearing, and didn’t shy away from snapping at her for it. Eventually, Armin tentatively came up to him one night and suggested he have a conversation with the girl to let her know that her affections were misplaced. Gently, Armin emphasized, knowing how much it would hurt her and how tactless his best friend tended to be. It made Eren blush furiously; he did run hotter than a normal human being due to his Titan powers, but he could have sworn his whole head was on fire. He was just glad that it was dark outside and his best friend’s keen eye couldn’t make out the color of his cheeks as Eren just hummed noncommittally during Armin’s speech, then scoffed at his words. He stammered something about how Mikasa only saw him as a brother, and changed the subject, with no intention of adhering to the blonde’s advice in any way, shape or form. Neither of them was sure who he was trying to convince.

I know that this is the last thing on your mind, Eren, but what you’re doing is unkind to her and Mikasa deserves better, Eren recalled Armin’s voice as he watched the girl in question, holding back a smile. Levi’s squad was traveling from Trost to the port, and with the railway still a few months away from being completed, they had to go by horse and camp out for the night in a cabin that belonged to Flegel Reeves. They were currently setting the table for dinner, and she was humming absentmindedly before she abruptly stopped and scurried off to the other side of the room… only to return with a bundle of flowers she had picked off the side of the forest path they had traversed early that morning – she was probably the only human on Earth who wasn’t scared of angering Levi; she just hopped off her horse, crouched down, and started plucking flowers from the ground while he snarked at her to stop “farting around” and get going, and Eren had to suppress a chuckle at the scene. He had almost forgotten about his own task of hunting down enough plates and mugs for the entire squad until she looked up at him, probably because she felt him staring. He hurriedly averted his eyes and turned his body back towards the stupidly high cabinet to hide his blush, stretching as he felt around the wooden boards and grabbing what felt like ceramic. With a triumphant little “hah!”, he pulled down a stack of plates and turned around only to find Mikasa watching him; he wondered for a second if he should maybe listen to Armin after all. She quickly shifted her own gaze, her usual stoic mask on, but he had still caught the look on her face just before that, and it was nothing short of… Adoring didn’t do it justice, but his vocabulary was limited when it came to matters of the heart. He suddenly realized just how domestic the scene was, and what that must be doing to her. While she may be as skilled as a hundred soldiers, and damn good at pretty much anything she did, he knew this was a piece of the kind of life she craved the most. Maybe he really was being a selfish, unkind monster in more ways than one.

Because as observant as they were when it came to Mikasa’s feelings for him, what Levi’s Squad never seemed to notice was the way his own heartbeat would pick up whenever she entered the room. They never noticed how his face flushed when her hands brushed his whenever she took pails of water or wooden boards or whatever else he carried from him to alleviate his burden in any way she could. They had no idea that he snapped at her, not because he was annoyed or still jealous of her abilities, but out of concern, since she was always so busy taking care of him and everyone else, she never took proper care of herself. None of them ever seemed to catch his longing stares and, thankfully, no one ever caught him in the dead of night, when his mind was consumed with the fantasies the sight of Mikasa provoked, and he convinced himself it was her hand or her tongue stroking his aching length.

Eren had taken over watch duties with Armin while she fell asleep next to the fire they had built, her need to be close to him overwhelming even her desire for a comfortable resting place. When she didn’t follow Sasha to the cabin and instead shut her eyes right where she was sitting, she had said she wanted to stay because she was cold and didn’t want to leave the heat of the flames. Of course, she never said it was because she wanted to stay with him, because she knew that he would inevitably argue with her, but Eren knew and decided to stay silent. He was so painfully aware that he would not have many more opportunities to see her look peaceful as he snuck glances at her sleeping form while Armin babbled on about something Onyankopon had told him about his home country’s landscape – he didn’t register a word his best friend was saying, and he felt bad, because he was sure it was as interesting and smart as anything Armin has ever said. However, all he could think about was how Mikasa’s sleeping position looked uncomfortable, so he bundled up his coat and made a makeshift bed on the ground for her. She squirmed and her eyes fluttered open for a second when he tried to lay her down gently, but she quickly fell back asleep, with a small smile on her face.

And no one knew just how much his heart ached at the sight, wishing he could give her everything she had always dreamed of, could always give her comfort, and peace and stability and, most importantly, all the love that was threatening to make his heart burst out of his chest. No one knew that he never openly and decisively rejected her, not because he really didn’t believe that she loved him like that, as he always argued when confronted, but because he could not bear the thought of her looking at another man the way she looked at him. He could not, for the life of him, reconcile with the idea that Mikasa, his Mikasa, would shed the mask and be soft and loving and devoted to someone else.

Well, when he turned to look back at Armin, his best friend gave him a smug smile, and maybe one person did know. But still, Armin had no idea how right he had been about Eren being unkind and undeserving… and yet, he couldn’t find it within himself to forgo his selfish desires completely. Not yet.

It's been a long, long night Say you're mine, say you're mine Can I keep you tonight?

He had no idea what had gotten into him. He had never planned on doing this – well, to be fair, he had definitely thought about it, or more like fantasized about how she would tell him that she wanted him, how he would crash his lips against hers, what they would taste like, what she would feel like in his arms, pressed against him…

But he had never planned on the words actually leaving his lips, hoping for an answer that would allow him to cross that line and leave everything behind once and for all. He was so, so tired already, and the fight hadn’t even started yet. And then Mikasa had come to him with her ice cream cone, her eyes shining like they used to when they would play-pretend being Armin’s mom and dad when they were children, and he had tasted the sweet treat that had just been in her mouth, and she had looked so lovely and soft and relaxed for once and… he knew, he could not leave her behind without exploring the possibility, without making completely sure whether his fantasies could actually become reality or not. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he would have the resolve to do what needed to be done with no regrets.

So when she came to find him, crying at the knowledge of what he had to do as he stared at the low light emitting from the refugee camp, knowledge that had been plaguing him for three years, feeling weak and exhausted beyond words, he couldn’t stop the awkward question from tumbling from his lips.

“What am I to you?”

As she blushed and her grey eyes started to shimmer despite the lack of light, he wondered if his own betrayed how much he wanted her to say he was… her everything, her most beloved, wanted her to ask him to follow her to the ends of the world, just the two of them. That she was his, and his alone. And in turn, he would take her hand and lead her away, away from all the war and death and show her that he had always been hers.

We dance around just like constellations You keep my body warm And we dance around just like constellations You're keeping me awake at night You make my body warm

Eren had known earlier that, had they not been interrupted, Mikasa might have elaborated on her answer. She might even have corrected herself, retracted the dreaded f-word that had left her lips, might have told him what he wanted to hear. Maybe she would have added that by “family”, she meant the type of family that husbands and wives made up. Or maybe he would have found the guts and the selfishness to fess up in spite of her answer. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be, and it seemed the path he was on was truly the only one available to him.

He would take what he could get before he began the hardest and last journey of his life, though. He indulged in one last night of fun with his friends and the refugees… The kindest strangers he had ever met, willingly sharing their limited supplies with them, and he knew he would crush them under his feet in just a few months. Thankfully, the liquor they were served helped a great deal in repressing that knowledge, at least for tonight.

And when his teal eyes blinked open sluggishly as he awoke from his drunken slumber, he indulged in the warm feeling of Mikasa pressed close to him. Her alcohol-addled breath came out in hot and steady puffs as it fanned across his cheek. When he turned his face to look at her, her lips were so close to his, and he had to close his eyes and swallow hard at the pain that the sight instilled in his racing heart. He clenched his fists against the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes once again, and an unbidden hiccup spilled from his lips, startling the black-haired beauty beside him awake. Silently, he cursed the lightness of her sleep before he twisted his head away from her.

“Eren…?” she murmured, her hand leaving his lapel to rub at her sleep-crusted eyes. “Are you okay?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep, Mikasa…” he murmured, surprised and perturbed at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“We should go back to our beds. This isn’t good for your back.”

Her warmth from beside him disappeared as she gracefully stood up. He took a deep breath, willing the tears away, and took her outstretched hand to help him to his feet. The moment their hands touched, he felt something like an electric current pass through him, and by the quiet gasp she emitted, he was sure she must have felt it too. He looked down at her face, his eyes boring into hers, feeling and conveying an intensity of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in since that fateful medal ceremony. Mikasa simply stared back, the silence between them growing heavier, until he broke it with a soft, “c’mon, then,” and led her outside, never letting go of her hand.

And I fall for her, like snow from the sky Gracefully I land in her arms

They arrived in front of the room Kiyomi had organized for Mikasa. They all had plush, comfortable beds, but when she opened the door and turned on the electric lights, he saw the woman had decided to splurge on Mikasa specifically. Her bed was twice as big as his, and the décor looked both cozy and pricey, not almost bare like his room.

“Eren… would you come in for a second?” She looked down at the floor when she asked the question, shuffling her feet nervously. They still hadn’t let go of each other. Ignoring his, once again, racing heartbeat, he nodded and pulled her inside with him. They both sat on the bed and finally disentangled their hands.

“Eren, I’ve noticed, uhm…” She was nervous, and Eren really couldn’t blame her. He had never been the most pleasant person to have serious conversations with, and judging by her behavior, this was definitely going to be a serious conversation. He mentally steeled himself for all the lies he would probably have to tell her.

“What, Mikasa?” His tone was supposed to be harsh, but it came out soft, almost alluring, and seemed to encourage her to continue.

“I’ve noticed how… depressed you’ve been all day. And then, you asked me those questions and… are you sure you’re okay?”

Inhale slowly. Exhale even more slowly. Dig your nails into your palms until you bleed. Hurt yourself, just don’t hurt her, he reminded himself, because really, all he wanted to do was curl up in her lap and cry about how much he just wanted to stop existing, to find a way to escape all the pressure. He wanted to wail and scream about how unfair everything was. Instead, what he said was, “Of course I’m okay, Mikasa.”

He had never been good at repressing his emotions, but over the last three years, he had learned a lot.

“Why did you ask me those questions, though? It was so… unlike you.” She had started fiddling with her fingers, and he could see her cheeks had turned red again. He didn’t answer as he studied her delicate features, because he had no good one; he thought – hoped, really – the interruption would have been it, and she would pretend it never happened.

Suddenly, she turned her head to look him straight in the eyes, and despite the blush still staining her face, determination shone in those onyx irises. “Were you hoping for a different answer? Because I think you know –“

He hushed her with his lips before she could say anything else. He had no idea what came over him, but with the electric current running down his spine once more, with the gasp she emitted, the way she grasped at his shoulders and with how his hands automatically found the sides of her face, tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, taste her sweetness even more intensely, he couldn’t regret it or overthink it.

Just one more piece of heaven before he had to throw himself into hell. Was that too much to ask?

Mikasa suddenly pulled away, her lips swollen and eyes glazed over. “Eren, what – why – I…”

He put a finger to her mouth. “Just for tonight… can’t we just… be?” His eyes were the clearest green, with specks of blue intermingling, a glimmer of hope he thought he had lost forever reflected in them. Mikasa herself studied him with that special look reserved just for him, making his chest swell, and nodded.

So when he leaned in to kiss her once more, they silently decided talking could wait for the next day. Her hands wandered to his hair, longer than she had ever seen it, and pulled a little. A gasp escaped Eren’s lips and she took the opportunity to slide their tongues together, both of them moaning at the sensation. His fingers flew down to her waist to pull her closer as heat began to pool in his abdomen.

Their tongues danced as they fought for dominance, Mikasa’s intoxicating taste overwhelming Eren’s senses. Her hands wandered down from where they were still entangled in his hair to grapple at the buttons of his jacket, pulling it off his shoulders and throwing it… somewhere, neither of them cared. She caressed up and down his back, feeling the muscle ripple below the fabric of his thin shirt. Eren pulled Mikasa’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it lightly, and when a moan wandered from her mouth into his, another spark ran down his spine. He felt himself growing stiffer by the second, and without even thinking about it, he started playing with the buttons on Mikasa’s soft pink shirt, slowly working his way up as he opened them to reveal more of her skin.

“Eren…” she whispered against his mouth, causing him to pull back. Please don’t reject me now, he prayed silently, I need you so much, although what came out of his mouth was, “sorry, I never – is this okay? We can stop anytime…”

Her grey eyes were hooded, and she was almost on top of him, with how much closer he had pulled her, and she was a beautiful sight to behold, her upper body only clad in the pink shirt that had caught at her elbows and her bra, her chest heaving and her skin already flushed. She shook her head. “No, I…”

Suddenly, she was straddling his waist and pushed him down on the bed, shrugging out of her shirt and letting it fall to the floor behind them. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…” She took his hand, which he only now noticed was trembling, and ran it up her defined abs to her covered breast. Her voice was breathy, but her tone determined, when she continued. “Take me.”

Something inside of Eren snapped. With a growl, he pulled her down on top of him and, arms wrapped tightly around her, flipped them over so he was pressing her into the mattress with his entire weight. Their mouths clashed together, all initial insecurity replaced with hunger as they bit and sucked at each other’s lips, licked into each other’s mouths, exploring every millimeter they could reach. Eren’s clothed hips rutted against hers, and the only coherent thought in his mind was more, he needed more.His lips traveled to her neck, and he bit down experimentally, relishing in the moan Mikasa gifted him with.

“Do that again,” she whined, and he was happy to oblige, suckling and biting and eliciting the same response a few more times. He was painfully hard by now, and he moved on instinct when he made his way down her torso, continuing his ministrations. He pulled one of her breasts out of the confines of her bra, and licked over the pebbled, pink nipple.

“Fuck!” she cried out, her back lifting at the new sensation.

“Oh, you like that?” Eren grinned against her sternum as he made his way over to the other side, but her hand against his head stopped him.

“Wait-“ She forced him back on his knees as she sat up and reached behind her back. Eren was confused for a moment, until she pulled her arms free of the bra straps and let the garment join her shirt and his jacket. He was so busy staring at her beautiful chest, wondering if he should resist or succumb to the urge to bury his face in it, he barely registered when she murmured, “You too,” copying his movements from earlier as she unbuttoned his shirt, although she was doing it considerably faster than him. She stared at his newly exposed skin just as unabashedly as he had been looking at her, an expression of pure want etched onto her face.

The sight made Eren unfreeze from his position, pushing Mikasa to lay back down and letting his fingers graze over the soft mounds, not wasting a lot of time before he let his mouth join in. He squeezed and licked and sucked, alternating between each tit and catching the hard nubs between his teeth. He did his best to ignore the way his cock was throbbing, to ignore how badly he just wanted to bury and lose himself inside the gorgeous woman beneath him, how much he wanted to know which sounds of pleasure he could coax from her beautiful, moaning mouth when she was filled with him. Because more than that, he wanted her to enjoy herself. He couldn’t help feeling that, if he could just watch and listen to her come undone, he wouldn’t mind if he never found his own release.

With that thought, he trekked further south, the tip of his tongue tracing the dip in her abs until he reached the waistband of her skirt. He looked up at her for any sign she was uncomfortable after all, but all she did was smile and nod once more. “I said take me, and I meant it,” she panted, and without further ado, Eren pulled down both her skirt and underwear in one swift motion. He kept his eyes on her face, lest he lose all composure, as he rid himself of his own pants and boxers so there would be no more interruptions, no more barriers to overcome. Only then did he allow his eyes to wander.

The sight of strong, collected Mikasa laid bare in front of him did something to him. It wasn’t even just the way she took in his own naked body with so much desire, pupils dilating when they reached his throbbing length like she was starving for him – the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever seen her this vulnerable, the only one she trusted so much she would give herself over to him without a second thought, made him feel like he was on top of the world. It made his eyes sting, and his own appetite reached new heights. He found himself salivating as he pulled her legs over his shoulders and his head dived down to bury his face in the crease of her inner thigh. He peppered kisses up and down and back up before he became overwhelmed with holding back and let the flat of his tongue run up her slit. Her thighs tensed and she cried out, hands flying into his hair much like earlier, and that was all the encouragement he needed to keep going. He licked back down, to where she was dripping, and hardened the tip of his tongue to thrust it inside, pushing and licking in and out of her, relishing in her taste. Mikasa pulled on his hair as another whine left her lips, and he couldn’t hold back the groan escaping his own throat. His cock was literally aching for some friction, but he was sure he wouldn’t last once he was inside her if he touched himself now, so he ignored the urge to stroke himself. Instead, he moved his lips and tongue up a little to lick and suck on the little bundle of nerves above her entrance and let his fingers join in, circling her before he pushed one in slowly. It slipped in easily, her wet heat wrapped around the digit, and his length twitched between his legs, begging to replace it.

“Eren…!” she gasped, her hips starting to move in time with his finger and tongue. “More, please…”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” he teased breathlessly and added another finger, thrusting them in and out of her while he continued to lick and periodically suck on her clit. Her sweet smell and taste and the way she moaned and dug her nails into his shoulders, her legs clenching around him, was slowly chipping away at any semblance of self-control he was hoping to maintain.

“I’m – ah – not – Eren! Oh my God, Eren, I –“ She cried out, her hips lifting and her grip on his shoulders and around his fingers tightening as all the muscles in her body tensed. Eren continued to lick and finger her through her release, until she slumped back down, and her breathing started to slow. He pulled his fingers out of her and locked eyes with her as he lapped them clean off her juices, watching her flush deepen at the lewd action. He moved his body back up, caging her between his elbows and trapping her beneath him once more, and pushed his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself.

“I assume that was good?” he asked in between kisses.

“Unbelievable, but… I still want more,” she confessed, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. Her calloused hand reached down between them and found his cock, giving it a couple of experimental pumps.

“Don’t,” Eren gasped into her mouth. “I won’t last…”

“That’s okay…” Mikasa started, but Eren didn’t let her finish, ripping her hand off himself and slamming it into the mattress beside her head. He did the same thing with her other hand that sought to replace the touch, and held them there, interlacing their fingers.

“No, it’s not,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. He pressed his forehead against hers, and, with a softer voice, continued, “I want this to be perfect for you.” Their lips locked once again as he rubbed his length over her folds until it caught on her entrance, and he finally pushed inside of her. Green eyes clenched shut at the feeling of Mikasa’s silky warmth enveloping the head of his cock, and her fingers squeezed his hands at the intrusion. She broke their kiss with a drawn-out moan of Eren’s name.

With every ounce of self-restraint that he had left, Eren forced himself to slow down instead of just sinking into her completely in one hard motion, like he so desperately wanted to. He felt the way she sucked him in, inch by inch, to his bones, making him shudder and bury his face in her neck to muffle the pathetic whine he couldn’t hold back. His hips stilled when he finally bottomed out.

“Feels so good,” he choked out. “God, Mika, you’re so tight…”

Mikasa placed a kiss behind his ear and wrapped her legs around his waist. Next thing he knew, she thrust her hips up, making his cock move in her, and making Eren gasp again.

“Fuck me,” she breathed against the shell. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

Something feral awakened in Eren at her words, and much like earlier, he found himself growling as he pulled almost all the way out and thrust himself back in hard. Mikasa cried out and Eren felt her head turn away from him to the other side. “Like that?” he hissed, repeating the motion again and again and pushing her hands and forearms harder into the mattress. He pulled his head up to look at her and their eyes met, hers almost black with desire.

“Yes – yes – make me yours,” she sobbed. He swooped down to catch her lips in a kiss and began fucking into her fast and hard, letting his animalistic side take over. Her soft breasts were crushed against his chest, and he felt her hardened nipples brush against his as he moved inside her wet, silky heat, her walls embracing him like she never wanted to let him go. With every push inside, Mikasa cried out against his open, panting mouth, and he used the sounds he ripped from her throat as fuel to hold on just a little longer, to keep that coil in his abdomen from bursting, knowing that after tonight, he might never get the chance to bring her pleasure ever again. If there had ever been a time to show he had perseverance, he thought, it was now.

Her legs fell from his waist, and Eren took the opportunity to take a hold of the left one and hook it over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, but when he was suddenly even deeper inside Mikasa and the woman positively screamed beneath him at the new angle, he knew it had been a good idea. He hooked her other leg over his other shoulder and let his strokes become long and deep, putting as much force behind them as he could.

“Oh God, Eren, yes! Right there, just like that, yes!”

Mikasa was writhing under him, eyes screwed shut and throwing her head from side to side as a string of her sobs and screams tumbled from her lips, echoing through the room. Her breasts were jiggling with every one of Eren’s thrusts, and her hands flew to his chest, nails digging in and scratching down his torso. Tears started to leak from the corners of her eyes as she forced them open to lock with his. Eren was bathed in sweat by this point, both from the exertion of the act and holding back. Just a tiny bit longer, he told himself, even as the heat in his lower body threatened to burn him up from the inside. He let go of one of her legs and let his thumb rub over the bundle of nerves, slick with the same desire that was coating his length.

“Oh, fuck… Eren – Eren!” Mikasa chanted and suddenly, she became even tighter, her walls clenching around him as she wailed his name over and over, sucking him in even deeper, and the dam inside him burst. He shuddered and his skin broke out in goosebumps. Letting his body fall on top of hers, his hips twitched once, twice as he released himself and painted her insides white with his cum, her name like a prayer on his lips.

Mikasa reached up with a trembling hand to stroke his hair. He turned to face her fully and caught her lips with his own. When they broke apart for air, a smile blossomed on her beautiful face. The brightness of it put the rays of sunshine beginning to permeate through the curtains to shame, and he couldn’t help but return it with his own.

They didn’t exchange any words as they reveled in the aftermath of their lovemaking, nor when they got up to get cleaned up. They remained silent, afraid to break the spell, as they climbed back into bed, Eren wrapping Mikasa up in his arms and drawing random patterns into whatever part of her skin he could reach. Eventually, her breathing slowed down, and Eren thought she had succumbed to the exhaustion, until he heard her whisper “I love you” into his skin so quietly, he wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. And as much as he ached to return the sentiment…

It was easier to pretend he hadn’t.

But I melted away like snow into the ground I told her I've gotta go, I've gotta go

Eren had no idea how he would find the strength to go through with leaving Mikasa behind after last night. She had fallen into a peaceful slumber after their… activities, a flush still on her face and continuing down all the way to her cleavage. Eren, on the other hand, remained restless. He went over everything again in his head – how she had blinked at him lazily, a blissful smile he had never seen from her before curving her mouth upwards, the same mouth that had been singing him praises in the shape of sweet sighs and wanton moans just minutes before, the same mouth from which his name had spilled over and over again in soft cries and literal screams as she came undone beneath him. He pulled her closer, his chest against her back, and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, trying to commit her scent and the feel of her skin against his to his jumbled memory, just in case, but… He couldn’t go.

So now, Eren was hoping against hope that the conference today would go differently from what he had seen. He would not steal away after what Mikasa and he had just shared; how was he supposed to break her heart like that? How would he find the strength to deny both her and himself? How could he accept that he would never have her like this again? Not just her body, but her heart and soul laid bare for him? How could he leave and accept that one day, she might show the same vulnerability to another man? Might gift her heart to someone else? As he stroked over her bare arm, Eren was aware his thoughts were in the very least unfair and selfish, bordering on possessive, and in some ways even sexist, and he would never voice them out loud, but he couldn’t help feeling this way in his weak moments, when his guard was down. Armin was like a brother to him, and he could not stomach the thought of losing him. It was Armin’s dream that inspired him to venture outside the walls in the first place. But Mikasa – no matter what life threw at him, he knew that as long as she was with him, he could survive anything. She was the reason he continued to move forward.

If you want to save Mikasa, and Armin… and everyone else… you have to complete your mission.

The words rang clearly in his ears, like Kruger had just said them to him instead of his father decades ago. It was an unpleasant reminder, and Eren had to restrain himself from yelling back at no one, why me? I just want to be with her. Let me be with her!

Mikasa stirred in his grip and groaned quietly. She jumped slightly at the sight of a tan arm wrapped around her waist, but quickly regained her composure when she remembered what happened last night, and another one of those blissful smiles stretched her cheeks as she turned around in Eren’s strong hold and looked up at him lovingly.

“Good morning,” she whispered and pecked the corner of his mouth. Eren couldn’t hold back the grin blooming on his own face.

“A very good morning indeed.” His hand reached up to stroke over the scar on her cheek, like he could remove the mark if he poured enough love into his touch. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.

“Do you think the others are back yet?” Her fingers traced random patterns against his chest and abdomen. Eren couldn’t suppress the shiver her touch elicited.

“It’s still early, and they were really drunk…” He pushed her on her back and rolled on top of her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as if on autopilot, and her eyes were heavy-lidded not with sleep, but lust. For him, and only him. The thought went both to his head and his hardening length, and he grinded against her. His mouth found her neck, tracing soft kisses up the sensitive area until it reached her ear. “We have time…” he murmured. One of his hands wandered down the expanse of her torso, stopping shortly to squeeze her soft breast and rub at the hardened nub before continuing his trek down south. This time, it was him who coaxed a shiver and a moan from her.

“Eren… Please…” she whined, and the sound sent a pang to his gut. Eren’s long, slender fingers found her folds, already slick with her desire, and he groaned.

“So wet already… Is that what I do to you, princess?” His voice was deep and gravelly. Two of his fingers easily slipped into her, looking for the spot from last night while he rubbed against the swollen nub above her entrance with his palm. Mikasa gasped and started moving her hips in rhythm with his movements. He took in the expression on her face, her furrowed brow, her luscious pink lips slightly open as she panted softly; her cute nose, and the blush spreading over her milky skin; her beautiful eyes, silver with unshed tears…

“More, please…” She begged. “Want you inside me again, please…” Eren’s quip about how he was technically inside her died on his tongue at the desperate look in those glittering irises. It was almost like she knew, he thought as he pulled his fingers out. He felt the same desperation take a hold of him, a different kind of desperation than the hunger they’d already succumbed to. This was about making every second they could steal together count. Just in case, his mind repeated, just in case this was the last time.

His mouth captured hers and he licked at the seam of her lips, begging for entrance, morning breath be damned. Mikasa seemed to think the same thing, tangling her tongue with his in a passionate dance and rutting her hips up against his pelvis in an attempt to get some friction. Never breaking their embrace, she rolled them to their sides, her legs still wrapped around him. Her hand took a hold of his cock and, bringing her hips closer to his, she guided it to her entrance and thrust down until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

They moaned against each other’s mouths, breaking the kiss. Their lips remained touching as they opened their eyes. Eren’s emerald irises locked with Mikasa’s silver ones, and he began to move, thrusting languidly and watching even the tiniest twitch in her facial muscles as a symphony of her moans broke through the silence of the room, accompanied by his own heavy breathing.

Remembering the effect from last night, Eren moved his hand down to the leg he could reach, and hiked it up a little. It seemed to do the trick as Mikasa’s lids screwed shut and she threw her head back with a cry. He took in the way her long, thick eyelashes rested against her cheeks, and his arm wrapped around her back to bring her even closer, crushing her against him. He could feel the goosebumps on her skin, every knob on her spine as he caressed it, her wetness spreading over his pelvis as she rubbed against it with every push. Despite the desperation they both felt, they were unhurried, taking their time to savor each touch. And he committed all to his memory, certain that even after he died, the memories and the feeling of it wouldn’t.

When she came in his arms, it wasn’t with the same screams as last night – this time, she cried out his name softly, her face buried in his neck as she tensed up, her walls milking his own release from him once again, making him groan and shudder in turn before they gradually relaxed in each other’s hold. She leaned in for a short, sweet kiss before they continued to just stare at each other, drinking each other in. His hand came up to stroke her cheek, and she nuzzled into it, giving it a peck, eliciting an adoring smile from the green-eyed man.

Suddenly, they heard voices pass by Mikasa’s room and a knock on her door.

“Mikasa? Are you in there?” It was Hange. Eren hid his face in Mikasa’s neck and groaned quietly, this time out of frustration. Then, he had an idea, and with a smirk, he began to give the skin little kitten licks, making the girl squirm and giggle.

“Yes, Hange,” she called back, trying to sound normal, “but please don’t come in right now, I just got out of the shower and I’m not decent.”

The doorhandle was halfway down already, the door almost creaking open, but at Mikasa’s request, Hange let go and left it closed.

“Alright, just… meet us in the kitchen in 15 minutes, okay?”

“Okay!” Mikasa called back.

“You too, Eren!” With that, they heard Hange’s footsteps retreat.

The pair looked at each other with wide eyes. Maybe 15 minutes would have been enough to enjoy each other’s closeness some more, maybe even go for another round, but with the knowledge that Hange somehow knew, they scrambled up to clean themselves up and get dressed as quickly as possible. Mikasa left a couple of minutes ahead of Eren, so as not to make anyone else suspicious, and when Eren joined the squad a few minutes later, no one seemed to give them any strange looks or made any comments. It seemed like, thankfully, Hange hadn’t told anyone, and they made sure to keep some distance between them so as not to rouse any suspicions. Mikasa sat next to a groaning Sasha for breakfast, who was grabbing her head but still shoving copious amounts food into her mouth, and he sat with Levi and Armin as they went over his security for today’s outing.

When they arrived at the lecture hall later, they still left a couple of spaces between them. As Eren listened to a man’s impassioned speech about Eldian rights, which explicitly excluded him and his “island devil” friends, he was both glad for the distance and felt hollow at the same time.

But somehow, he had always known that the kind of life he wanted for Mikasa and himself, the life she had been dreaming about since they were naïve children, was never meant to be. Maybe that was why he had been dragging his feet and had never confessed to her how he felt. Maybe he wasn’t even supposed to have last night or this morning. But he could use it to strengthen his resolve – because, his strongest and perhaps most selfish desire, was for Mikasa to live a long and happy life, regardless of what role he got to play in it.

And so, he fought the magnetic pull begging him to stay by her side, and quietly left to fulfill the mission he had been given long before he was even born.

It's been a long, long night You said you were mine I felt so bad but I had to go No she never wanted me to leave her behind No she never wanted me to leave her

“I want to share your burden.”

Mikasa’s voice echoed in his head. Even after telling her she was a slave and that he had hated her forever, beating up Armin, not to mention the people he killed in Liberio, Sasha… And now, he was literally trying to kill every living being in the world besides the residents of Paradise.

He thought that maybe, at least that night they had shared, and his subsequent disappearance, might have stirred up some resentment in her. The war wasn’t personal, so he could see how she might be able to justify his actions, but that… had been deeply personal. He had basically taken her heart and stomped on it until it was dust, just like the titans under his control were flattening the earth. He tried to make her believe he had only used her body, and that the only passion he had for her was anger and disgust, his own heart threatening to pound out of its cage with how loudly it was screaming at him for the obvious lie. But her devotion to him… her love for him knew no bounds. It transcended time and space and circumstance. It was the only constant he had left, the only thing that still made sense to his muddled mind. It was as certain as the rise of the moon and the sun and the stars, as the ebb and flow of the sea.

Just as certain as his untimely demise.

Here she was, still offering her unwavering support. She acknowledged all the worst parts of him, all the cruelty and the stench of death, and still loved him. After everything, still, still, all she dreamed of was a quiet, peaceful life by his side, and if she couldn’t get the quiet and peaceful part, she would settle for him simply being there. And although every fiber of his being was screaming at him that he wanted the same, it was too late, and he had to let her go. He had to make her let him go.

But would it be so bad to make her happy one last time before he did? This was literally his last chance to be honest with her. And was it so bad that he wanted to defy his cruel fate and feel happy, be free at least one more time, before he succumbed to it?

Eren looked to the side at the small blonde girl, and she nodded, allowing him to use her powers to give into his selfishness before his final moments.

Suddenly, he was transported back to that night, to their conversation in the dim lights of the refugee camp, and he let them live in the reality of what might have been had her answer been slightly different, had there been no interruptions, had he finally taken her hand and just given in and followed her into her dream.

So long, so long, And we dance around just like constellations We dance around just like constellations We dance around, we dance around, You make my body warm, You make my body warm.