#Arc is Cloud and Tux

[tristomisto]

Moots in the tags below, if you want me to give you your cat vibes and I forgor let me know!

WHAT KINDA CAT ARE YOUR MUTUALS

I REALLY WANNA SIT HERE AMD GO THROUGH TAGGING EVERYONE BUT I HAVE TO GO TO BED NOW SO I’LL DO SO TOMORROW!!!

[yatsurinamikaze]

Swan and Shadow [Sakusa Kiyoomi x Miya!Reader]

Summary: Where the brooding Sakusa Kiyoomi unknowingly falls in love with the Miya sister. What happens next?

Chapter 21 [Masterlist]  - FINAL CHAPTER!

The car is suffocating.

Osamu’s steady hands grip the steering wheel, the background Radio only amplifying the sound of Sakusa’s thoughts crashing inside his mind. Dressed in a tux, every breath he takes feels too shallow, his body tense, unwilling to relax even for a second. He taps his foot against the floor in an anxious, almost frantic rhythm.

Atsumu’s voice breaks through the silence, frustration thick in his words as he dials your number for the umpteenth time. “She won’t pick up. Why the hell is she being like this?”

Sakusa’s hands twitch in his lap, fingers brushing the fabric of his suit. The air feels heavy, suffocating, and he knows he’s spiraling, but his mind is a tangled mess, and his heart—his heart feels like it’s being ripped in two.

Osamu’s calm voice cuts through the tension. “You know it’s performance night. She’s probably busy preparing.”

His leg moves again, restless.

Osamu clears his throat, a slight hesitation in his tone. “Do you have a plan?”

Before Sakusa can speak, Atsumu groans, annoyance evident in every syllable. “Yeah, I have a plan. I’m going to rip Shinjiro one. That moth—”

“I meant Sakusa,” Osamu interrupts, his voice soft but firm.

Atsumu turns around, his eyes on Sakusa, confusion flickering in his gaze. Sakusa looks away, his lips pulling into a tight line. I don’t know. The words stay lodged in his throat, suffocating him. He can’t even bring himself to admit it. He doesn’t know what to do, but he knows one thing—he has to fix this.

The car slows, the venue in sight, the blinding lights and bustling crowd outside signaling the arrival. Osamu parks the car with precision, and the three of them step out. Sakusa moves stiffly, as if his legs are made of stone. The entire world feels like it’s crashing in on him, and he’s just holding on, waiting for something to shift.

He watches you step onto that stage. And for the first time, everything else fades away.

The crowd falls into silence. The air shifts, and suddenly, it’s just you. You’re a vision—graceful, effortless, commanding the room with each step you take. Sakusa stands frozen, watching, captivated, his chest tightening with every fluid movement. He’s seen you perform in videos, in clips, but this? This is magic. This is everything he’s ever imagined and more.

Time slows, a haze clouding his vision as he watches you—every leap, every pirouette, each perfect arc of your body—it all seems to happen in slow motion, like he’s watching a dream unfold before him. His mind blanks out, a trance taking over him, as he realizes something he hadn’t expected: Everyone is watching her.

And for the first time, he understands what it means to be truly lost in someone’s presence. It’s not just him—it’s the entire room. He’s only one of many, but it feels like you’re pulling him deeper, unraveling him.

When the final note of music fades and the applause erupts, Sakusa doesn’t move. He’s rooted to the spot, the world still spinning around him, but in a haze. Up until he came here, he didn’t know what the “plan” was - but after looking at you? He just knows what he needs to do.

Atsumu’s voice pulls him back into reality, nudging him with an elbow. “Let’s go backstage.”

Sakusa’s legs are unsteady, his body still moving on autopilot. He’s not sure if he’s even breathing. As they reach the entrance to the backstage area, security stops them cold. “Sorry, Sir. You don’t have the proper ID.”

Sakusa’s eyes scan the room, his gaze catching on you, at the far end. Only the two of you- you and Shinjiro. His heart stutters, the tension thickening in his chest as Shinjiro approaches you, his hands finding your face. Sakusa feels a sudden rush of anger flood his veins.

“That was really amazing,” Shinjiro says, his voice dripping with feigned admiration as he kisses your forehead. You stand there, your expression distant, cold, and it makes him twitch. His smile starts to falter, his eyes flickering with something dark.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. You remember what you’d promised Kiyoomi, and now it’s time to do this—no more hiding, no more waiting. You told him you would fix this, and so you will. You know this won't be easy, but it has to happen.

You watch Shinjiro turn, but before he can walk away, your voice slices through the silence. “Shinjiro.”

You hold your ground, your voice unwavering. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Shinjiro jerks around to face you, his expression twisting into something ugly, something almost unrecognizable. “What?” His voice cracks slightly, but his eyes—the madness begins to show in them. His lips tremble as he stares at you, but he refuses to look away.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you repeat, this time firmer, letting the weight of the decision settle between you.

The words seem to push Shinjiro over the edge. His eyes widen, not in shock, but in something darker—something primal. A chuckle, shaky at first, slips from his mouth, but it’s not a laugh. It’s desperate, jagged. “You think you can just walk away? You think you can end this like it means nothing?” His hands ball into fists, his body vibrating with rage.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s right in front of you, his breath shallow and rapid. “You’re nothing without me. Do you hear me? NOTHING! You—” His voice shakes with the kind of anger that’s no longer grounded in reality. His eyes dart around, unfocused, like he’s losing touch with everything. “You can't do this. You won’t do this.”

His words become a torrent, a broken stream of threats. “I’ll make sure you regret this. I’ll ruin everything you have. I’ll—” His hands tremble violently as he points at you, like he’s trying to control something much larger than himself.

Before you can even process the words, Shinjiro’s face turns a shade darker—eyes wide, pupils dilated. In a flash, his hands are around your throat, gripping too tightly, too fast, like the last threads of his sanity are unraveling with each breath he takes.

“I will end you!” His voice cracks as he spits the words, a manic edge creeping in. His grip tightens, and the look in his eyes—wild, unfocused—tells you that he's no longer fully present, that he's lost himself completely.

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic seizing you as you struggle to pry his hands from your throat, but his insane grip only tightens, pushing you further into the wall. “You can’t escape,” he mutters, his voice now barely a rasp, as if he's talking to himself more than you. “I won’t let you.”

Your eyes widen in panic, and you hurriedly try to pry his hands away from your throat- albeit failing at this.

Rage explodes in Sakusa’s chest, his body moving before his mind can catch up. He pushes past Atsumu and Osamu, his eyes locked on you.

But the guard gets in the way again. No.

Atsumu and Osamu look in the direction where Sakusa was looking, they immediately exchange a quick, tense look and suddenly, Atsumu tackles the security guard, shouting, “Go, go, go!” They rush forward, fury driving them.

And then, everything shifts. As you desperately try to get some air in your lungs, you scratch at shinjiro’s hand. “Leav-ngh me-uh”, you try to voice, constrained. A voice cuts through the air, “Get your hands off my sister.” Shinjiro turns his head towards Osamu, Shinjiro’s hand loosening its grip on your throat.

You’ve never seen Osamu like this. Growing up, you always thought Atsumu was the one with the short fuse. But now? You’ve never seen him so calm in the face of violence. It almost seems deadly. Osamu peels Shinjiro off of you with a strength you didn’t know he had. His expression is pure rage, and it takes you a moment to realize—this is his fury, his protection.

Sakusa is immediately standing in front of you, shielding you with his body, his hand gripping yours, pulling you behind him. His chest rises and falls with each breath, the storm in his eyes visible for anyone to see.

Osamu holds Shinjiro by the collar, his face deadly calm, and he punches him—hard. The crack of Shinjiro’s nose breaking is sickening. “If you ever” he lands another punch, “touch my sister again,” another punch, “I will fucking kill you.”

And then another punch lands.

Atsumu rushes in at this point and steps in, his voice laced with concern, “Hey, you’ll kill him.”

Osamu pauses, his fist hovering in the air, but he doesn’t look at Atsumu. He lands the final punch, and Shinjiro stumbles back, falling to the ground- his phone falling out of his other hand. Atsumu immediately stomps on it, the screen cracking beneath his boot.

Sakusa turns around to look at you.

You’re shaking, breathless. He towers over you, his expression full of concern. “Are you... okay?” His voice is low, almost hesitant.

He puts his hand gently on your shoulders, “Did he hurt you?” 

You try to calm your breathing, but it’s not helping. You look up at him, his face, his presence, it’s everything you need right now, and it’s all you see. Your eyes are on his, everything else is a blur. You gently shake your head.

Sakusa studies your expression, giving you a moment. He waits for sometime, and then finally says, “I’m here.” He holds your face gently between his hands, afraid he will break you, “I'm here for you.”

You look at him, your breath shallow. “You’re... here for me?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He nods, his fingers gentle against your skin. “For you,” he breathes, his voice full of desperate longing.

You nod, closing your eyes for a brief moment, calming yourself. The world doesn’t seem so chaotic anymore.

You whisper, just barely audible, “Kiss me, Kiyoomi.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He kisses you soft and slow - gentler than the breeze. A promise that everything is going to be okay.

As the kiss ends, Atsumu coughs loudly from behind them, “We’ll... leave the two of you to talk things out.”

Shinjiro gets up, holding his nose, “You are all insane! You will be hearing from my lawyers!!”

Osamu and Atsumu ignore him and turn to leave, and you walk with Sakusa toward the back exit, the door closing softly behind you.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

There will be a tiny concluding epilogue!

[sassyhobbits]

everything i wanted (ONS oneshot)

here it is! the promised celebratory One Night Standards oneshot! I hope you all enjoy this. I know I had a fun time writing it! thank you all for the love and support for this story, also with your patience since i havent been able to get out as much writing as i would like like recently! <3

masterlist

~~~

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius had never known that joy could come in the form of a person until she welcomed her daughter into the world.

Eliora was a new bright light in both Aelin and Rowan’s life, who brought them new levels of happiness with each passing day. Aelin couldn’t have been more blessed with her daughter. Eliora was a jubilant child, with wide, curious eyes that matched her mother’s and a sweet, gummy smile she flashed from time to time that made both of her parents positively melt.

Most importantly, Eliora was healthy. Although Aelin’s pregnancy had been rather easy, the birth was less so. It was something Aelin had prepared herself for, knowing her own mother had a difficult time giving birth as well. So, when Eliora was born perfectly healthy and Aelin healed from the tumultuous birthing process, both she and Rowan knew that some of the gods had been looking out for them.

That had been four months ago. Four months of raising their daughter, of getting used to being parents, no matter how exhausting it could be. Aelin wouldn’t change it for the world.

Aelin smiled down at her daughter as she wiggled on the bed below her, sticking a tiny fist into her mouth. She was getting her changed into a pale-blue dress that Lysandra had found and insisted it would look wonderful on Eliora. Aelin wasn’t even surprised that her friend had taken to styling her baby as well as the princess.

“Don’t you look so beautiful?” Aelin cooed, pinching Eliora’s little feet, making her flash a wide, toothless smile. Aelin laughed before grabbing a bow that matched her daughter’s dress, slipping in over her silvery-blonde hair that was getting thicker by the day. She looked positively adorable, perfect for the day.

The day of Lorcan and Elide’s wedding.

Aelin was so incredibly happy for Elide, that she had found love. Although Aelin and Lorcan had gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, once Aelin realized how much he truly cared for Elide, things had gotten easier between them.

And now they would be married.

Aelin had already prepared herself for the day, wearing a silky, pale-pink midi-dress that Lysandra had sent her way and a pair of sensible, strappy heels. She didn’t bother to do much with her hair, knowing the Eliora often managed to grab handfuls of it whenever it was in reach. Any efforts would have been quickly undone.

“Are you two nearly ready?” Rowan called from the conjoining sitting room, a good-natured sort of exasperation in his tone.

“Having a hot wife takes time, Rowan,” Aelin hollered back. “I wouldn’t be complaining if I was you.”

Although she couldn’t see him, Aelin could picture him scoffing out a tiny laugh and shaking his head. He wouldn’t want to be amused, but he would be anyway.

She heard footfalls coming her way, and soon enough Rowan walked through the threshold. Instantly, a bright smile lit his face, as it always did when he saw the two of them together.

“You look beautiful, Fireheart,” he said, coming to her side and pressing a quick kiss to her temple, a broad hand resting on the dip of her waist. He looked down at Eliora, and his face softened even further. “You both look beautiful.”

“I can’t get over how perfect she is,” Aelin commented, squeezing her daughter’s chubby thighs. “Every day, it just blows me away.”

“Me too.”

They stood there for a few moments, gazing down at their daughter as she looked wide-eyed up at the two of them. Aelin felt as though she could watch her for hours. But, she didn’t have the time for that today.

“I suppose we should get going,” Rowan sighed. “I think it would be bad form if we were late.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Rowan leaned down and scooped Eliora into his arms. Aelin always loved the sight of her massive husband holding their tiny daughter. The first time he had held her, she had promptly broken into tears. Even now, seeing her family, always had her on the verge of crying once again.

But, she controlled herself. She didn’t want to ruin her makeup before the wedding.

The ceremony was being held at the palace out in the gardens. It was a perfect day for an outdoor wedding. The mid-spring air was warm and pleasant, the sky a brilliant blue with a few fat clouds floating across lethargically. The air smelled heavily of the sweet flowers blooming from every corner of the palace’s expansive gardens.

The wedding wasn’t a huge affair, kept mostly to friends and family. There were a few rows of white seats lined up before the altar that was situated beneath an arc of white roses. Some of the seats were already filled up. Aelin said hello to Elide’s parents. Her mother, Marion, apparently hadn’t been able to stop crying all day. Elide’s father, Cal, had been doing his best to console her throughout the morning, though Aelin could tell he was getting a little misty-eyed as well.

She and Rowan went towards their seats near the front, finding some of their companions already there. Lysandra’s face lit up in a comically large grin once she laid eyes on Eliora in Rowan’s arms, immediately standing and reaching out to take her. Lysandra’s own baby bump was just beginning to show, nothing more than a tiny swell under her green dress. Lysandra and Aedion had taken to commandeering Eliora from time to time, saying they wanted to give Rowan and Aelin some alone time. Aelin knew her cousin and his wife honestly just wanted some extra practice with babies before their own came.

“How are you, sweet girl?” Lysandra cooed, taking Eliora from Rowan and bouncing her on her hip. “Don’t you look so beautiful in the dress Auntie Lys got you?”

“She is the cutest baby in the world, isn’t she?” Aelin agreed, leaning into Rowan’s side.

“For now, at least.” Aedion shrugged before kissing the top of Eliora’s silver head and placing a hand on Lysandra’s stomach.  “At least until my kid gets her.”

Aelin gaped at her cousin. “Shut your traitorous mouth!”

Fenrys then arrived, clapping Rowan’s shoulder in greeting. He looked as if he were about to strike up a conversation before he laid eyes on Eliora being bounced in Lysandra’s arms. His attention was then instantly diverted. Aelin’s daughter was always quite popular when she was in a crowd.

Rowan’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, tucking her into his side. Aelin’s heart was full as she watched her friends and her daughters, took in their laughs and their smiles. What a wonderful family she had amassed in these years.

“What are you thinking about, Fireheart?” Rowan murmured.

“Just… how lucky we are to have all of this. How much I love them all… and love you.”

He smiled before leaning down and pressing a long, lingering kiss to her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love you too.”

Aelin would have liked to linger in the moment a bit longer, but they were interrupted by Fenrys’ obnoxiously loud laughter. He had managed to steal Eliora from Lysandra and slip his sunglasses on to her tiny face.

“Check out how cool she looks!” Fenrys announced with a bright laugh.

“Oh, no,” Aelin muttered, shaking her head. She quickly strode towards Fenrys, taking the sunglasses off of Eliora’s head and shoving them back over the lord’s eyes. “Get those tacky things off my daughter’s perfect face!” The princess took Eliora back firmly into her arms, the toddler releasing a stream of nonsense baby-babble, to which Aelin nodded seriously. “You’re right, sweet girl. Those frames are so last season.”

Fenrys gawked in offence, head swiveling towards those around them. “They are not last season! Rowan, tell her they’re not last season!”

Rowan didn’t even bother to respond, looking towards his friend dryly. Once Fenrys realized he wouldn’t be getting any support from the prince, he looked towards Lysandra and Aedion for backup. But, Lysandra could only shrug apologetically.

“Sorry, Fen. They are last season.”

Fenrys continued to sputter in protest while everyone else began to drift to their seats, the beginning of the ceremony nearing.

Aelin took a seat between Rowan and Lysandra, holding Eliora, who was taking in the sights around her, on her lap. The band settled into their position, taking their instruments from their cases. Aelin was more than excited to see Elide. She and Lysandra had helped her pick out her gown, but the effect of seeing her now, with her hair and make-up and veil, was sure to make Aelin cry.

“I can’t believe they’re getting married,” Aelin remarked.

Lysandra snorted softly. “I can’t believe Lorcan is taking Elide’s last name.”

“Hm… Lord Lorcan Lochan. It had a nice ring to it, right?”

They giggled amongst themselves, but their laughter faded once a towering figure appeared on the altar, followed by a heavily robed priestess. Aelin had to admit that Lorcan Salvaterre cleaned up well. His tux was cut to him perfectly, long, black hair shining as it fell down his back. The most striking difference was the lack of the scowl on his face.

“Did I look this nervous on our wedding day?” Rowan murmured into Aelin’s ear.

“Which one?” she asked absentmindedly, straightening the bow on Eliora’s head. “Our first one, worse. I could have sworn you were about to piss yourself.”

“And whose fault was that?”

“Your meddling cousins that didn’t give me time to respond after you decided to confess your love out of the blue on the night before the wedding.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

Eventually, Eliora appeared to grow tired of the view from Aelin’s lap, reaching out towards Rowan. Aelin handed her daughter to Rowan, who was very content to be held up against his chest. She was a true daddy’s girl and had Rowan wrapped around her little finger.

A few more minutes passed before a hush fell over the crowd and the musicians began to play. It was a serene, lilting song, and old Terrasenian lullaby. Aelin’s mother had sung it to her in her youth and now she sang it to her own daughter.

The crowd rose to their feet, looking down the aisle. Aelin already had a too-wide grin on her face, throat clogged up with tears she was trying to keep at bay. Rowan, ever the observant one, noticed and shifted Eliora into his left arm, freeing his other hand to hold Aelin’s tightly. She dared a glance at the altar, finding a surprising amount of emotion displayed on Lorcan’s face. He looked so, so happy, and so very in love. Aelin couldn’t imagine a better person for Elide. She knew Lorcan would love her until his last breath, would use every day in his life to make sure that Elide was happy and content.

Aelin looked back down the aisle just in time to catch the first glimpse of Elide.

She was a breathtaking bride. Elide wore a stunning gown with flowing, gossamer skirts and a bodice covered in delicate, lace flowers. The sleeves were long and gauzy, drooping from her pale shoulders and swaying in the spring breeze. Her hair was twisted up in an elegant coronet, white flowers tangled within her dark locks. Her veil drifted behind her, trailing her by a few feet. The tears sprung from Aelin’s eyes not long after that.

Elide's dark eyes, gleaming with unshed tears, were pinned on Lorcan. Aelin knew the grin she wore was solely for the man waiting for her at the altar.

Elide stepped closer to where Rowan and Aelin stood. The bride took her attention off her future husband for one moment to look towards her princess. Aelin only beamed through her tears, mouthing I love you.

Elide mouthed it back before her gaze caught on Eliora is Rowan’s arms, sending the baby a wide smile. Eliora took a break from sticking her tiny fist in her mouth to send a little smile of her own back.

Elide looked back down the aisle, back towards Lorcan and her future, and she did not falter.

The crowd all lowered themselves into their seats as Elide came to a stop before Lorcan.

Aelin rested her head against Rowan’s shoulder as the priestess began to speak, uttering ancient words that had been tying people together in Terrasen for centuries. She simply couldn’t get over how happy, how deeply in love, Lorcan and Elide were. Aelin was fairly certain the two were barely listening to the priestess, too absorbed in one another to be bothered with the rest of the world at the moment.

The time came for them to read their vows. They reached out, taking one another’s hands firmly. Elide went first. Even from where Aelin sat, she could see her friend swallow hard, no doubt trying to stop herself from crying.

“Lorcan,” Elide began, voice a bit wobbly with emotion. “I’ve never known how happy I could be until I met you. Everyday, you manage to show me new levels of bliss. Marrying you is a blessing I once hadn’t even known I needed. Now, I know I wouldn’t give you up, what we have, for the world. I love you with everything I am, Lorcan Salvaterre.”

Aelin swiped at the tears dribbling down her cheeks, Rowan wrapping his arm over her shoulder and tugging her closer to his body.

It seemed Lorcan needed a few moments to compose himself after Elide’s speech, chin tucked to his chest. He sucked down one more deep breath before facing the woman before him once more, dark brown eyes glimmering.

“Elide Lochan, you’re the love of my life,” he began. Aelin could tell how hard he was working to control his voice. “I truly don’t know what I did to deserve you. You are the brightest light in my life, the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me. I thank whatever god took pity on my miserable ass and let me walk into your life. I promise to do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman on the planet, to love and cherish you for the rest of my life. You… gods, I love you so much Elide.”

Aelin’s heart melted as she listened to Lorcan’s vows, eyes flickering up to Rowan. Even her normally stoic husband had misty eyes.

The priestess looked back and forth from Elide to Lorcan, a serene smile on her wrinkled face. She finished the ceremony, speaking the same words that had bound Rowan and Aelin three years ago.

“I’m honored to announce,” the priestess said grandly, “that under the eyes of the gods and of Terrasen, this man and woman are now wed!”

With that, Lorcan took Elide’s face into his hands and kissed her soundly. The cheers and applause erupted from the crowd, everyone rising to their feet once more for the newly-weds. Lorcan seemed reluctant to stop kissing his new wife, but he eventually pulled back and they faced their audience.

Aelin couldn’t be more excited to see where life would take the both of them.

…

The celebration following was still held in the gardens, no one wanting to put such a beautiful day to waste. They ate and drank and were happy, celebrating all the love that was in everyones’ lives.

As the day wore on, some people left, leaving only the closest of Aelin’s friends and family behind. They were scattered around a few tables, finishing off drinks and snacks as the sun began to set below the horizon.

Aelin was enjoying some girl time, finally finding some time alone with Elide and Lysandra. The boys were all sitting around together, drinking beers and entertaining Eliora.

Lysandra leaned back in her seat, absent-mindedly stroking the swell of her stomach. “I can’t believe we’re all married now.”

“All of us except for Fenrys,” Elide pointed out.

Aelin shrugged. “He’ll be hitched soon enough. He and Ress have been dating for like, four months now. They really like each other.” It was true. Everyone could tell they were already ridiculously in love with one another. Aelin was ecstatic to see two of her friends so happy with one another. They were so cute it was sickening. “I can’t believe we’re going to have another baby around here soon!”

Lysandra hummed and looked fondly at the little life growing inside of her. “It’s going to be hectic, but I’m so excited. I don’t know what all these boys are going to do with two babies to spoil.”

As one, all three of them looked towards where the boys were. Eliora has been passed from Aedion to Lorcan. He held the babe at his eye level, his normally grumpiness nowhere in sight, even as Eliora dragged her sticky hands down his face. He could only smile.

“Oh, gods,” Elide squeaked, face quickly screwing up as she began to cry.

“Elide, honey, what is it?” Lysandra asked, placing a hand on Elide’s thigh. “I know it’s so cute to see the boys with babies, and I certainly cried the first time Aedion held Eliora, but you’ve seen her and Lorcan together plenty of times and have never cried.”

“Oh, it’s just these damned hormones,” Elide sighed.

Aelin blinked, looking at her friend quizzically. She slowly raised a brow. “Hormones?”

Elide’s eyes flickered back and forth between Aelin and Lysandra, nibbling at her bottom lip for a few moments before she conceded. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?!”

“Sh!” Elide hissed, casting a quick glance towards the boys, but none of them had noted the outburst. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“How long have you known?”

Elide smiled sheepishly. “Two days.”

“Oh, Ellie, you couldn’t have waited until today to find out?” Aelin asked melodramatically. “Now this was a shotgun wedding!”

The girls burst out in laughter, Elide’s wiping away the tears that had escaped from her eyes. She looked towards Lorcan once more.

“I just don’t know how to tell him!”

“There is no how,” Lysandra said. “Just tell him! Gods, go right now!”

“Really?”

“Yes!” cried Aelin and Lysandra in unison, making Elide laugh some more.

Elide sucked down a deep breath, but on a brave face, and pushed to her feet, eyes locked on her new husband. She gave a firm nod. “Alright. I’m going to tell him.”

Aelin and Lysandra clapped and cheered quietly as Elide strode purposefully over to Lorcan. She placed a soft hand on her husband's arm, muttering something to him that Aelin couldn’t hear from where she was sitting. Lorcan nodded, handing Eliora back over to Rowan, whose head immediately whipped towards Aelin as if to say, What did you two do?

Aelin only held her hands up in defense. Not my fault.

Aelin and Lysandra waited until Elide and led Lorcan a respectful distance away before making their way over to their husbands. They looked towards them in question.

“What’s happening?” Aedion asked.

“Elide’s telling Lorcan she's pregnant.”

“Elide’s pregnant?!” Fenrys gasped. “Shotgun wedding!”

"That's what I said!"

"Shh! You're being too loud!"

They quieted down, watching as Elide and Lorcan conversed. They saw Elide take Lorcan’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze before she rested it over the bodice of her gown, on her stomach. Lorcan blinked once, and Aelin saw him mouth, Pregnant? To which Elide nodded.

Lorcan beamed, sweeping Elide up in his arms and twirling her around. Everyone heard her bright laughter and she threw her arms over Lorcan’s shoulders and kissed him deeply.

Aelin joined with their other friends in clapping and cheering for the couple once again. Lorcan eventually put Elide back down on her feet, the pair looking towards the crowd with too-wide grins on their faces. Instantly, some of them headed over towards where the newlyweds stood to congratulate them properly, but Aelin hung back with Rowan.

“Three babies in the palace at once…” Rowan breathed heavily. “We’ll certainly never be bored.”

“Certainly not,” Aelin agreed, looking at Eliora in her husband’s arms, who released a mighty yawn. It seemed the day had thoroughly worn her out. Aelin stood on her toes, pressing a kiss to Rowan’s lips before doing the same to Eliora’s forehead. Her daughter looked to her with wide, sleepy eyes. “You're going to have so many new friends soon!”

Aelin looked over to her companions, watching as they all laughed and smiled and embraced. There was a warm fondness in her heart as she took in the sight.

Aelin took Eliora into her own arms, holding her against her chest. She kissed her daughter’s cheek again, simply because she could, before smiling. “You’re going to have such a wonderful family, too.”

[keenangelfox]

Linux is a family of open-source Unix-like operating systems based on the Linux kernel,an operating system kernel first released on September 17, 1991, by Linus Torvalds. Linux is typically packaged in a Linux distribution.

[Tux the penguin, mascot of Linux.]

Developer: Community, Linus Torvalds.

Written in: C, Assembly language

OS family: Unix-like, Working state.

Current Source model: Open source, Initial release September 17, 1991; 29 years ago.

Marketing target: Cloud computing, embedded devices, mainframe computers, mobile devices, personal computers, servers, supercomputers.

Available in: Multilingual.

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[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (29) Succumbing

Man, I hate writing fight scenes.

Sorry this is late. Blame my boss for making me work on Christmas. :)

Ao3 | FF.net

—

It neared midnight when the team finally tracked down the akumas. The rain persisted as a drizzle, enough to cast the lights in a haze. A news crew had spotted them on the Arc de Triomphe, and broadcasted the scene as an update, both from a van from below and a helicopter circling overhead.

The crowd of spectators that gathered at the base of the Arc was alarming.

Rena wanted to shout at them to run. Didn’t they know the akuma were the most dangerous they’d ever had? But she stayed quiet, just as Hawkmoth had instructed. They waited on a nearby rooftop, watching from the distance, and the newscast on Carapaces’ screen.

“It is unknown what the goal of the akuma is at this time, but it seems that they are planning to hang something from the Arc.”

Indeed, it seemed that way, as Lady Lacrima continued to summon long steel cables with hooks at the end. She slid down them, and checked to make sure each was equal in length.

“What is she doing?” Carapace asked quietly.

“Look!” Queen Bee pointed on top of the Arc. “Adrien’s up there.”

“He’s got something. I can’t tell what.”

“I’m almost afraid to find out.” Said Hawkmoth. “There’s not going to be any way for us to get up there but to climb the stairs.”

“Or we can lure them over here…” Suggested Rena Rouge. “Let’s just see what they’re doing. Then we’ll make our move.”

“Um…” Started Chloe.

“What’s up?”

“I was just thinking…Alya, maybe you should stay back here while the rest of us go up.”

“What?! Why?!”

“I was just thinking about the last time I saw them in person, back before this whole thing. And then I remembered the stupid trick that Lila pulled.”

Rena frowned at that. “Yeah, and?”

“Well, you took Lila’s side. I mean, I did too, but I wasn’t friends with Marinette.”

“I-!! It was a mistake, Chloe! You don’t think I’ve learned my lesson!?”

Chloe scoffed with a roll of her eyes, exasperated. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying…Marinette doesn’t know how much work you’ve put into trying to save her. To her…you’re still a traitor. She’s likely to go for the kill.”

“I gotcha,” said Carapace. “I’ve got my shield, and Chloe’s got her top to swing away, and Hawkmoth has a sword. Rena, you’ve just got your flute. You’re the least protected.”

Rena frowned, seeing reason, but not particularly liking it.

“She’s terrifying.” Chloe continued. “She wouldn’t listen to a word I said. Neither would Adrien.”

“Strategically speaking,” added Hawkmoth. “It would be better if Rena stayed back so she could cover our retreat if something goes awry. But she won’t be able to do that unless she has her flute. Grimalkin’s cataclysm can damage our weapons.”

Rena sighed loudly. “Then I don’t see how this is going to work. If neither of them will listen, and Adrien can blow up our weapons, what do we do?”

“They didn’t listen to Chloe,” said Hawkmoth. “But I’m the one that gave them the akuma.”

“And I took Adrien’s side in the argument, so we’re good,” Carapace added. “Between the two of us, we might be able to talk them down.”    

“Are we even sure they have the Miraculous on them?”

“Even as an akuma, I can’t imagine Marinette would leave her Miraculous behind. I believe Grimalkin’s suit is almost the same as his Chat Noir costume. He should have pockets.”

“Okay,” began Nino. “If we have to...I can pin Marinette down with my shield, while Chloe freezes Adrien with her venom. It’s not going to be easy, but I need some sort of plan before we go in. I’m not good at winging it.”

“Sounds as good of a plan as any.”

“Looks like they’re ready.” Rena pointed as the group watched as Lady Lacrima pulled all the cables back up. And then Grimalkin got to work doing something while she lowered herself down on a lip of the Arc.

“We need to get over there.” Hawkmoth spoke softly. “Stick to the shadows and make your way up top. Adrien might be watching the stairs, so step lightly.”

The team departed, while Rena remained back, not liking the situation one bit.

“Paris!” Lady Lacrima shouted, her voice echoing over all the traffic and thousands of voices.

It seemed like the world stood still to hear what she had to say.

“I’m disappointed in you.” She began. That hurt more than it should have. The hero that everyone adored, respected, disappointed with them?

“Do we mean nothing to you? Are we just trophies for you to show off to the world? ‘Here! Look at our wonderful heroes! They can do anything!’” She threw her arms open in a wide gesture. “‘Ladybug and Chat Noir will handle everything! We don’t need to do anything for them! They’ll save themselves!’” Her voice wobbled with anger. “Well, we did. We saved ourselves, with a little help from the person we were fighting against the whole time! It seems that we had the wrong enemy! The man that creates distracting little minions that turn people into Ice Cream should have been the biggest problem with this city! But he’s not!”

With a wave of her hand, Grimalkin heaved their project over the edge of the Arc, a cacophony of screams bursting forth at the reveal.

Bodies.

Eight bloody, mangled bodies, all hanging in an array of deranged marionette dolls. In the middle, a huge business man in a blood-soaked white tux.

“It’s the parasites of the underbelly!” Lady Lacrima continued. “This city is controlled by the likes of men who consider themselves Gods! They know the worst of the worst, every dark detail that you try to bury! They feed off the cowardice of the feckless elite, pulling the strings and rewriting the rules! You were never safe! You never knew how awful it was!

“Many years ago, I made a promise that Chat and I would keep you safe.” Lady Lacrima continued. “But Ladybug failed. She couldn’t even stop Hawkmoth. So that is why I, Lady Lacrima, and Grimalkin have stepped up and did what no one else in this goddamn city had the brains to do! End things permanently!”

Someone wailed from below.

“Let this be a warning to anyone who thinks they can cross us. We offer no trial, we cannot hear begging. God has turned his face away from Paris, for he cannot bare to witness the Justice we demand!” She inhaled, trembling. Her voice was so raw and broken. “I’m tired!” She spat. “Tired of holding this city up on my shoulders! Tired of lying, of making flimsy excuses! Tired of having to do everything myself! I’m tired of being an object of affection instead of a human with emotions! I'm tired of pretending like everything is okay, that life just moves on, when the fact of the matter is, I can't. I'm done with this place. I'm done with entertaining the Pharisees and playing nice! I’m tired!”

“Then you should rest,” a man’s voice cut in.

Lady Lacrima leapt back up to the top of the arc to find Grimalkin glaring down their intruder.

Hawkmoth stood just at the other end by the stairs. He appeared alone, as Carapace and Queen Bee stood just out of sight. He rested his weight on his cane, and tried to play the role of a non-threatening business partner.

Neither of the Akuma bought it, as they both poised to strike, if anything went awry.

“What do you want?” Lady Lacrima asked, a bite in her tone.

“Just to talk.”

She said nothing, allowing him to elaborate.  

“Well, for one thing, I will be needing those akuma’s back, you know. I can’t make any more. And having them in use is exhausting me.”

“You’ll get them back in time, Hawkmoth. But we have work to be done.”

“I can see that.” He looked pointedly at the cables hanging over the edge. “I’m just worried about you.”

“Worried?” She scoffed. “Since when have you ever been worried about us?”

Hawkmoth sighed. “I know. I know I don’t have a right to be concerned, after all I did. But I am. Even more so now. This isn’t like you both. You’re good, and just.”

“We were good!” Lady Lacrima corrected, harshly. “But Salo took that away from us!”

Hawkmoth raised his hand and spoke softly. “You still are good. The akuma are just clouding your judgement right now. Just…give me the Miraculous, and we can fix all of this. Okay?”

Lady Lacrima shrieked at him, her voice breaking with the passion. “You don’t want to help us! You’re a liar!”

“Marinette—“

She gripped the side of her head as she continued wailing, then she hit herself in the temples over and over.

“Stop that!” Hawkmoth demanded.

“Stay away from us!”

“Just listen to me!”

Grimalkin, who had be semi-willing to hear Hawkmoth out, growled instead and ran at him, claws out.

Hawkmoth defended himself by drawing his sword. “Plan B!” He shouted.

Carapace then leapt from the stairwell and ran at Grimalkin, colliding his shield with his shoulder. “Sorry dude!”

Grimalkin was knocked off balance and rolled across the ground, and back onto his feet.

Carapace attempted to make a run at Lady Lacrima, to execute his plan, but Grimalkin was already on him again, and snagged him by the hood.

Okay, changing plans. Carapace thought, whirling around to hit Grimalkin with his shield. Once we do Miraculous Cure, this should fix anything I do to hurt him… Still, it was painful to hit his best friend.

Meanwhile, Hawkmoth had darted around to go for Lady Lacrima, as Queen Bee attacked from the rear. Lady Lacrima took her whip with one hand and summoned a shield in the other. She threw the shield up to block Hawkmoth’s incoming swing, and used the whip to snag Queen Bee by the ankle, and pull her to the ground.

“You’re with them!?” she shouted at Hawkmoth, accusingly. “I thought you wanted to help us! But you—you just want to make us disappear! Erase the failures!”

Queen Bee had regained her footing, only to be bashed by the shield and sent sprawling again. Lady Lacrima focused her efforts on Hawkmoth, deflecting his blows and attempting to disarm him by snapping the whip at his hand.

“We’re all trying to help you, Marinette!” Hawkmoth shouted at her. “There’s no one against you!”

“That’s not my name!” She shrieked, as more black lines drew under her mask. “That’s not my name! Marinette was a coward and a liar! She couldn’t even find the nerve to talk to the boy she loved! I don’t want to be her anymore!”

“Marinette is wonderful!” Hawkmoth argued right back, “she’s smart, and creative, and kind! Why wouldn’t you want to be her!?”

Lady Lacrima heard Queen Bee’s exclamation of “venom!” from behind her.

Faster than Hawkmoth could comprehend, she snapped her whip out to grab his wrist, and yanked him right into her shield, stunning him. Then she dismissed the shield and turned around.  

Queen Bee was almost about to sting her, and Lady Lacrima only had to redirect her forward momentum onwards, right into Hawkmoth.

He froze, stung by the venom, and Queen Bee was all alone in the fight, and only had five minutes left.

Carapace hadn’t faired much better with Grimalkin. Each swipe of the claws against the shield sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and made his skin crawl.

The worst part of it all was that Adrien was just not speaking at all. He snarled and growled and frothed from the mouth. But no matter how hard he tried, Carapace could not get a word from his best friend.

“Come on dude! We don’t have to fight! You need help! Please!”

But Grimalkin grew tired of all of his attacks being blocked. He brought his hand back and clenched it into a fist, pulsating with energy.

Carapace watched in horror as his shield disintegrated in his hand. With only one trick left up his sleeve, he called “Shell—“ before being body slammed in the ground.

Grimalkin ripped the bracelet off his arm and flung it away from him.

“Adrien!” Nino shouted in fear.

As Grimalkin stared back at him, the narrow slits in his eyes dilating until his eyes were mostly black. His ears laid flat on his head, and he backed away shamefully.

“Hey, hey dude…come on man…you didn’t know.”

Grimalkin started crying, a sensation that was not familiar to his akumatized form.

“I’m not mad, I promise. It’s going to be alright…just hand over the Miraculous and we’ll get you to a hospital, okay?”

Grimalkin let out at mournful wail, and continued to back away.

Rena Rouge watched the fight, biting her nails. Once Hawkmoth was frozen, she prepared her flute for the worst.

Then Nino’s transformation went out, and she jumped into action. The illusion would either cause Lady Lacrima and Grimalkin to flee, or allow her teammates to escape.

Lady Lacrima stood, one foot pressing on Hawkmoth’s chest. “You never deserved that Miraculous,” she said to Queen Bee. “You don’t know how to use it, and even your best attempts end in failure. Why do you think I never called on you for help?”

“You said you were trying to keep me safe, because Hawkmoth knew my identity…”

“It’s a lot nicer than calling you a failure and an embarrassment, hmm?”

If Chloe was going to respond to that, she didn’t get the chance. Ryuko and Viperion stepped in between them, protecting Queen Bee.

Lady Lacrima let out a gasp of horror as she glanced around the arc.

King Monkey, Pegasus, Mayura, and Bunnyx had all appeared as backup.

Lady Lacrima panicked, but only for a moment, because of one key detail. That being that Rena Rouge was not among the group. She looked over to see Grimalkin standing awkwardly over Nino, unsure of what to do.

“Rena Rouge is here.” She told him. “I’ll find her. Keep an eye on these nuisances.”

Grimalkin nodded in acknowledgement, not taking his eyes off Nino.  

Lady Lacrima scanned the area, looking across the Place Charles de Gaulle. It was far too dark to spot her from the arc, especially with the light of the helicopter on them.

Oh, but the helicopter would work for her.

Summoning another steel cable and a grappling hook, she hooked a foot of the helicopter, ran, and leapt off the arc and out of the spotlight.

In the dark haze of the city, Lady Lacrima soared over to the nearest building, and started searching for the color orange.

“You’ve used your power!” She shouted. “You’ve only got five minutes left! Then what will you do?! You’ll be completely defenseless! It’s only a matter of time Alya!”

Alya had been picked as the first auxiliary member for a reason. Marinette trusted her. She was smart and passionate about doing a good job.

And she knew when to run and fight another day.

Silently, she slunk from her place on a roof to a fire escape, then released her transformation. She knew the light would likely draw Lady Lacrima’s attention, so she leapt down the ladder and tried to get down into the alley as soon as possible.

“You can’t hide from me!” Lady Lacrima’s voice teased from above.

Some tenants of the building thankfully left a few bags of garbage out on the escape and Alya was quick to dive under them.

“Alya!” Lady Lacrima screamed. “Come out and face me! Face judgement for your neglect and betrayal!”

But Alya just laid still, her heart hammering in her chest, threatening to give her away.

The hunt was over as soon as it began. A loud yowl caught Lady Lacrima’s attention, and brought her gaze back to the Arc.

Chloe’s transformation had worn off, and with it, her paralyzing venom. Hawkmoth had recovered, and held Grimalkin in a headlock, his arm behind his back.

Horrified, Lady Lacrima took her cable and returned to the battlefield.

“Get the Miraculous!” Hawkmoth screamed at Nino.

“I’m sorry dude! But this is for your own good!” Nino unzipped his pocket and reached his hand in.

Only to be body slammed by Lady Lacrima. She summoned a knife, and pointed it at Hawkmoth. “Let him go!”

“Marinette, please…just listen…”

“I’m only giving you a warning because you’re the only person that cared enough to save us! Now let him go! Or I’ll jam this in your eye!”

“I can’t—“

At his protest, she stabbed the knife into his shoulder, forcing him to drop Grimalkin and cry out in pain.

Lady Lacrima gathered Grimalkin, and in a flash, disappeared from the rooftop.

Chloe and Nino came to Hawkmoth’s assistance immediately.

“Don’t—Don’t pull the knife out,” Hawkmoth advised. “It’ll bleed worse.”

“Oh god…” Nino moaned, unsure of what to do. His hands fretted, though didn’t touch him.

Chloe just rested her hand on his good shoulder, offering him comfort.

“Get…get your Miraculous back. The police will be up here at any second…”

“R-right,” he agreed, scrambling off to the corner.

Just as Nino recovered his bracelet and called his transformation back on, a fleet of police officers stormed the roof. Carapace looked up to the helicopter, his gut sinking. His identity had probably been compromised too. And with the amount of police surrounding them, there was no way they were letting Hawkmoth get out of this.

And Alya…where was she? He could only hope she was safe.

Setting his fears aside, he pushed through the crowd and made his way back to Hawkmoth. Then he used his shield to bash apart the handcuffs they had already put on his wrists.

“What are you doing, kid?!”

“This man is a hero! He saved Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

“Yeah, and he turned them into monsters too!” The officer shot back. “Do you know how many people are dead because of those akuma?! Because we don’t! We haven’t found them all!”

“What do you expect?!” Carapace shrieked back, “no one else could find them! The second Hawkmoth could reach them, he took the chance to give them powers so they could get out! They’re hurt and angry and scared! Why the hell to you think we’re here!? To have a tea party!?”

“Carapace…” Hawkmoth tried to placate by grabbing his wrist.

“No! No, everyone needs to hear this! I just fought my best friend, okay!? He’s confused and in pain…and so lost! We need everyone on deck to help bring them in, and that includes Hawkmoth!” He gestured to man. “He’s the one who lasted the longest against them! Ladybug—er, Lady Lacrima gave him mercy! He’s the only one they’re willing to listen too!”

Hawkmoth gripped his wrist harder. “No. This plan failed. We should have never approached them like this.”

“Come on, man, what else were we supposed to do?”

“I have another idea. I just…we need to regroup.”

“We will,” said Chloe. “After you get stitches.”

He stood on shaky legs. “I’ll be fine. Carapace, go find Rena. Chloe, recharge and suit up. We’ll meet up back home.”

—

Lady Lacrima cried furiously as she swung her and Grimalkin away from the fight. She held him tightly to her as they moved, his breath pulling slowly. That low grating breath that had plagued her since the moment they were akumatized.

It didn’t take long to find cover in a hidden rooftop alcove. It was dark and out of the rain, and she gathered him close to her chest.

“I never learn, do I?” She sobbed. “I keep leaving you behind…I’m so so sorry.”

A quiet purr rumbled through his throat as a soft smile graced his features. His breathing was coming smoother now, as he recovered from the fight.

“I’m not trying to drag you along on my revenge plot, but—“

He nuzzled her cheek with his nose, assuring her it was alright with him.

“Are you sure? I…we only have one more person to pay back, but I think you’ll agree with me…they won’t put up a fight.”

His red eyes glanced up at her, gleaming with malicious intent.

“Oh kitty,” she purred, caressing his hair. “Get your strength back, and then we’ll go. And when we’re done,” she pecked his lips, “We’ll rest.”

—

Lila Rossi was grounded.

Not that she could really blame her mom, what with getting kidnapped and almost dying. Lila supposed it was fair. Besides, having a phone, internet, and TV would only allow for her to watch people ridicule her.

And she wasn’t really fond of that idea.

So she slept, completely and utterly unaware that Marinette and Adrien were akumatized, and on a rampage.

That is, until her window shattered.

She jolted to wakefulness as glass rained down on her.

“Wha—?” Was all she was able to utter, before sharp claws grabbed her ponytail and yanked her out of bed.

Two people were in the room, one of them a woman who was locking her bedroom door.

“Lila Rossi. Oh, you have no idea how good it feels to be here right now.”

“Who—Who are you?” Lila sobbed in fear.

Grimalkin tilted her head to face him, getting a clear shot of his red feline eyes and glistening fangs.

“Us? We’re your worst nightmare.” A glimmer appeared in her hand, shortly replaced by a pair of clamps. “We’re the consequences of your actions.”  

“My…actions?”

“You have a nasty lying habit, Lila. It’s even in your name.”

Lila grasped at the hand holding her. “I made a mistake! No ones perfect! My classmates hate me, I’m grounded for life, and I’m drowning in guilt! And I’m sure there’s going to be a hell of lawsuits coming my way! What else do I have to endure!?”

Lady Lacrima snapped the clamps a few times, to test them. “Oh, I want you to go though all of that still…but we’re going to make sure you can’t weasel your way out of any of it.”

Lila tried to back away, though Grimalkin held her tight.

Lila gasped, finally realizing who she was looking at. “Marinette? Adrien?!”

“My, you’re even dumber than I thought. Pity. Now stay still, this will only hurt a lot.”

—

“Lila! Lila answer me! Open this door!” Called her mother from the other side.

Her fingers trembled as she turned the lock.

The door swung open and Mrs. Rossi gasped in horror. “Darling! Are you alright?! You’re covered in blood! What happened!?”

“…ey…am…ey…ough…me…ongue…”

“What? What are you saying!?”

Lila opened her mouth, blood rushing down her jaw.

Her tongue was gone.

—

Some dozen blocks away, Lady Lacrima and Grimalkin landed on an old familiar balcony.

“Hawkmoth said my parents are with your father at his mansion.” She provided. “Which should give us a little time to hide out here before they come looking.”

Grimalkin blinked a few times, his eyelids growing heavy.

She pulled on the hatch, but it didn’t budge. “Locked…wait, I can get us in.”

Grimalkin watched as she swung over the side of the balcony, and pushed on a little window that was cracked open. It gave way, and she weaseled her way in.

In seconds, the lock flicked and the hatch popped open. “Please come in, kitty cat.”

With a purr, Grimalkin obliged, and slunk in the window, forgoing the ladder to just flop on the bed. The softness of the comforter and warmth of the blankets only enhanced his purring as he nuzzled the blankets.

“Hey! You’re getting the sheets all bloody and wet!” Lady Lacrima scolded.

Grimalkin hunched his shoulders in shame.

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal, love. Just wait here a second, alright?”

He nodded to her, politely sitting on the edge of the bed.

She jumped down into her main room, noting that it had been ransacked of valuables and personal belongings.

But the towels by her sink were still there, and so she snatched them up and got to work drying her cat. She placed the towel on his head and tussled it gently, like Kelly had done, then she rubbed at his cheeks.

“There’s my good boy, he was hiding under all that blood.”

He grinned.

She finished him off by buffing the towel over his suit.

When she took a fresh towel to clean herself, he stopped her and returned the favor, gently cleaning her face. The black marks wouldn’t disappear, but that was alright.

Once she was clean, he placed a teasing lick on her cheekbone.

“Oh you’re a naughty kitty!” She teased back. Then tackled him to the bed.

They tumbled around, playing roughly, before Grimalkin let out a long yawn…which proceeded to make Lady Lacrima yawn.

They both settled down, Grimalkin nuzzling into her chest as she wrapped her arms around him. “Good night my sweet prince.”

He purred in response.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Siren & The Healer (6)

Natasha Romanoff arc

Chapter 6: The Flashes

Platonic Natasha x fem!Reader, Loki x fem!Reader (soulmates?)

Theme: With cracks between the most powerful superheroes of the earth, Natasha Romanoff does not find rest when she is assigned on a mission to find the missing pieces of a puzzling power that once nearly got into the hands- rather, tentacles- of Hydra. In order to unearth the pieces, she must dig through her own past and make a decision that might decide the fate of the earth in the coming wars.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, friendship, and whatnot

Chapter warnings: Flashes. I have honestly forgotten what counts as warnings

A/N: This was written a few years ago with an OC in mind so reader has a name but it is a reader insert.

Word Count: I need to build up my resume and it kills me that I cannot put ‘part time fanfic writer on tumblr and AO3 with a decen following’ on it because some people are just cowards.

MASTERLIST in bio, love

Time: 1000 hours

Location: Vienna

The highest quality of teakwood, most expensive beige tiles and white paint that smelled like a walk in a pinewood forest- these were all the things you took in from the villa these group of buffed strangers took you to. Not to mention it being smack in the middle of a high-profile residential area where the personal property- along with your privacy- extended to nearly a kilometer. With two stories housing an open contemporary style house, the entirety of the villa's so-called four walls were just endless glass looking out at the green belt of shrubs and evergreen trees making up for the seclusion of the estate. Or, according to you, making up a hell of peeping entertainment window for all the nosy neighbours.

Safehouse, they said.

We'll all be safe here, away from prying eyes, they said.

Let’s stay here till we know what to do with the asset, they s-wait.

“Here,” the redhead called out, gesturing at the sofa while Brunn brought you a glass of water, “have a seat. You must be quite confused by all of this.”

You took the glass and barely planted your ass on the expensive-looking sofa before turning to look at Red. “Confusion would be an understatement but yes.”

“Keosha, right?”

You looked up from the glass after gulping it all down. “I...never told you my name.”

“No, you didn’t,” Red affirmed with a smile, “this is Keiko and Brunn. That’s Aneka. Nakia. And my name is-”

“Natalia Romanova,” you finished her introduction for her, making Natasha question whether it was fear or awe she was seeing in your eyes.

“I go by Natasha Romanoff in my close circle but you’re correct,” she stated, sitting down opposite you. “I apologise for the ruckus. We had to get you out of there. It wasn’t safe.”

“For whom?” you asked, recalling the cries of those men tux as two women ended their careers.

“For any of us,” Nakia called out from the farther end while examined her gear.

“Why? Was it because of the creepy guy who walked over to me in the parking lot yesterday? It was his office I was visiting today when all that...weird shit went down.”

It took a few seconds for you to realise how everyone seemed to be stirred into motion by your statement but before you could register and reason with them how you were in no way involved with that shady man, Keiko brought her tablet forward to show you a grainy picture caught by a security camera time-stamped for today right when you were in his office.

“Is this the guy?” Keiko asked.

“Yes! That’s him!” You were nearly shouting before the tablet was even in your hands.

Natasha and Nakia exchanged a look before turning back to face you.

“So, was last night the first time you saw him?” Natasha leaned over towards you with a look of curiosity, something you were not finding comfortable.

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling a sudden rush of cold air run down your neck. “What’s going on?”

“Was someone else there when he met you?”

The cold seemed to run right along your spine, freezing it with the words coming out of Natasha’s mouth; your first thought just being the loud thumping echo of ‘ Harry ’. “What’s going on? Who is he?”

Natasha and Nakia could see your instincts kicking in, going through all the worst scenarios. So, there was someone else there.

“Keosha,” Nakia came closer to sit next to you, her accent heavy on her lips and in her voice, “we promise to explain everything. But you have to help us out so we can prioritise protecting the people we think might be in danger. Will you help us do that?”

.

“He’s fine. We have eyes on him. Our people will keep watch on anything unusual.”

Your heart finally let go of the strings of worry it’d been stretching for the last one hour. “Oh, thank God!” you whispered, rubbing your forehead before slumping into the bean bag. Natasha watched you pause in between the emotional crisis to look up at her and Nakia. “Oh, um, just tell your guys to not be shocked if he turns off the smoke alarm. He’s not a...good cook.”

And suddenly Natasha could see flashes of Tony making- or trying to make- frittatas for the gang before Steve had to run in with a fire extinguisher. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Brunn’s voice from the other side of the house- where he has set up a small security station of his own- broke Natasha out of some pleasant memories.

“Right,” she stated, wiping her hands off her thighs as she sat down in front of you in a bean bag.

A moment of silence floated between the two of you, your ears on alert yet your bodies taking in the rest after the morning you two had. It was a pleasant lull with a note of the unsaid assurance and affirmations. And unspoken fear of the unknown. Her insides were okay with the truce that had just happened between the two parties on the exchange of information but something inside her was afraid of still being in the dark. You were calm right now only because that man’s identity had been revealed and you were given the word of world’s deadliest assassin and spy that you will be protected. What was tingling under all of this was the presence of the Black Widow. She doesn’t just appear somewhere. If she’s there, it means there is blood. There will always be blood. All the reports you’d read after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. pointed to it. And what was your equation in all of this was still a mystery to be solved. That was what the Black Widow was thinking as well.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of much help,” you finally blurted, tired of keeping so much inside. “I wish I knew what this man was looking for. All he was interested in was the lame healing practices of my college committee.”

Natasha raised her brow, “Healing doesn’t sound lame,” she shrugged, “what kind of healing does your college group do?”

You forced out a chuckle. “Oh, it’s nothing. I mean, not something on the scale of what you and your friends do...did...”

Feeling the smack you got from your internal voice in the back of your head, you let your voice fade at the end of that sentence not sure of what the dynamic was between the heroes at this moment. But that did not stop Natasha from moving forward, letting her arms rest on her knees and one palm supporting her face, her eyes stuck on you, waiting in anticipation.

Oh, crap , you stated internally to her, don’t look at me like that.

Sighing, you raised your hands a little, making them move about with all that you explained to her. “We-um...they’re healers in the sense that they use the life force flowing through them to heal things. And by things I mean, healing people, situations, diseases, ailments, uhh future opportunities. I know it sounds like a bunch of bull-”

“What’s our life force?”

...did not see this coming.

“Uhh...it’s the energy. Inside us, around us. It’s present in everything.”

“Even in things that aren’t alive?”

“Yup. Like this sofa. Or my phone. Or your...that thing on your wrist.”

“When you say you can heal people-” Natasha’s eyes widened and her brows creased just enough to let you know she was calculating it all- “you mean you can heal anything about them?”

You opened your mouth to answer before stopping short and shutting it up. “What do you mean exactly?”

“Could you heal their addictions?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve done that once.”

“How about incurable diseases?”

“Yeah, don’t tell the pharma giants about these guys, okay.”

She smiles a perfect smile, making your heart flutter. No one should be allowed to have that perfect a smile.

“Could you heal past trauma as well?”

“I’ve never done that. But I’m sure it could be done.”

“And future outcomes?”

Your lips make a thin line barely resembling a smile before you lean in over to her. “Okay, here’s the thing. I have healed the future. Or at least I have tried to. But the thing us healers had to keep in mind always while doing any sort of healing was that this life force has a brain of its own. It takes your effort to the point that needs to be worked upon. And often you find that that point and your intended circle do not coincide. Not to be that guy but that’s where people start to lose faith and do not see the good that is brought because they’re too busy letting their vision be clouded by the one thing that didn't go right for them despite all they put into it.”

Natasha looked down at your hands resting on your thighs, trembling a little from the cold and a little from the conversation, unconsciously tearing the tiny lint balls from your warm leggings. “People are fickle with faith,” Natasha mentioned in her low voice, “not many realise its worth in the darkest of times.”

“Not much to lean on in the dark times when the hope goes away with that last ray, is there?” you call back softly.

“Is that what you tell the ones you heal?”

“Before healing others, we’re supposed to heal ourselves. Just like to protect others, you first need to protect yourself from the line of fire. But this all garbage now. I don’t do it anymore. I left the practice a long time ago.”

Now, Natasha was more curious than ever. “Why?”

You wet your lips and rub your hands on your thighs to warm them up. “Tell me what happens you try to defend a bunch of civilians like me from..say...huge scary aliens. One too many.”

Just as you posed the question, the creases on Natasha’s brows disappeared. “It takes a toll on you. You can’t keep up after a while.”

“Exactly.”

Both of you could smell the smokiness of the mac and cheese being cooked in the kitchen by Brunn, lighting up your previously scared and dormant hunger pangs.

“I was taught that if I fell, I should get up and dust away anything that says I cannot, even if that meant my death,” she enunciated, “but later on I found out that when fallen, you could have a pair of hands to help you get back up. To help you find the strengths you never thought you could have. Because it is difficult to find out your entirety by yourself, Keosha.”

You smiled and turned your head down. “I’m done with the whole healer business, Ms. Romanoff-”

“Natasha.”

“...okay. Natasha. It only seems appealing till it goes where you want it to go. And right now, I want to go devour that mac and cheese.”

Your words forced out a chuckle from Natasha. She got up to go to the kitchen with you only to watch you struggle to get out of the bean bag. “Looks like you do need a hand.”

“Okay, Black Widow, not everyone has an amazing flexible body like you. Now help me out of this cursed thing!”

.

It was hard to fall asleep. Harder to let his mind be still. Ironic, isn’t it? To be laying down in a spaceship that was floating in the vast nothingness and his mind was the one that was making the loudest sound. No matter how much he tried, the agitation did not stop.

Getting up on the makeshift bed in the back of the ship, he tried to take deep breaths to calm down his horribly fast heartbeat.

Come back , he told his insides, forcing his consciousness to walk away from the noise into the existing calm inside the ship, closing his eyes, letting his senses concentrate on all that was going on around him. The sound of controls, Drax’s snoring, Mantis’ flowy yet curious movements around him, the feeling of Nebula’s silent footsteps- his favourite- and sting of Quill’s glare.

Observe , he announced to his heart and head, calling them in to confer what it was that bothered them, slowly opening up the hatch to a path that led to all that had happened till now, making them retrace their steps back. Back to the gates of Hel, to those mysterious eyes, to the face of his mother, to the cold void, to the explosion, to...to the ship, to-

Blinding flashes of red, white and green played with his mind, bringing with them their theme- cries of tortured souls. But that wasn’t it. Images punched his aching consciousness between the blinding lights. There were too many. One of them was of someone falling down a cliff- a pale contrast to the purple hues of the sky in the back- once a picture of soothing green, once a painting of snow-like white; one of them crying for help while one smiled in satisfaction. Another image was a haze of orange surrounding him. Or that’s what he thought till he could hear heavy breaths echoing through his ears; breaths stifling the urge to cry or whimper. Once he even thought he heard a feminine voice cry out a name in despair before the orange haze was lit up by another flash and replaced with rusty darkness. Rusty. Coarse. Grained. Slowly replaced by smoke rising from torn up metal that once covered fingers. The tears and smoke went by the six gems resting in perfectly made slots, up the charred skin of the arm where itwere supposed to be protected by that red-painted metal. The image kept going up the totalled arm while a scream rose from a distance, breaking the gut-wrenching scene away to a figure in the dark shaking him while shouting with a piercing, broken voice, “SHE’S ALIVE!”

The runes stolen by Rocket from Knowhere fell with a loud clatter, disrupting all the activity in the ship to have all eyes on a breathless Loki sweating himself pale.

“Little God having nightmares?” Quill rolled his eyes before turning back to man the ship. Gamora, Nebula, and Mantis paused whatever they were doing to look at the raven-haired mess trying to breathe some life back in himself. Rocket and Groot tried to converse telepathically about the new guy so as not to catch Quill’s unwanted attention.

“What’s wrong?” Gamora asked, taking a careful step in Loki’s direction, who- by now- had dented the frame of the makeshift bed with his tensed hands.

Everything , he wanted to scream, his gut giving up on him, wanted to throw out anything that was inside. His head swirled. He tried to make the nausea stop by leaning against the wall of the ship, letting extra heat in his head be siphoned off by the cold plates.

“You,” he huffed weakly, his brows rising as he felt his insides turn once more, “you were suppos-hed to be de-ead.”

Nebula and Mantis turned to look at Gamora, their eyes trying to hide the shock in this sudden revelation.

“What are you talk-”

“How?!”

“Loki, you need to rest.”

“How are you alive right now?”

Mantis ran over to Loki- who was now clutching his torso for his dear life- and touched his forehead, feeling the burn sear through her skin.

“He’s burning up!” she cried.

“Put him to sleep!” Nebula ordered.

“What the heck is going on back there?” Quill shouted.

“Nebula,” Gamora forced her sister’s attention to herself, “what is he talking about?”

“Get away from me,” Loki hissed at Mantis.

“You need help,” Mantis announced, her resolute voice breaking towards the end at the piercing green eyes looking at her with nothing but threat.

“Mantis!” Nebula shouted.

“SLEEP!”

Within seconds, the agony-struck figure of Loki was limp on the mattress, deep in sleep.

“Now,” Gamora fumed, looking at the ladies, “tell me what he meant by that before I cut both of you open.”

Before anyone could say much, Gamora felt her shoulder jerked by Quill’s figure walking in the middle of the scene, looking around him in pure confusion.

“What’d I miss?”

[jules85]

Arrow Rewatch 2018 3x17: Suicidal Tendencies

Dyla are getting married! My ship is getting married! I'm so excited for them.

- Oliver's late, as usual. Dig's going to photoshop him into the photos lol. Make sure you do, John coz our boy looks fine in that tux. As do you.

- as for Felicity? Well she looks stunning as always and Oliver can't keep his eyes off her. He turns into a little schoolboy when she's around. He always looks down and smiles. Like he can't take in all the pretty. Or its because he needs a second to compose himself, because Felicity brought her date, Ray.

I love protective big brother, John. Nobody messes with his lil sis. I wish he'd had this talk with Oliver lol.

- Felicity admiring Oliver in his tux while everyone's distracted. I see you, girl.

- I love how Oliver and John are just sizing Ray up. Of course he's a minister.

- Dyla's vows are so them. They have been through so much together. I'm so happy for them. Plus there is so much Olicity foreshadowing during this episode. I'm getting double the feels.

- Oliver cannot keep his eyes off Felicity.

- I really wish we got to see Oliver's and John's best man speeches.

- Felicity caught the bouquet. Oliver looks interested lol.

- 'Are you happy?'

'Yes, very.'

'Good. That's all I've ever wanted. You deserve a good guy and a normal life.'

Yes she does Oliver. But she wants that with you.

I appreciate the subtle cut to John and Lyla dancing right after he says this. More foreshadowing.

- Can't we have a wedding without interruptions? The city thinks the Arrow is killing again.

- Deadshot crashing the honeymoon.

- Cupid's back and on the team.

- is it a coincidence that Oliver has started training shirtless in front of Felicity again? Just after finding out she has a boyfriend now? ;)

- I forgot we got Deadshot flashbacks. His daughter is the cutest.

- Ray knows Oliver is the Arrow.

'You have no idea what he's been through, what he's lost, how he's grown but I do. I know him better than almost anyone...'

Felicity defending her man.

'You have feelings for him.'

'Yes.' Whoops.

- 'Ray built a supersuit? That's pretty awesome...and reckless.' Love Roy's reaction lol.

- Deadshot saved Cupid. Now she's got a new beau.

- John sees his brother's name tattooed on Floyd's chest when he patches him up. See, this is why I love John so much...this is obviously difficult for him but he helps Floyd anyway. He is such a good man at his core.

- Oliver pays Ray a visit.

'Her perception of you is clearly clouded by her emotional attachment. She's not seeing you for you for what you really are.' Give her some credit, Ray. Guess what? Women can actually form their own opinions based on facts not because of our emotions or attraction. I really dislike Ray in this episode.

- The scene were John and Lyla start panicking about not surviving and leaving Baby Sara an orphan kills me. Seeing Lyla upset made me get all teary dyed. And then Deadshot tells them that he is getting them home to their daughter. Stop making me cry!

- 'You deserve better.'

'What I deserve is to be with someone who isn't afraid of being happy.' I love a woman who knows her worth.

'Ray told me he wanted a true partner, in his work, in his mission, and in his life. Ray wants to be a hero and a human being.'

'That's because he hasn't realised that he can't be. I told you that I couldn't be with you and save the city.'

Yes you can, Oliver. And you will.

- 'Show Felicity the kind of man you really are.'

'I have nothing to prove to her.' Yep, Oliver. She knows exactly who you are, and he knows it. I love that how well she knows him is acknowledged by both of them in this episode.

It's baby steps with them these last two episodes. The writers are edging them back together, reminding the audience of who they are to each other.

- Deadshot sacrificing himself to save John and Lyla and everyone else is probably the best redemption arc the show has done. I cried.

- Diggle wants to quit the team. Lyla won't let him. They're doing good work saving the city. Lyla quits Argus because she wants Sara to be proud of her. Aw the feels. She is proud of you, Lyla.

- Felicity sniffs the bouquet and then kisses Oliver on the cheek. Thanking him for proving her right. His smile. The way he just stands there basking until John comes in makes me squee. Oliver in love is too adorable.

- Oliver and John have a drink. John toasts to Floyd Lawton. And I'm crying again. Who'd have thunk it?

- Maseo, dressed as the Arrow shoots the Mayor* and the episode ends with Felicity in his crosshairs.

(*This is Mayor no.3 who has died on the show plus Moira, a mayoral candidate.)

Rating: ☆☆☆☆ Dyla wedding, Dyla mission, Olicity angst and adorableness...what more could I ask for? Sad that Deadshot had to die. Stupid DCEU.

@hope-for-olicity @blondeeoneexox @it-was-a-red-heeler @memcjo @allimariexf

[lonelypond]

Snow

NicoMaki, Love Live and Guncharov, 2K, 1/1

The group heads to the Nishikino mansion for a brainstorming session. Nico discovers a few things about Maki.

Snow

“Drive me, Nico-chi. You have a car. It’s going to snow.” Nozomi’s drawl could not be contained in Nico’s laptop.

“No. It’s just a little more than a mile. And you scheduled it during Nico’s workout. So Nico will multitask.”

“I don’t want to get out of bed, Nico-chi. I have a pile of fluffy blankets and I’m warm…”

“You set up this meeting, Nozomi. You, me, Eli, the music nerd with the fancy house…”

“Are you bringing Ma-ki her tux back?”

“Can’t really roll it up in a backpack. Besides, how often do you need fancy clothes?”

“Just give me a bathrobe and a blonde.”

“I’m ending this conversation.”

Nico hit disconnect. She didn’t have time to indulge Nozomi’s mood. She had a few things to pack in her backpack and then it was time to put in the first of her two mile run.

###

Big house. Huge house. Nico didn’t know what to expect when the door opened, but maybe Lurch from the Addams Family and pipe organ music in the background. But no, Maki opened her own door, dressed like a vintage Hollywood movie star in tall trousers and a lavender pinstripe oxford shirt, unbuttoned one or two many buttons for Nico not to have gawked at the sensuous reveal of curve. But Maki didn’t seem to notice, just nodded at Nico, said a breathy “hi” and waved Nico inside.

“Is Nozomi here yet?”

“Yes, she and Eli and and Umi…”

“Umi?”

“My friend who’s going to help with the script.”

“A music student?”

Maki shook her head, zipping down long corridors decorated with green garlands and red bows, setting a Christmas mood almost a month early. “Poet. We met in the Film Classics club.”

Another noir nerd. Nico was going to have to watch some of these movies.

“So there’s The Maltese Falcon, Nico knows that one. What else would you suggest?”

Maki stopped, turned, amethyst eyes curious.

“Nico likes to be thorough.”

A nod. “The Big Sleep. If you like Bogart, you can’t go wrong adding Lauren Bacall.”

Nico appreciated the attention to her interests. Maki glanced to the window, where the sky was getting gray, the clouds heavy with damp.

“Nico will put it on the list.”

“The noir cutoff is 1959, after that is neo-noir. In this weather, we should watch Fargo.” Maki giggled, before continuing down the hall. “It’s snow noir.”

There was a bounce in Maki’s step, Nico lingering two steps behind, whether because of post run fatigue or aesthetic appreciation, Nico decided not to review.

###

Nico did a quick change in a bathroom the size of her first dorm room. Fluffy pink oversized sweater, kangaroo pocket, sparkly winter tights. In the media room, Maki was on the floor, laptop open in front of her on a low wood and glass table. Classical sounding music played out of two portable speakers. Instrumental, dark, ominous, occasional fragile notes from a lighter instrument barely holding the space, crashing piano chords. Nico winced as screechy violin chords began.

“Yuck. Give Nico a pop song any day.”

Nozomi reluctantly pivoted from her conversation with Eli, “This is noir, Nico. Ominous classical is the mood.”

“Actually,” Maki didn’t look up from her screen, “I would have chosen a jazz theme, but I think between the Russian, Italian, and religious imageries and overtones, the collective thought classical would better suit.”

Umi Sonoda, poet and dapper dresser, was perched on the extended chaise leg of the sectional sofa. “Which is why it’s a Scorsese mafia movie, not a noir, although as conceived by the Tumblr hive mind, Goncharov is laden with noir themes.

“And multiple femme fatales, especially if you count Andrey.” Nozomi leaned forward to continue pouring out tea.

“Debatable.” Umi countered. “Katya is the classic femme fatale, her arc slicing through Guncharov, Sofia, and Andrey stories.”

“Shooting through might have been a better analogy. She’s not the knife girl. Or the ice pick asexual.” Nozomi giggled.

“I’d better read this pretty soon, hadn’t I?” Eli said, amicably confused, “Is it all just grim and murdery?”

Maki shook her head, “You can’t help but feel a brief hope, that maybe at least one of them will escape. I think the jazz soundtracks get that better, that sweetness, a seed of hope, a brief respite from ominous, but then everyone's swallowed up again in the sultry struggle, like the opening for The Postman Always Rings Twice.”

Nico’s experience of femme fatales, music, and noir consisted of an article she remembered skimming through about Taylor Swift. Not that Nico would ever admit to being out of her depth.

“No body, no crime.” Nico announced.

Maki raised an eyebrow, “Is that a movie.”

“A Taylor Swift song.”

Nozomi snorted, “Nico brings the high brow.”

Umi smiled, “Actually, Ms. Swift’s latest album really embraces the femme fatale/anti hero vibe. To say “I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'Cause I care” is clever.”

“Nico knows. And Anti-Hero, wow, it’s right there, she embraces it.”

“I prefer when she lets the lyrics get cold blooded enough to be ice.”

Nico hadn’t expected this reaction from Umi. From the looks on the faces in the rest of the room, no one else had either. But Nico was always in.

“Nico-chi, you surprise me.”

“Yeah, like I don't dress for women

I don't dress for men

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge…it’s the modern genderqueer asexual crime to the max anthem.”

Nico turned to Nozomi, “How?”

“You’re sharp.”

“You can bring a Nico to any fight.” And Nico winked randomly into the room, causing Umi to blush and fumble her tea.

Maki closed her laptop, levering herself up to a seat. “I’d rather riff off Ellington in Anatomy of Murder. Pop isn’t this mood.”

“Agreed.” Umi nodded, considering Maki’s point. “But something rawer than Ellington’s courtroom tones.”

Eli yawned, standing to shake herself and wander over to the window. “Oh wow.”

“What is it, Eli-chi?”

Eli glanced back, a broad smile gleaming at Nozomi’s diminutive, “Snow.”

“SNOW!” Nico rushed to the window. Snow was coming down.

“Something wrong?” Maki asked.

“Nico ran here. And Nico has rehearsal in a couple of hours.”

“I can drive you back.” Nozomi said.

“It’s coming down pretty fast.”

“You can all stay here. My parents are away at a medical conference. We could keep talking and decide on where to film.”

“Oh, are we going to do that here?” Eli spun, taking a better look at the room, “That’s awesome. There's so much space."

“My cinematographer’s not here.” Nozomi stepped next to Eli, glanced out at the snow and then whispered something in her ear.

Nico solved problems. “Rin? Just call her. She’s always up for anything.”

“But today’s her date day and Hanayo doesn’t like to go out.”

Ignoring Nozomi, Nico returned to the couch, pulled out her phone, and sent a flurry of texts.

“Hey, Maki, got anything Nico can cook?”

Maki froze, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I get take out or the chef leaves me things to reheat.”

Nico sighed, “Take Nico to your kitchen.”

###

The refrigerator was the size of three. And barely a quarter filled. With fancy hors d'oeuvres making and bottles of prosecco but no solid food. Nico liked solid food. She had two batches of gingersnaps in her bag, but that was for after real food.

“It’s hopeless.”

“Huh…what do you mean.”

“Just order a couple of pizzas. You must have a go to pizza place. Everyone has a go to pizza place.”

“For delivery? Yes.” Maki sounded thoughtful, Nico turned, curious, “For stuffed, New York style, or pizza turnovers?”

“You have three go to pizza places?”

Maki quirked an eyebrow, “Half a dozen. Sauce can be so mood dependent.”

“Pizza tastes differently depending on your mood?” Nico closed the refrigerator, sighing over the wasted space, “What’s today’s mood?”

Maki turned away, pulling out her phone, pushing loose hair back over a reddening ear, “Carmen’s pesto. The cheese tastes like it’s infused with garlic. You’ll be impressed.”

“Good thing Nico’s not a vampire and allergic.”

Maki froze, “Should I ask them?”

Nico laughed, “No, Nico thinks we’re good on the no vampires. Just get one less heavy on the garlic.”

“Okay.”

So serious. It was seriously adorable Nico thought, the amount of concentration Maki brought to ordering pizza, her lips twisted slightly as she tapped out her order for the online form.

“I guess we should get back there before Nozomi does anything too crazy.”

“Have you been friends for long?”

“Same dorm freshman year so three plus years.”

“You’re a senior?! I thought you were…”

“What?”

“A freshman, I hadn’t seen you around before.”

Nico couldn’t help the disgruntled huff. Would no one ever see her as a mature, multi talented adult with infinite potential. “Nico is always busy, working, studying, and performing.”

“I’m taking pre med classes.”

“Ah, parents and the medical conference.”

“Yeah.” Not much enthusiasm. Maki put away her phone, “It’ll be here in 90 minutes. Want to hear my take on Sofia’s theme?”

“Nico is in.”

Maki turned in the opposite direction.

“What about the others?”

“I’ll leave the door open. They can find the piano.”

Maki practically skipped down the hall, Nico hurrying to match pace. An artfully placed clump of green hung at the end of the hall and Maki startled, backpedalling frantically into Nico, who suddenly had an armful of curves

“Are you all right?”

“Ummm.”

“What is it? A spider or something?”

Nico made sure Maki was standing not tilting and stepped around the taller woman, following where her glance was frozen to the small wreath of mistletoe.

Nico rolled her eyes. Too much silly drama. Good thing Nozomi was in another room or there would be teasing and Nico was beginning to suspect that teasing was not something Maki took to, “We can tiptoe past it. No one will have to know.”

“Santa will.”

Long lashes blinked over open, innocent amethyst eyes. A frown crushed lips into a yield warning. Nico bit the inside of her own lip to prevent a rush of quick, unedited words.

“Papa always tells Mama you have to follow the mistletoe rule.”

Was Maki ten? Nico started to grumble, then shook her head slightly. Not everyone was into kissing, not everyone (shocking she knew) was into dating. Or flirting. Or a chance to try things out with Nico. That was okay, Nico didn’t come for that…well, Nico might have come more eagerly because Maki was attractive, but Nozomi was also really excited about this project so it was going to turn out well. And Nico was always glad to find new friends.

“What is the mistletoe rule?”

“Kiss.”

“So fine.” Nico took Maki’s hand and pulled her under the mistletoe, halfway into the music room, “Beautiful piano.”

“Thanks.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?” Maki stepped back, worried.

“Just do it.”

“Okay.”

Maki closed her eyes, no leaning in. Nico thought of the most ridiculous, unromantic place anyone could kiss a person and leaned forward, aiming for Maki’s elbow. But as she brushed Maki’s arm, it flung out, contacting Niico on the jaw, making her world wobbly for a moment. Nico pitched forward, almost tackling Maki, but wrenching herself to the side, as Maki’s eyes opened, horrified.

“What are you doing?”

Nico rubbing her jaw, scowled, “Not having a good time.”

“Why did you do something so stupid?”

“If only Nico knew.” Nico shoved Maki into the room, “Go play something.” Then Nico jumped up and swatted down the mistletoe, glaring at the greenery. “Not on my watch.”

“Nico-chi!” Nozomi had heard the kerfuffle and led the crowd toward the music room, “What are you doing?”

“Saving a life.” Nico shoved the wreath in her dress’s kangaroo pocket. “Pizza’s coming in an hour.”

Nico collapsed on the comfiest looking chaise. She’d earned a rest.

A/N:

Week 2 and 3 prompts for the @sapphicfest Snowed in and Mistletoe.

Also, does anybody else have WENCLAIR on the brain?

[sian22redux]

Entanglements

by sian22redux

For @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  ‘s Angsty writing challenge: Star’s Marvel Mayhem

Prompt:  ‘He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.’

Bucky x reader

Rating: M

Summary:  The fight for love is sometimes harder than the mission.  

How Bucky and Y/N of Private Party came to be together.

Timeline:  After Wakanda of Black Panther end scenes, but assumes IW is over and he’s safe.

Tags:  oral sex-mentioned, het, canon-compliant mayhem, hurt/comfort, angst, angst, angst

Thank you so so much to the heroic @wheelrider for expert beta’ing, even in a fandom that is not hers!!  And to awesome @theycallmebecca for checking it worked!  

—————————————-

The first time it happens, it is just a drunken hookup.

The party at Avengers Tower is star-spangled, loud, and pulsing fun; rare vodka fueled and graced by the hottest DJ in New York.  You’ve left your uniform and new medal of valour in the hospitality suite Miss Potts has thoughtfully laid on.  Donned a slinky black cocktail dress and four-inch heels and walked into the space on Mr Stark’s arm,  blushing at his gushing praise.  

Thank heaven this evening event is more relaxed than the White House’s lavish ballroom. Your knees had knocked so loud you were sure that the President had heard. Visibility is not your thing.  Or speeches.  But your few heartfelt words had tumbled out, applauded by brass and dough-faced senators and Bucky had stood, smiling, looking oh so perfectly edible in a charcoal suit.  He’d winked at you, a shining in his eyes that was almost as bright as in the moment your marksmanship had saved his life.  

 Perhaps you hadn’t imagined his yearning after all.

Tony plies you with whiskey sours, and sometime after the fourth (or fifth?)  Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson coax you out onto the dance floor.  Time for some fun.   Bucky stands and stares and takes it in: Steve’s hilariously sloppy groove, Sam’s easy sway. He’s frowning adorably, critiquing every move until he’s had enough of watching amateurs.  He sets down his beer, absolutely murder struts out onto the dance floor, and with a ‘my turn punk’ rips you from their arms.  The music settles into something smooth and slow (has Steve’s had a hand it that?) but then suddenly Bucky leans in.  Cheek to cheek and hip to hip.  There’s a fire blazing up inside that takes the pair of you by surprise, and when Bucky whispers, voice molasses dark and slow, “Doll, let’s escape,” you go.  

Oh god.  

You wake up so hung over it feels like you need to shave your tongue.  Your dress is nowhere in sight and Bucky is sprawled out on his stomach.  The bedclothes are mostly on the floor, his evening tux makes a trail of black and white against cream carpet and your (only) lacy underthings dangle off the lamp.  

Fuck, what were you thinking?  

Weren’t, obviously.  You’d let the heady abandon of the evening, the crackling electricity between you both mess with your hard-earned self control, but it just can’t be.  This man is your assignment, the one you are set to guard from the tentacles of a wounded, dying global empire that is trying to grab hold.  

Best not to stick around.  You lever upright, stagger to the washroom, run a wet hand through your tangled hair and try not to notice the lurid hickey on your collarbone.  

Your dress is underneath the dresser (?), you slip it on without a sound, but ugh, the shoes are a pain: your feet are swollen from dancing for so long and so you fumble, trying to do up the flimsy straps.  Finally, the prong slots through the tiny hole.  All set.   

Just as you find your purse and reach across the bedside table for your thong, a silver hand shoots out and clasps your wrist.  

Gently.   

But not planning on letting go. 

“Doll, where ya going?”  Bucky cracks one eye open and the corner of his mouth quirks up.  “No one’s on this morning.  Tony promised.”  

“Got a briefing,” you lie, wincing internally, hating yourself for doing it, but this is a one-time thing and you do not plan on speaking of it.   

Again.  

Or ever.  

The disappointment that clouds the lazy sparkle in his eyes is something to avoid.  You hastily turn away, but at the door you pause guiltily for far too long.  At last, you speak to the quiet resignation from the bed.   

“Thank… thank you.”   

Safe. Or almost.  Steve Rogers wakes up early.  He’s showered after an early run, set up in the kitchen; got french toast frying and washed wineglasses in the drain tray.  He’s grinning.  Wide and hopeful just like an excited Labrador.  

“Breakfast will be ready in a jif.”  

You blink in the too=bright space and think, Fuck my life.  

“Captain… uhh.”  

What the ever lovin’ hell should you say??  

Sorry, can’t stay after banging your best friend. Can’t eat cuz I might just puke.  Or better yet…yes I have read DAOD 5019-1 but this does not constitute inappropriate fraternization across the ranks. 

“Not hungry, Corporal?”  Steve shrugs those massive shoulders and flips a tea towel across his arm, peeking at the toast’s browning underside.  “Suit yourself.”   

You do.

But no regrets.  

It had been too wonderful for that.

—————-

The second time it happens, you tell yourself it is just the frantic release of relief.  

It’s been another too-close-for-comfort call.  Six months past cryo in Wakanda and the insanity that was the Infinity War, and you’d think in the aftermath the remnants of Hydra would no longer care.  But they do, and can’t help but see he’s back, and if they can’t control the Asset, they want him gone.  

There is a careful balance between keeping Bucky safely whole and actually giving him a life.

You’re walking up out of the subway into Battery Park’s wintery sun, a hologram cover hiding your M24 because you just can’t saunter past New York’s Sunday shoppers and happy families pushing strollers openly armed to the teeth.  

Bucky’s a block in front, sunglasses on and hood of his dark puffy jacket pulled right up because camouflage is necessary and the stiff southwesterly off the Hudson is cutting through the naked trees.  He’s heading for the SeaGlass carousel where he will stand and smile, hands sunk deep in pockets, remembering the original aquarium he and Steve delighted in another lifetime ago. 

After two months of tracking him on every outing, you know him well. 

James Barnes loves plums and granola bars.  Extra whip at Starbucks and hunting for old comic books.  The Hayden planetarium and giant, hairy, slobbery dogs.  A fresh trim means things are good because Nat can get close to him with shears.  A fringe of days-old stubble means he’s having harder nights.  The triggers are gone, but not the memory of what he’s done.  When he stops, stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, lips moving and new hand clenched into a fist, you know he’s centering.  Running through a routine in whatever language comes to his head.  

At least he is a better subject than most.  Always watching.  Baseball cap or hood pulled down, changing his route each day, not making it easy on the goons who might dog his steps.   Or you.

It’s part of what makes this detail fun. This day he’s slid into an empty booth at Gigino, near enough the front for light but not so near he hasn’t a good view of the door.  The notebook’s out, bristling with sticky tabs like a multicolour hedgehog.  You are sitting diametrically across, scanning everything around but him, cuz hit men don’t all look like Brock Rumlow after all and folks carrying things in bags make a prickle at your nape.  Your unobstructed view down the gravel walks is good, but somehow, a figure by the Liberty dock sets the hairs rising on your arm.  Hunched. Looking back too often to the restaurant.  Arm akimbo and hiding something.  

You whisper urgently into the comms, hustle out of the doors and fire on the run.  It’s a challenge but not long range, nothing like the shot before, but precision is the thing.   You have no intention of damaging any of the good folk around.  

The subject drops.  Bystanders freak, scattering in all directions, and even as two agents materialize to cluster around Bucky as a precaution, he looks unerringly across at you, recognition and open longing on his face.  

Yeah. Well.  Me too, pal.

You melt away into the shadows, and after the NYPD have it all locked down, you find yourselves thrown together back at the Tower for a hastily convened debrief.

Coulson’s reviewing footage and Fury’s frowning, tapping impatient fingers on the tabletop, talking about the need for better eyes, but you’re having trouble focusing.  

There’s a thirst in Bucky’s eyes that matches the one making your nether regions throb.  God, how good would it be to strip off the Stark body armour underneath his vest.  Press your skin along the length of him and feel every hot, hard inch.  Too good. To be avoided, but beside you the metal hand flexes back and forth.  As if he’s read your mind.

“Soldier?”  Fury’s question drops like a bomb into your awareness.  Neither of you are listening, too aware of each other to focus on mundane things like strategy.    

“Umm, yeah…”  Buck licks his lips and starts again.  “I mean, no, I don’t know any more about that sleeper cell. 

Fury turns to rake you both with his good eye.  After one eternal minute, he shakes his head, looking more bemused than mad.  

“Get outta here.  Both of you.”

You don’t need to be told a second time.  

Buck stalks out into the hall and you follow, thinking how it was too close a call and you are pissed Hydra’s not backing down and goddammit why are the other agents letting these shitballs get so very close and it’s almost like you are vibrating 

Fuck.  Wrong choice of word.  

Your skin is positively alive with how aware of him you are, nerves jangled, sparking white hot arcs of lust, and then he has to make it worse.   He turns and devours you with those ocean eyes as he slams the button for the elevator.

Hard.  

With his prosthetic hand.

The thought of it on you again makes your bones almost liquefy.

“Steve’s off doing PR.”

The few spare words are said with a crooked grin, eyes challenging, and like lightening you are both struck on.  Somehow, your legs are wound about his waist, lips locked, your back up against the cool mirror of the elevator wall, so engrossed you don’t notice when the motion stops.  His metal arm bangs through the apartment and bedroom doors, makes the hinges scream in protest, and then without warning the axis of your world flips over.  You are both horizontal.  On the bed, frantically shedding clothes until his cock sinks into your molten core.  You arch your back with the utter bliss of it, strokes hard and fast and frenzied, rising higher and then, inexplicably, he stills; drags his lips off your nipple to stare intently at your face.  

“Y/N I ain’t gonna last.  I…”  

You open your eyes and catch his gaze.  His eyes are dark and wide and filled with wonder.  As caught off guard as you by the pure fury of the need– but oh you are not going there.  Not thinking about how right this feels, how close and perfectly in tune you are.  Nope. Nuh unh.  This is sex, not making love.  Scratching an itch.  Purely mechanical.    

“Bucky, move!”  

You flip up your hips just so, knowing instinctively what it will do to him, and pull his hip bones closer, tighter, until you’re both grinning and he’s moaning, long and low, shuddering as he spills and you come apart, shining in the afterglow.

This time you deliberately stay the night.  

You curl up into the crook of his flesh arm because you’re weak.  Just can’t pull yourself away.  It’s warm.  And easy. And some part of you wants the peace—for him and you.

When you eventually awaken, stiff and achy, smelling of sweat and musk and the haute perfume of the disguise you never bothered to wash off, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Bucky’s dead to the world, face soft and slack in sleep, so beautiful and vulnerable it almost hurts.

For a moment, breakfasting together flits across your brain, but no.  Way too risky.  Too much like normal couple life.

You slide out from under a heavy bicep and set your feet soundlessly on the chill of the floor, ignoring a lazy snuffle, but, by the time your shrug back on your (ridiculous) Dolce coat, the worry line has settled on his brow again.  

Damn. For a few precious hours, the perennial mark of his mistreatment had erased.  You want to run a finger down it, smooth away the shadowed ridge with a soft caress, but you do not dare.  That is exactly how another bonfire could ignite.

Instead, you gather up your rifle, activate the hologram and tip-toe away.  Like a thief in the night or a spy who’s set a honey trap.  

You text him ‘sweet dreams’ because this is not the bitch you want to be…  

————————-

The third time it happens—well, it’s just pure weakness…

You are, of necessity, an expert at disguise.  Part of a scout-sniper’s training is advanced stalking skills, keeping yourself hidden from a target just five feet away in rough open bush;  you’ve done that and mastered alternate camouflage for  downtown New York.  Four changes of outfit a day if Bucky’s going far.  Rocker grunge in ripped jeans and blue streaked hair.  Finance exec in Burberry trench and heels.  Thank heaven platform sneakers with lace and skirts are a thing; easier to run in those.  

Bucky may not pick you out, doesn’t know exactly where you are, but he knows you’re there.  Today, your hair is brown, next week redhead, after that could be pink: anything but your natural, and naturally noticeable, pale blonde.  It’s like a game—you hiding and him guessing where you might be.  He shows it (and how he’s memorized every conversation that you’ve had) in little actions meant just for you.

One morning, he ‘just happens’ to be forgetful and leaves a cup of mocha/hold-the-whip on the bench where he just sat.  Another scorching afternoon, he buys your favourite Oddfellows miso cherry cup and leaves it safely in the shade of a blue postbox.  Once, he spends two hours stalking every exhibit at the Met’s armory museum because you’d admitted you’ve never been.  (You like old rifles.  What can you say?)  

How can you not fall for this man?  He’s sweet and kind and deadly.  Wants the best thing for everybody if not for himself, and will soon become impossible to resist.  

Scratch that.  Is.  Is impossible to resist.  

Damn his super hearing.  One lunch strolling past Agent Provocateur, he catches your quiet sigh at something flirty but way, waaay out of your snack bracket and, the next thing you know, he’s marching into Victoria’s Secret.  Cruising the racks in exactly your right size.  Leaving the pink bag wedged behind a subway seat.  

Collecting it is just not wasting money, right?  

It goes on like this for weeks, until the day the teasing shit walks into Narcisse, buys chocolate body paint and leads you straight back in the direction of the Tower.

Oh god.  

This necessitates yet another reconnoiter with wardrobe at the safe house.  No one thinks twice about a well-groomed Chanel-suited woman visiting Tony Stark. 

When the morning comes and you crouch, hand poised above the new skimpy scrap of lace, silently agonizing whether to bring or leave, Bucky sits up in bed.  Confused. Dark hair temptingly messy and fingers reaching out.

“Y/N? Where’s the fire.  It’s early yet.”  

Fuck, he makes this so very hard.  Bucky wants something for himself and you want to give it, but this is, if not exactly wrong, so far from right.  

“Ah…” You don’t know what to say.  The sheets are rumpled low about his hips and the comforter sprawls across the floor.  He’d shoved it off.  Kneeling between your legs to plunder you mercilessly with his tongue.

Oh, Christ, Y/N, don’t think of that.

“I want to get in a run.”  The lie comes easily.  You hate running, but he doesn’t know that yet.

“Gonna hafta change those heels,” he chuckles, stretching languidly.  “You’ll need your coffee first.   Steve said he’d put some on first thing.”  

You pretend to relent, smile and plant the softest of kisses on the knotted scars of his shoulder.  

“See you later,” you murmur, intending to go straight on home, but Steve Rogers has other plans.  Ever the gentleman and always up with the birds, he’s made pancakes. And sausage.  And fruit salad with blueberries.

The table is already set for three.

In the awkward silence, he misunderstands why your mouth is open.  

“Syrup or sugar and lemon juice?  Buck’s mom was British.”  

The assumption you don’t understand the condiments is just too much.  Turning him down again would be far too rude.  

You sit, wrinkled disguise and all, and take a bite of bacon, realizing you have slept with the subject eight times over three different nights and you had no clue what his mother’s background was.  

The fact you want to know is somewhat startling.

From down the hall, you hear the whoosh of water beating down and an adorably off-tune whistle.  Your faithless libido says if you’d played your cards just right you’d be in there too. Soaping up his six pack and the dimples in his butt cheeks.  Going yet another round.  

Desperately, you hide your flaming cheeks in a perfectly foamy cappuccino, but Steve isn’t fooled.  

“You know,” he remarks, casually forking up the detritus of an entire fluffy stack.  “Buck never has nightmares when you are here.”

It’s a hard lesson, but one you obviously have to learn.   

Again.  

Never, never underestimate Captain America’s mastery of tactics.  

———————————–

A week, a month, and you fall into a routine. Bucky’s shadow in the day and his teddy bear at night.  A watcher on his six.  Fire when he needs it and softness when he does not. That he’s let down his guard and become intimate with someone shows just how far he’s come. A growing part of you wants to do this, cheer on every little bit of taking back himself; but another part says stop.

You pride yourself on your skill and professional approach.  Dispassionate execution.  It is part of the reason you are so very good.  You do not get distracted.  At all. You’ve got no baggage. No serious exes clutter up your past. You have not spoken to your folks in years (their commune frowns on ‘making war’).

It comes as something of a shock to need your daily dose of Buck.  Sarcastic jokes.  Lips like silk.  Muscles rippling underneath your touch.  

It shouldn’t matter but it does.  The mission is to protect him.  

Even if it means from yourself.  

———————————-

It is the shot, just a few centimeters stray, that settles things in your mind.  

Sure, everyone has rougher days. Aim a little off.  Skin jumpy and so tight it messes with your zen. But not you.  Never you.  Your concentration is absolute.  You just can’t miss and that is exactly why Coulson first brought you in.  Ms. Hill, in charge of Stark’s security, wants the best of the very best and you are it.  

Next to the man you are sworn to protect.

Barton’s grinning and looking at the minor spread on the target sheet, leaning casually on his bow. “What are you thinking of, Y/N?“ he laughs, blue eyes sliding up to your face.  “Sure ain’t your work.”  

Your cheeks flame up.  He doesn’t mean it.  This is Clint never passing up a chance to take the piss but still it gets your brain cells firing.  What were you thinking of?   Slim hips in black tac pants.  A stubbled, chiseled jaw.  Silver fingers cradling the barrel of a gun.

Shit.

Bucky’s standing not ten feet away in the next corral and, fuck, you can’t help yourself.  It’s the first time you’ve seen him all that day and the need flares up; wild and feral and messing with your head.  You want to know how he’s doing.  Ask about his bout with Steve, see if he wants to grab some lunch, make sure he’s eating right because he’s looking a little hollow in the cheeks and…  

Stop.  

You’re shocked and frankly terrified.  Is this love?  Infatuation? A school-girl crush?  Your heart is raw but what is this for him?  A diversion?  Something steady?  You have no idea, you don’t get much time to talk but you know what it shouldn’t be: too serious.  He is still recovering. You’re his rebound and it isn’t healthy.  Buck needs to date casually, get a better sense of himself and Jesus fucking Christ he is your job.

If Coulson or Fury find out, they’re entitled to put you on report.  A black mark on your copybook.   Though that isn’t what’s got you truly rattled.

You have to be a perfect shot.

For him.

His life depends upon it.

When you finally find the courage to rip the bandage off, you learn first hand that bullshit in Russian has an awfully familiar tone.

Bucky’s a solid wall of disagreement, arms crossed over his chest.  “Babe, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does.”  You raise your chin.  “I am here to protect you.  I can’t do that when my focus is…distracted.”  

“It’s not that way for Nat and Clint.”

Really?  You file that new tidbit of gossip away for more analysis, but still have to regretfully shake your head.  “Not the same. They’re a team, trained to work in tandem.  This is different.”

“It’s not.”  

“It is.”

“Not true.”  

His certainty that you’ll relent begins to melt away. “Y/N, don’t do this.  I thought we had something. Were working on it.  Can be something more.”  

“Please.”

He falls silent in the face of your hard bitten stare.  Lost eyes dark and pleading.  More like a kicked puppy than a famous murderbot, but still you hold.    

You can’t.  You wish you could, but no.  

“It has to be this way for me.”  

To blunt the hurt, you stretch up on tip-toe to press a delicate apology to his lips.  

Bucky flinches, acting like your kiss has broken him and his reaction is breaking you.

‘I thought we had something?’

The accusation rings in your ears all the days to come, but even tears don’t put the heart fires out.

——————————-

You do your job.  Break down and reassemble your gun for the soothing repetition.  Keep well away.  Do exactly what you need to do and not one iota more, but watching him all day is torture.  

Both of you are miserable.

You hide it.  Bucky not so much.  His blue eyes lose their spark;  become haggard and bloodshot.  You know you’ve put the dark bags there, but at least they’re there, you tell yourself when another hit gets foiled.

Everybody notices.  On those rare times you have to be in the Tower, Steve remains so professionally polite and clipped it’s just like being shot.  Next to him, no one knows.  You sit, mute and hurting, inconveniently placed beside Pepper and Maria at a SHIELD event, taking in Natasha’s blistering attack on ‘the gold dipped bitch’ who’s hurt her friend.  They know Bucky, too.  How much the silent, morose Soldier is a capitulation; how working through hurt makes it harder for him to keep the last dregs of Hydra programming at bay.  You hate yourself for it. But there really is no other way and now you realize, it’s getting harder.  Your concentration’s worse if anything and it would be kinder to stop torturing you both.    

The sick reality falls like lead into your stomach. 

You can’t be there at all.  

————————-

You never planned to work for SHIELD.  

You’d enlisted at age eighteen because with no formal schooling and no degree, Uncle Sam was the only outfit that would promise you a job. Your long-honed hunting skills were evident in basic; refined in sniper school until you were something of a legend. You’d set your heart on Special Ops, did every extra ribbon and rotation but still were not sent to the front. Women were not then given combat roles. It sucked.  And if your superiors were sympathetic, they still attached you to endless close protection details. Sent you to the AMU competitions.  Ignored your increasingly strident, respectful pleas for reassignment until you’d thrown your resignation papers down and marched straight off the base.

Seemed like just minutes passed before a bland, grey-suited man tapped you on the shoulder.

“Miss Y/N?” said Philip Coulson with a smile. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Nick Fury is the best boss you’ve never officially had, because sometimes your Army cover is somewhat helpful and Phil swiftly arranged for your resignation papers disappear.  

The rest is history.

——————————

“You want to be reassigned.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You will not squirm, but the Director, away from prying ears in his secure coordination room, is fixing you with his patented thousand-metre stare.  “You really want to go back to Fort Bragg and do paperwork?  Get trotted out when they need an affirmative action photo shoot?”

You groan. Ugh. They will and you know it, but anywhere than SHIELD is the objective.  Better a clean break, you think, but Fury’s not done with you yet.  

“I hear the First Daughter had some death threats.  FBI’s asked us if we can spare a gun. We could reassign you to Sparrow’s detail.”  

Oh fuck no.  The President’s petulant and self-absorbed teenager burns through agents faster than she raids Bloomingdales.  

It takes everything in you to do that nod.

Fury’s one visible eyebrow nearly hits the roof.  “You are serious.”

“Sir. I am.”  You’ve called his bluff.  You stand to attention and wait for it.  The serious suggestion you know is coming.  

“Thing is, Y/N, we were going to recommend you for a new assignment,” Fury paces, hands behind his back and shoulders to the view.  “It involves training.  As hard as anything you’ve done.”

Really?  You’re skeptical. You’ve done the Rangers even if they didn’t let you in the field. Toughed it out with the toughest the Army had.  

What he says next, nearly has your jaw upon the floor.

“We want you permanently cross-posted to the Advanced Threat Containment Unit.  Watch Sergeant Barnes full time.  Close in as he transitions to his next new role.”  

Surprise makes you blurt out the first thing in your head.  “You can’t mean on combat missions?!”

“Mhmm.”  

But that means…  “You’re sending Bucky back into the field!”

“Got a problem with that, Corporal?”  

Your mouth is hanging open.  “But you can’t…”

‘I don’t do that anymore’ rings in your ears.

“You’re going to let him…”

Fury looks, not mad, but entirely amused. “Not do assassinations, no. But let him train and participate.” 

“You can’t,” you stubbornly repeat.  He’s stupidly reckless.  Prone to throwing himself headlong into everything. Not completely healed.  “Not ready,” you finish lamely. 

“You disagree with the psych eval?” 

You shuffle your feet.  This is thin ground. SHIELD does not employ folks with fake degrees.   “No, Sir.” 

The Director smiles, as warmly as you’ll get.  Which is to say, about as a warm as a melting icecube.  “Good. Sergeant Barnes needs someone who has his back and Captain Rogers can’t do that leading from the front.”  

So true.   But also why Bucky shouldn’t be out at all.  “Sir, he forgets…”  To care about himself enough.  

“Precisely why I’ve suggested you be assigned.  You are the best markswoman we have got.  Look, I’m not entirely happy with this either, but he can’t sit and knit forever.  Stark says he’s ready.  The -ologists say he’s ready.  And he’s spending his days moping around the compound too much.”  You wince inside, knowing the cause of that.   “Getting some of his own back might even help.”  

It might.  

And someone will try to take Bucky out again.

And he will be focused on everything but himself.

Shit.  

There is no choice.  

You know you can keep him safe.

Fury, the bastard, just stands and cracks his deaths-head grin.

 ———————————

Training with the Avengers is more brutal than anything you’ve done.

Steve’s in charge, and Nat.  Both merciless.  Both focused on honing you into something more than a gun.  It’s brutal and physical but that isn’t the hardest part.

Bucky is there training, too.  

It feels like being a cat on a hot tin roof.  Circling each other.  Carefully.  Two negative terminals on a magnet—repelling as far away as they can get.  

“Corporal.”

“Sergeant.”  

You’ve said no and Bucky is bending over backwards to be polite and perfectly correct.  No physical contact outside sparring.  No first names unless you can help it.  No interaction at all, outside missions, to be honest.  Tony, oblivious (at least you think he is), organizes movie nights and BBQs that you mostly miss.  You follow Buck’s lead, keep yourself more closed than usual.  Socialize with your old SHIELD squad when you can, haunt your room when there is no time.  

It takes a toll.  

You are not, by nature, a recluse but this is how it has to be. You can’t stand the brief flashes of disappointment in Bucky’s eyes, the wariness with which he interacts.  They cut at your resolve. Shred it, until you’re forced to shut out everything but mission goals. 

They come and go.  Days. Weeks.  The strain coils higher, but you tell yourself you are doing it for him: the man whose eyes haunt your waking moments. You become a shell, sapped of life and desiccated, but each shot is crisp and clean.  This makes it right, but not natural. Eventually, you switch roles like understudies in a play.  He is the pro, silent and efficient as he does his job, while you are the damaged one, snapping at every little thing, recklessly taking risks, heedless of your own safety.  

It all seems worthwhile until the day you walk silently up the empty ramp for the Quinjet and find Steve and Sam huddled by the cockpit.

They don’t hear you slide like a shadow into your berth.

“His nightmares are getting worse.”  

Sam whistles low. “Worse? Man, they were bad before.”

Steve slowly shakes his head. “It’s like Wakanda before he went in cryo.  I honestly don’t know how he is even functioning.”    

“Yeah.  But the shit truth is there nothing you or I can do about it.”  Sam sounds resigned.  “Unless he comes clean on what it is that’s eating at him, and you know he won’t do that easily. Dude’s too stubborn.”

“He’s not the only one.”  

Steve, you realize later, says this for you.  His eyes bore like a laser into your forehead when he comes over to sit down, shrugging his five-point harness on.  

“Corporal.” 

“Captain.”  

“You good?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You fiddle unnecessarily with the heat shield on your stock.  Out of the corner of one eye, you can see him frown, loop his fingers into his belt and sigh, but you know he won’t call you out, won’t give away your private business to anyone.  Still, the optimist in him can’t help but hope.  Steve Rogers is really like a giant collie dog that shepherds a whole flock of misfits—he isn’t happy unless everyone’s set right; and you and Buck are waay out on the fringe.  It feels as if the solid, brooding bulk of his suit is willing you to change your mind. But you are stubborn.

(A trait that you and Bucky share, along with snark and an obsession with perfect lattes.) 

While you wait for everyone to load, you keep your head down and bite your lip, worrying about what you’ve heard.  Fuck, if Buck’s not sleeping that makes both of you, and to do this job you need to be on. You’re good.  You’re fine, you can tolerate a little sleep deprivation, but Bucky—that’s not right. Years of cryo and mind-wipes have messed with the circuitry.  He needs sleep to heal, more than most, and you shake your head, knee vibrating like Clint’s bowstring, dreading but anxiously awaiting for him to load.  

You don’t have long to wait.  Nat and Clint clatter past and take the pilot seats, Tony swans through and starts briefing Steve with last-minute intel and then Bucky’s there. Stowing his gun and hiding behind a fall of dark, lank hair.  You’re shocked.  It’s been a week since you saw him last, in the common room, but oh god he is worse. Clearly.  He barely responds when Clint does a system check. Grunts at Steve’s chirpy welcome. Falls into his seat across from you and that’s when it starts.  The sense of failure.  The hurt that the brutal truth is you are making this all worse; doing exactly what you had wanted to avoid.

Bucky’s not safer with you there.  He’s more in danger and the knowledge of it sucks out all the oxygen.

You spend the three-hour trip and first half hour of the ensuing firefight under water, surfacing for precious gulps of air between the mounting pressure in your chest; like your harness is strapped down way too tight.  

You thought that you’d be helping him, but oh, Y/N, you are really not.  

You need to leave.

Entirely.

Goddamn it hurts, but you have no time.  The heinous bastards who have grabbed a SHIELD tracking station have their dander up, are resisting with all they’ve got and you need to be on your game following as Bucky’s cover.  You leap and sight, neutralize another target still feeling like you can’t get air, watching his lithe form duck and roll, mercilessly slamming a terrorist to the ground.  

His face is all dark angles and unhappy shadows.  Lined and smudged, a ghost of the man who’d smiled, run his fingers through your hair, gently nuzzling at your neck  

“Babe, I could stay this way forever.”

The flash of memory is like a sucker punch to the gut.  

You’ve screwed this whole thing up.  

Can’t do your fucking job cuz you gave in and slept with the man who is your mission and now you’re… what?  

Miserable in his company.  Miserable without.

In love.

Fuck.

This is not how things should be.…  

You’re drowning in the unhappiness, but even with a red haze of doomed understanding filtering across your gaze, you can’t not see it.

The motherfucker three hundred yards away taking aim at Bucky’s head 

You need to pot the asshat now–but your view is obstructed by the base’s cell tower and, so, you leap out, aim and squeeze, heedless of your own back.  The concrete behind the man’s dead eyes neatly disintegrates in a spray of elegant debris and your world dissolves in a rain of stabbing hurt, like a whole river of gravel is fired from the sky.  

You fall.  

There’s a roaring in your ears and the breathlessness is getting worse.  Iron and smoke tinge the soup of dust and rock and gas that your lungs don’t want to breathe. Concussion grenade, must be: and, at first, you struggle, but the twisted beam that roofs your little world won’t even shift.  It’s close, pressing on your chest and you will yourself to fight the panic down.  Don’t disturb it.  Don’t make the situation worse.  You want to laugh at that—fuck no—all you do is make situations worse— but the breath in hurts like full-on hell.  

That has to be good, doesn’t it?  It’s when you don’t feel anything you’re going down…

Ok.. just…lie.  Breathe… take inventory. There’s a trickle of blood running from your hair down through your eyes: you can taste it upon your tongue.  Your left hand stings, but your right is just lying here. Numb. Not moving. Broken probably, but that is the least of your concerns.

The pressure of the beam bears down steadily.

And with it your space to get some air.  

“Y/N!”

From somewhere to your left there comes a voice.  Faint and muffled.  As if someone is shouting way way far away and you realize—this is it.  You are going to die.  No ones gonna arrive in time but weirdly you are ok.  Bucky is allright.  You saw him flip and roll away.  That’s good…that’s everything.  You cough on the settling dust and steel and try to take shallower breaths.  Your heart’s too fast and the air’s too thin and you close your eyes.  Float, indistinct at the edges.  Nothing hurts too much right now.  It’s good. You can close your eyes and drift away.  

“Y/N!”

This time the call is muffled but louder: anguished, as if everything in the world is wrong.

A chunk of steel is wrenched away and for the first time a patch of light shines through the dim.  

“Y/N, are you hurt?!”

You blink through the blood that gums your lashes.  Bucky’s there.  Shoulders wedged into the impossibly tiny space, eyes wide with something you are sure you have never seen.

Fear.

You want to ease his mind, but words are a little hard.  “I’m ok,” comes out more wheeze than whisper.

“Hang on, we’re gonna get you out.”  Bucky barks into the comms for Sam, and help, and oxygen.  He turns and gingerly shoves aside the loose jagged chunks of steel to make a little space.  When there’s a hand’span of pavement clear, he dips down on his left, grimacing and flexing up against the beam.  

There’s a slow metallic groan, an endless pause, but eventually it lifts just barely. 

But sadly not enough.  

The fuzzy world is whiting out, dissolving in a ring of sparks.

“Y/N!”  He frees a hand, shakes you roughly and sends a lance of agony through your chest.  “Stay with me, babe, stay with me.  Cavalry is coming.”  

But we don’t have any horses…  

The wry smile on his face is blurry.  You must have whispered this out loud.  He closes his eyes, resets his metal hand down against the pavement.  Flexes up again.  “Aiighhh!”

The monumental effort gains another precious millimeter and the sparkly whiteness starts to fade to the indigo of his vest.

“What? Can’t you hear the hoofbeats?”  Bucky is shaking, sweat beading on his brow but above there is a whoosh and the carbon ion smell of repulsor jets.

“Got it, Barnes!”

“Took you long enough!”  Bucky sags just slightly, protecting you in case something shifts, but mercifully the metal does not move.  

Sam is crouched behind.  You dimly hear his coolly calm instructions. “Barnes, don’t let her move. Pretty sure those ribs are broken.  Can’t risk a pneumothorax.”  Bucky squeezes out, disappears through the gap but is quickly back again, metal fingers softly pressing a cannula to your nose.  The dizziness fades some more.

“Better?”  His Brooklyn accent aches with hopefulness.  

You nod, warily taking a deeper breath, feeling clean, cool air rush in. Fuck its good but lord it hurts.  At least the world does not swim.  Bucky reaches to brush some damp strands from off your brow and Sam passes a pad into the gap.  You hiss as he presses the treated gauze over the worst of the cut.  “Sorry.  Sorry.”

He glances around the narrow space.  You’re basically in a coffin.  Just wide enough for your hips and long enough for your feet.  When you flex your foot, your toes touch something that feels smooth.  A dish? A beam?  The girders of the tower have toppled like a marionette’s arms and legs when the control strings have been cut.  “Gonna take a bit to cut this mess.  Properly, so it doesn’t shift.”

Bucky’s right, but you’re worrying about the waste of time.  “Is it safe? The cell?”

You mean the rogue Hydra group, the reason why you’re here, because if it’s not, Jesus, you are going to thump him hard.  You’re useless pinned.  But if there’s shooting still going on…

“Relax, babe, we got ‘em.  That grenade was their hail mary pass and it’s failed.  Steve and Clint and Nat are mopping up.”

Thank God.  Some of the tension bleeds away, like steam from a radiator.  You shiver, shock starting to set in, and, tenderly, he drapes you with a silver thermal blanket.  It’s better, but now it’s time to wait.  Bright arcs of light shine through the cracks and you know Tony is working as fast as he can, but still it’s hard.  You’ve been strong forever, but the fear you’ve held a bay is now too much with Bucky near.  

A whimper escapes your lips.

“Shushhh, baby,” he croons, leaning near to cup your cheek with a warm hand. “I’m not going anywhere.   It’s all gonna be ok.”  But it really isn’t.  His other one, metal reflecting Tony’s blazing work, keeps stroking your tangled hair.  This close you can see a forest of tiny scrapes and nicks and cuts upon his dusty skin.

And the ever present smudges of tired grey below his eyes.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”  You’re stammering.  You’ve been selfish, you see that now. Doing what you thought right and best for him. Totally certain you had to be the one to help and all the time the ache of want has never stopped.  

It doesn’t matter.  You need to be strong for him.  Move on and let someone else have the watch.  

“I can’t do this anymore.”    

You’re not sure what you are speaking of: holding yourself together while he kneels and strokes your face, or staying at his side.  Both make sense.  The sounds of working are getting louder.  “Barnes, I’m almost through,” crackles through the link.  

A cool metal finger strokes your brow.  “Hey, not much longer now.”

You turn your head, catch the light in his worried eyes. “No..us, side by side.”  

There, you’ve said it.  SHIELD med will patch you up. Ship you out to base where you can crumble into dust somewhere on your own.

It’s brutal but better than being an irritant.  Scratching endlessly at the scab of him.  

“Goddammit, Y/N. You don’t have to go.”  

His growl is not hurt but sheer frustration.  There’s a storm in his eyes and in the flat set of his frown.  Bucky wriggles a little closer in, cradles you like the most precious thing in all the world.   “Fuck, it takes this battered brain a while, but, babe, you gotta hear me out.  I get it now.  You’re terrified that serving alongside someone who means too much makes you vulnerable.  Messes with your skills–but it doesn’t have to be that way.  There’s a shakedown sure, for a little while, but Clint and Nat–they manage.  Wanda manages with Viz.  Steve works alongside me and we may not be lovers but our bond is just as strong.” His lips pull into the saddest smile. “I fucking need you. You. Y/N. Not the Corporal with the medals.  I need you everywhere.  At night, when the monsters in my head crowd close and, in the day, when I need a snarky smile.  You are best thing I have had in my life and I can’t let that go.”  

Bucky’s face is almost pressed against your cheek.  It’s that smile, soft and warm, and just for you.  

Fire in the night and a watcher on your six.  

“I’ve tried, Doll, I really have, but it just doesn’t work. I need you, complicated as it is. And I won’t let you give up on us. Not without trying, anyway.”  

His whisper is rough with meaning.  He huffs out a little sigh and presses an achingly gentle kiss across your bloodied lips.

This time his kiss breaks you….

——————–

tags:  @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  @theycallmebecca @mewsiex @emilyevanston @mycapt-ohcapt  @pegasusdragontiger  @winters-beauty

@badassbaker @heather-lynn @saffreelove @loricameback @nomadicpixel @missfirstavenger @prplprincez @marvel-lucy

[hellagaymccree]

“Yes, Sir”

NSFW time between a naked Jesse and fully dressed Gabriel in a tux.

[More fics]

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Jesse can hardly sleep since Gabriel left for the mission. He turns every five minutes on his hotel bed, the creaks echo in his ears and his breath is the only sound between the walls. Is not supposed to be a dangerous mission, but the way Gabriel spoke to him through a video chat before he left, with a promise he carried in his eyes of the ways he will make Jesse cry, squirm and moan when he came back left the cowboy’s bones rattling enough to keep him awake.

He checks his phone, it’s almost two in the morning. Gabriel had to infiltrate a party in Castillo to get insight on the family throwing it after they were found guilty of human trafficking. Nothing is supposed to happen in the gathering, Gabriel is there to track and speak to the family, find weaknesses before Blackwatch strikes. If it goes well, the Lorenzos will be behind bars by tomorrow night.

Gabriel did not allowed Jesse to see him in person before he left. The screen of the video chat only showed Gabriel’s neck and head. His commander knew how to tease him, how to leave Jesse wanting more before even realizing it. Jesse was getting anxious, like a puppy waiting for his owner to arrive with a treat. He was eager to have Gabriel’s presence in the same room, to smell his own scent and any others he had caught during the night. Jesse whined to himself, forgetting for a minute there were three other agents sleeping in the room. Even if he wanted to relief himself, called for Gabriel’s name like the devil he is to come and drink the life out of him, he couldn’t.

The vibration from his phone startles him and he fumbles over the night table to grab it.

“I’m back,” Gabriel types and Jesse feels he can breathe again.

He’s on his feet in seconds, his phone almost slips off the mattress. He grabs a key card and leaves the room. He hurries down three doors and knocks. But he’s too greedy too wait and tries the door knob. It’s unlocked and he quickly steps inside, makes sure to lock it after him before looking for Gabriel.

The man is by the window, overlooking the ocean, though you can’t see much under the night’s sky. The lights in the room are dim, and when Gabriel turns to Jesse, he’s drinking a glass of whiskey, shimmering like gold under the warm light. Jesse’s breath shutters in a sigh when he gets the full image of Gabriel. His pants and tuxedo jacket are a sharp black, a white button shirt under a gold vest with black pattern, a golden tie and a gold handkerchief neatly folded in his breast pocket to match. Jesse’s gaze trails down to the man’s shoes, shiny black and gold oxfords. The closer Jesse walks towards his commander, the more his body shivers, the more his bones go hot and his lungs feel tight. He soon gets a smell of mint, lemon zest and green apple. A fresh and intoxicating scent, enough to blow Jesse’s pupils wide.

Jesse stops midway when Gabriel’s stare goes sharper as he sips on his drink. Then he smirks, proud of Jesse for obeying his unspoken command as he approaches the cowboy.

Reyes places two fingers on Jesse’s chin, admiring the blown brown eyes that are burning with lust, “You’ve been good, conejito?”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse mumbles, feeling heat on his groin and his dick starting to harden.

Gabriel’s eyes flicker with wickedness as he tilts the glass towards Jesse, “You look thirsty, mi corazón.”

Jesse obeys another motion command and takes a sip. His eyelids soften as he accepts the gold liquid and it sooths down his throat. He blinks gently, like an air kiss to the older man, causing him to smile.

As soon as the glass lowers, Gabriel pulls the cowboy, to kiss the taste of whiskey through his lips. Jesse moans, barely heard by Gabriel, but felt at the edge of his mouth. Gabriel looks and smells so good, Jesse’s afraid one touch will shatter the masterpiece.

“Looks like you’ve missed me,” Gabriel whispers against Jesse’s lips.

“Yes, sir,” Jesse responds and nods for reassurance.

“I told you, you would get the chance to see me.”

More like warn, Jesse thinks

“What do you want, dulcito?” Gabriel asks before drinking.

Once the glass is out of the way, Jesse leans forward and kisses the man in front of him. He drinks the whiskey and Gabriel’s taste. He breathes in the scent Gabriel wears until he reaches his commander’s own musk. He loves them both and can’t get enough. Jesse kisses down Reyes’ sharp jaw until he stops at his neck. Thick and with refreshed skin from spraying the cologne again a few minutes before Jesse came in. Jesse inhales deeply and sighs against Gabriel’s skin. The man chuckles darkly as he tilts his head, allowing Jesse better access.

“I wanna devour you, sir,” Jesse murmurs before nipping at his lover’s neck. This makes Gabriel laugh and then hisses when Jesse bites stronger. “Allow me.”

“Not until I’m done with you first.”

That’s the warning Jesse receives before he’s kissed, like Gabriel’s about to suck the life out of him. He’s kissed with passion that blazes through Gabriel’s veins. Jesse kisses with the same fever until he wants more and challenges Gabriel. The older man picks him up so easily with one hand around his waist, it makes Jesse cling closer to him, wrapping his legs around his commander’s firm hips. The ice in the glass clings together as they walk towards the bed. Gabriel drops Jesse and the cowboy lays where he falls, watching as Gabriel finishes his drink, eyes locked together.

Gabriel takes his sweet time walking towards the night stand and placing the glass down. While Jesse watches every move, afraid it might miss something. His cock tents in his sweats, twitching to be touched. He doesn’t dare, doesn’t want to touch himself. He sees how Gabriel’s eyes travel all over Jesse’s body and they focus on his cock, begging to be freed. Gabriel crawls on top of his cowboy and kisses him sweetly, pushing him to lie down completely. Jesse already feels lightheaded, like he’s sleeping on a cloud, soaring through the sky.

Gabriel’s mouth roams down Jesse’s neck and chest, his fingers tease his nipples over the thin shirt before lowering to his hips. He starts pulling Jesse’s pants down as he kisses every exposed skin he sees. He laughs against Jesse’s heated skin when the cowboy’s cock is uncovered. He starts kissing lazily, admiring the length and the way it rests on Jesse’ stomach. He only looks away when Jesse moans, to look at McCree’s face and the way his body arcs, pushing his hips up to meet with Gabriel’s lips. He even tilts them, wanting his cock to get some attention.

Gabriel pins Jesse’s hips to the mattress as he hovers over his crotch and Jesse watches as his breath shutters. Gabriel licks up Jesse’s member, feels it twitching as he presses it down against his stomach. He brushes his lips down the length and licks up again and on the sides. Jesse’s hips jerk upwards, asking for more.

Gabriel toys with Jesse’s cock a bit longer to the point of where Jesse’s squirming and whining to finally be taken fully. Gabriel drools in his mouth, and has to lick his lips a couple of times as the hunger grows. He can’t take it much longer and grabs Jesse’s cock. He kisses the head and circles it with his tongue before he slowly takes it in his mouth. Jesse loves the wetness, it’s already sloppy and hot all around. When Gabriel begins to suck, it makes is cock feel bigger and his groin coils with excitement. His right hand falls on Gabriel’s trimmed hair, he presses his fingers down, forcing Gabriel to stay where he is. When the man laughs, the vibration causes Jesse’s dick to twitch on Gabriel’s tongue.

The room has been set ablaze. The sheets under Jesse mold around him like lava and the air grows ticker. His lips go dry with every breath he releases and he feels like he couldn’t scream, yet Gabriel’s name and other word hang on the tip of his tongue, his lungs ready to burst. Every moan Gabriel makes around Jesse travels to his core. Every bite the older man does on the cowboy’s thighs and hips pierces his bones to remain for eternity. By morning, they will be beautiful splashes of purples and reds.

“You’re making it so hard to resist, conejito,” Gabriel growls after Jesse howls in pleasure and arches is back. Sweat glistening over his skin and eyes shut in bliss.

“Don’t,” Jesse pants. “Just take me, Gabe.”

Gabriel smirks with Jesse’s cock leaking by the corner of his lips. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Gabriel crawls forward and kissed Jesse hard. Jesse moans in desperation. He missed those lips already and every time he kissed Gabriel was like the first. No matter how dirty or sloppy they are, they always brought him the same memory of them in the middle of a heart racing battle in the desert. There were gunshots all around and screams of pain. The winds blew the sand in all directions, creating clouds of dust. Jesse didn’t know if he was going to come out alive, if he died, he wanted to have zero regrets. He grabbed Gabriel by his vest and kissed him like it would be the last time they would see each other. It was stupid, reckless and dangerous. Both could have died, someone could’ve seen. Yet Jesse hadn’t cared. He wanted to leave with the taste of Gabriel on his tongue and his moans vibrating in his mouth, down to his heart. He had felt Gabriel’s heart almost against his. Fast going thumps against his ribcage and suddenly they went still. Their pulses froze and their blood went hot as the sun over them. They made it out of the ambush alive, but Gabriel scold him about it in his office the next morning. Before he pulled Jesse for a second kiss, just as fierce and exhilarating as the first one.

Gabriel stops kissing him, a thread of drool between them and desire for more. He stands to start unbuttoning his vest, but Jesse sits up with so quickly his head spins from the motion and Gabriel’s work on him.

He grabs Gabriel’s wrists as he smiles deviously and says, “No, leave it on.”

Gabriel grins and licks his lips as he nods, “As you wish, mi cielo.” He lifts Jesse’s chin to kiss him tenderly before he speaks again. “Strip and get on your knees.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse whispers before he kisses him back.

Gabriel takes a seat on the edge of the bed and spreads his knees apart. The bulge on his pants looks like it’s about to rip through the fabric. Jesse is quick to pulls his pants completely down and step out of them. He takes of his shirt and throws it across the room before he gets on his knees. Gabriel begins to brush his hair as he watches him unbutton and unzip his pants. He’s too fond of Jesse to look away, even when he’s not doing dirty tasks like these.

His eyes look almost pitch black by the size of his pupils when he grabs Gabriel’s hard cock and helps it out through the hole. He strokes it lovingly and with a soft hand, but looks at it with greed. He licks his swollen lips and leans forward, but he retrains himself a second after, wanting to feel Gabriel more, admire his lover.

“Por favor, cariño,” Gabriel pleads. “I’ve been wanting you since before I left.” Jesse looks directly at Gabriel’s eyes. “All I could think about was you. How much I wished you’ve been there by my side. How I would’ve love taken you on that fancy has dining table, or in their clear, hot Jacuzzi. Fuck, in that giant bed in their room, rip the sheets apart, broken its legs, split it in half as I fuck you into it—” Gabriel gasps when Jesse takes him.

Jesse savors his lover, inch by inch, as slowly as he can. He pulls away to lick around the head and takes him again. He tastes the salt of the sweat and what’s Gabriel. Now he has that image in his head, of Gabriel fucking him into a fancy mattress, making a mess of a room made for royalty. Surrounded by goods he can’t afford and furniture so shiny he could see his own reflection full of pleasure when Gabriel makes love to him. His cock feels heavy and need for attention again, but he’s also making a mess on Gabriel. His fingers twitch on Gabriel’s thighs, wanting to touch himself, but he pins them in place.

Gabriel loves the image in front of him, Jesse, fully naked while he’s still dressed. The cowboy’s swollen lips around his thick cock, pre-cum peeking through the hole when Jesse pulls away. He caresses Jesse’s cheek, golden rings shinning against dark skin. “Dios, mi vida. Me dejas sin aliento.”

Jesse turns to kiss Gabriel’s fingers before he continues his job, causing the older man to growl. Jesse makes sure to take Gabriel’s cock completely until the head touches the back of his through. He remains still and moan as he uses his tongue to slip around the sides.

“Get on the bed for me, angelito,” Gabriel says with a weak voice.

Jesse doesn’t move at first, he toys with Gabriel a bit more, puts him almost on the edge of releasing. He can feel Gabriel jerking in his mouth, and the older man tensing before he pulls Jesse away by his shoulders. Jesse can’t help smirking as he crawls into the bed on all fours, already knowing what’s coming. He positions himself, giving Gabriel a good view of his spread legs while Reyes moves to look for the lube.

Gabriel is always gentle with his fingers. Makes sure to prepare Jesse, use up to three to spread him open. He also loves to use his tongue, rim the pucker good and leave it sloppy and gaping. Wanting something to wrap around and fill him. By the time Gabriel has three fingers in Jesse, the younger man is whining, head buried in the pillow and his thighs shaking. He’s mumbling Gabriel’s name, asking to be fucked already.

Gabriel laughs before slapping Jesse’s right ass cheek, already red from a few strikes before it. He sits on the edge of the bed and taps Jesse on his thigh. “Come here, dulcito.”

Jesse moves quickly, scrambling to his feet and kisses his lover deep. He wants to crawl on his lap already, dive until Gabriel’s cock is deep into him, but by Gabriel’s strong grip on his hips, he can tell that’s now what the older man wants right now.

He turns Jesse around and lowers his hips with one hand, while the other holds on to his heavy cock, slicked with lube. The head pokes Jesse’s hole, teases it and the cowboy whines. He sinks lower, slowly until the head is passed his entrance. He gasps to the stretch, of the emptiness he felt without it and how good it always feels, no matter the times Gabriel thrusts into him. Once he feels ready, he goes lower.

Gabriel growls and says through clenched teeth, “Suavecito, conejito.”

The words, the velvet tone of his lover’s voice and the grip on his hips only push Jesse to go for more. He sits on Gabriel’s lap and sways his hips gently, testing the waters, enjoying the burn.

“Move when you want.” Gabriel kisses the back of his neck, causing the hairs to stand up, creating goosebumps around the area.

Jesse starts moving shortly after Gabriel’s words. He circles his hips slowly, then sways them back and ford. In minutes, it start feeling looser, easy to manage and to take. He hums as he lifts himself, getting off Gabriel’s cock and lowering back around it. Gabriel allows the pleasure to run through him. For his blood to burn and his head to spiral out of control. His head feels light when he lets it hang back, he doesn’t mind Jesse doing all the work for a while. After all, the younger man jumps on him with fervor, with desire to please his lover and fulfill himself. He wants to be filled completely with Gabriel’s loaded cock, make his body obey no one but Gabriel.

Jesse looks over his shoulder, just to find Gabriel’s eyes to the ceiling. Jesse shakes his head as he pants before he stands up. He moans to the slippery feeling of Gabriel’s cock coming out and the older man moans louder. Jesse faces him as he saddles on his lap and wraps his arms around Reyes’ neck. His commander smiles at him as he guides his cock under Jesse’s hole. Jesse lowers himself quickly. Their breaths clash together when they gasp and Jesse pulls Gabriel to kiss him as he starts moving again. This time, he does it faster, wanting his heart to race after Gabriel’s. For both to collide in and cause an earthquake that crashes the building. Leaves their bones rattling for days until they fall numb.

Gabriel’s fingertips are leaving his prints all over Jesse’s thighs and ass cheeks. A long with scratches from his nails. Jesse feels his heat scorching the golden rings over his skin, melting it into paint for him to wear proudly. Jesse pushes Gabriel to lie down, keeps his hands on the older man’s chest while he remains on top. Jesse smiles as he moves, he’s on full display on Gabriel, with the older man’s eyes all over his body. He prides himself on having the commander of Blackwatch, one of the founders of Overwatch, under him, mouth opened with swollen lips and blown pupils. He might look like a king, but Jesse his breaking the throne and shattering his castle with the move of his hips.

“Jesse,” Gabriel whispers before he gasps and his fingers burry in Jesse’s sides. He comes hot inside of Jesse and the younger man hums to the feel and satisfaction. Gabriel quickly sits up and wraps an arm around his lover as he wraps his other hand around Jesse’s cock.

It feels so heavy and full, ready to burst. “So good for me, conejito. Always so good.”

“G-Gabe,” Jesse moans as his eyes close in bliss and his body starts shaking. He comes all over Gabriel’s hand and stains the gold vest with white pearl lines. Not a bad addition to his king, Jesse believes.

They kiss for what it feels like forever. Taste the other on each other’s mouths and savor the moment. Gabriel picks up Jesse and lies him down on the bed. They kiss for longer before he parts to the bathroom. When he returns after cleaning himself, he takes care of Jesse, brushing a wet towel over his body and between his thighs. Once he throws the towel away, he laughs at his own clothes. There’s a wet spot in his crotch and come over his vest.

“You’ve ruined my suit,” he says and Jesse sits up.

The younger man smirks and his eyes flicker with desire again, with more hunger. He grabs the gold tie around Gabriel’s neck and pulls him to lean down. “I’m not done ruining you.”

[krzdragon]

Isolation Writing

Sorry it took me more time then I thought it would to type up some of these, and I still had classes and work to focus on. But my paper is finished so I should have time to get a few more of these queued.

Here was the 11th day’s! Enjoy!

Day Eleven - April 4, 2020

“Time is a storm in which we are all lost” – William Carlos Williams

When the Silver Millennium fell the Earth’s crystal was left wreathed in emotions of  regret, pain, agony, and anger at its prince for choosing the princess over the Earth. So something began to form over the eons of abuse and poisoning at the hands of humans.

Finally as the prince was reborn the Earth manifested all its anger, hate, betrayal, agony, and grief into a single bright spot in the womb of Kushina Uzumaki. Kaida Uzumaki joined her twin in life, and perhaps she would never truly manifest as she was meant to. Perhaps the Prince’s return would soothe and give peach to the Earth.

X-x-X

It was not to be.

Helios grieved; for he could not stop the Wrath and he could not warn the Prince. The Earth would not let him go, the Wrath using her own strength to stop him from reaching out, keeping him in Elysian.

Kaida had been born with grief clouding her eyes and the treatment from the village lead to her hate and resentment to build up and consume her. But at fourteen, when her brother left to train, the hate was overpowered by her love for her brother and for the few she had become to close to.

When the scouts awakened, she had felt it, and yet she stayed. She stayed for her brother, she stayed for Iruka and Sakura and Tsunade, she stayed for Gaara and Temari and Kankuro. She stayed but she did not heal, no she continued to fall apart. The pain the village scared upon her, the poison people soaked into the Earth seeping back into her soul, and the betrayal of her prince letting another protect her even as he let her shittenou die.

X-x-X

The news was distressing for Naruto, “Are you sure it was Kaida who unleashed the creatures?” Tsunade asked and the heartbreaking look in Gaara’s eyes told him before the words were even formed “Yes”. Naruto made a distressed sound and a foreboding silence filled the gathering when A spoke “Then we must stop her” and a desperate laugh almost bubbled out of him, even A’s voice was filled with pity. “How do we do that?” Mei questioned “she appears out of no-where, unleashes these creatures, then vanishes. And so far, no one has been able to really damage more than one or two with only the jonin have even come close to killing them but no one has actually managed to kill one yet.”  

“She’s leaving the rift,” Gaara spoke softly and they all turned to him “How do you know?” Tsunade asked. “Before everything began, she mentioned needing to go to Japan, when I questioned her, she never elaborated so I never pushed it. Now, however-” “Why?” no one answered Naruto’s soft question, they couldn’t.

X-x-X

It was decided that Team 7 and the Lord Kazekage would be the one to hunt her, their team was one of the ones who knew her best, there had been arguments against him going but Gaara had simply ignored them.

They had followed her to Tokyo, and lost her, then with an explosion that seemed to rock the city beasts made of shadows and darkness and seemingly from nightmares themselves poured out of nowhere into every street. They acted, aiming for where the beasts seemed to swarm from, destroying the beasts on their way they found themselves joined by women in short skirted uniforms with elemental abilities that felt far different from any shinobi technique they knew (Gaara’s sand was the closest, but still so far from what these girls seemed to do).

As Sailor Moon drew out a staff and poured silver light onto the city the beasts grew more rabid. The beasts seemed to lay untouched as she almost collapsed from exhaustion “how?” Sailor Mars breathed out in shock,

“I’m afraid to inform you that your silver crystal has any effect on my beasts, so I suggest your surrender to your fate princess.” The voice was Kaida’s only she wasn’t wearing her anbu garb anymore; she was robed in a black silken tunic dress outlined with emerald and ruby thread, her waist cinched with golden vines and blackened thorns, and in her scarlet hair was a circlet of gold shining with the heat of the sun.

“We’ve beaten others! We’ll beat you!!” Jupiter screamed defiantly and sent lightening arcing towards Kaida who simply laughed and took the lightning, and aimed harmlessly to the ground “Try again thunder born”

“Kaida! Stop!!” Naruto screamed and she faltered, her eyes seemingly taking in the shinobi for the first time. Her brilliant blue eyes were darker than they should be, but as she looked at her twin they seemed to soften and lighten even as she shook her head, “I’m sorry” her voice seemed to quaver as she locked eyes with Gaara,

Then Mars attacked her and she batted away the flames “I’m not the intruder here, you are,” she sent a wave of magma at Sailor Moon but she was saved by a man in a black tux, her eyes sharpened with hate and filled with darkness “YOU” she hissed