#or is that a signal to wilson to still love him

[thankstothe]

Fandom girlie

[happypopcornprincess]

Under the Same Sky Part 2

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader (TFATWS AU)

Premise - You have your heart guarded for the longest time. But when you encounter a stranger on the same mission, will you be able to do the same?

Word Count - 4.2K

Warnings: Gore, blood, SMUT, minors DNI

a/n - I'm sorry for being late about the second part, a relative of mine passed away after new year and I was with family. This part is dedicated to all the lover girls by heart out there. may you find your lover and have an amazing story. Hope you guys like it <3 Take care.

The wind picked up speed as Lucas and his team stepped on the backyard of the Wilson Residence. Guns drawn, stance ready, they took the steps to the back entrance.

Nadia and Artie moved in first, Matt in tow and Lucas in the end. They hear not a single sound around them. Matt signaled clear after checking the rooms and the kitchen, Nadia let her shoulders relax watching him sign.

“Where are they?” Artie whispered.

The radio in the kitchen turns on its own accord…

Can't stay at home, can't stay at school

Old folks say, "Ya poor little fool"

Down the streets I'm the girl next door

I'm the fox you've been waiting for!

Lucas shoots the radio; the broken device fell to the floor with a thud. A scratched-out sound of Cherry Bomb still playing on.

“That’s a shame…”

Nadia was too slow to turn before you hit her head with the butt of your Glock, “I love that song.”

Artie fell on the floor as Joaquin kicked him in the back, you advanced towards Matt. The first thing that bastard did was to kick off the floor and punch you square in the jaw, but you duck in record time, just to kick his feet off the ground and lose your Glock in the process.

Joaquin got busy with Artie and Lucas, who had teamed up to defeat him. Lucas ducked a kick on his chest, and Artie tried to stab him in the neck. Joaquin got a knife out of his belt and fought with all his might, after throwing Lucas on the kitchen table.

Matt was twice your size, he got up in no time trying to throw you off your feet but you were smarter than that, you ran on the wall, kicking off it and using the velocity to climb his shoulders. You pull a hidden wire from your wrist, falling back and choking him in the process. Matt fought hard to get a hold of you, but you pressed on harder. His movements slowed down, and eventually he stilled as you released the wire.

Joaquin was pinned down on the ground with Artie on top of him, his blade inches away from his windpipe. Joaquin pushed hard on his end of blade, trying to nick off his collarbone. Lucas came rushing towards them now recovered from being thrown on the table… Joaquin threw off all his strength to turn his entire body sideways, which in turn put Artie on the side, giving him a chance to stab him just where his neck met his shoulder.

You got up to rush to Lucas, but fell face first feeling a stronghold on your ankle. Turning, you meet a very pissed off looking Nadia with blood covering her face.

She held a Glock, your glock, aiming at you. You kick her in the face, grabbing your knife in the holster. You sit up to stab her in the back, just an inch away from her heart.

So why was it that you felt a sharp jab on your shoulder?

You look at the source, only to see a blade sticking out of your right shoulder. Nadia’s hand being the holder. She looked you right in the eye as she twisted the blade deeper. You grunt, stabbing the woman again and again until she stopped.

Unbearable pain clouded your senses, but Joaquin’s voice brought you back to your senses, turning towards him to see him spar with Lucas, taking punches and pulling ones. You got on your knees to snatch your Glock from Nadia’s dead fingers, keeping an eye on Joaquin.

Blood ran down his elbow from his palm, he staggered on his feet trying to get a jab at Lucas, but found himself covered in his brains once you shot Lucas in the forehead.

You sighed, feeling your tank top getting wet with blood. It felt like an out of body experience, Natasha’s voice echoing somewhere inside your head; “Your brain is in shock trying to process the pain. Get the blade out, press on a cloth and get the hell out of here before one of them wakes up.”

“y/n, look at me.” Joaquin grabbed your face, making you look at him. He glanced at the knife sticking out of your body. “This might hurt.” Saying so he pulled on the blade, prying it off.

You screamed out loud as he pressed hard on your shoulder with a cloth bandage.

How are you lying on the floor?

Joaquin lifted you up like you weighed nothing, “We gotta go. Come on…” resting your head on his shoulder, you try not to pass out looking at the blood running down his face.

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

Seeing double with an open stab wound was never good news. Joaquin’s jacket did enough to hide the blood and bandage on your shoulder, but it was only a matter of time until some keen observer in the hotel lobby looked at you long enough to know you were unwell.

Leaning on the wall next to you, you watched as Joaquin came towards you and wrapped his arm over your shoulder, careful of your wound, he whispers, “you alright?”

“Kinda.” Your words came out slurred.

“Let’s go.” He led you towards your room, and despite knowing there was no chance of you being followed, you still looked over your shoulder.

As soon as the door opened, you limped towards the bed and Joaquin closed the door and the blinds. Taking off your jacket, you made the rookie mistake of taking a glance at yourself in the mirror.

Your hair was unkempt, your tank top’s strap was torn to pieces, the entire right side of your body covered in blood. The open wound right under your collarbone stared back at you through the mirror.

The room suddenly felt too small, the taste of metal heavy on your tongue.

“whoa!” Joaquin grabs your left side before you fall to the floor, his eyes find yours, and it is then you see the hidden fear in his eyes. He acted fine until now, witnessing the amount of damage on your body.

He helps you sit on the bed, and lean back on the headboard while pressing his jacket on your torso before tearing off your straps. Holding out a piece of rolled up fabric, he holds out to your mouth, “you’ll need this.” You’ve been through this before, never on this scale; but you don’t argue with him before biting into it.

The last thing you felt before blacking out was the burning sensation of rubbing alcohol on your skin and Joaquin’s hand holding yours.

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

The smell of spirit lingered in the air, as you were woken up from deep sleep by a gentle voice. Opening your eyes, you see the bedside digital clock showing 02:18, and your eyes travel to Joaquin sitting on a chair next to the bed. His white vest had spots of blood, your blood, on it. His right hand was bandaged poorly, and the cut above his eyebrow had two butterfly tapes.

“You scared me for a while.” He says while gently caressing your forehead.

“What happened?” you groaned, trying to sit up, he placed a pillow behind you as you leaned back on the headboard. You look down at your body to find your tank top gone, and you wore Joaquin’s Air Force T Shirt. You look at him again to see his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, his eyes heavy. He hadn’t slept the entire night.

“You passed out while I was cleaning your wound, I woke you up to give you some medicines, and you fell asleep.”

“I don’t remember that.” You huffed out, looking at the ceiling.

Joaquin holds your hand, and you feel the rough bandage on your skin, “are you alright?” you look at him and his line of vision, which were trained on your hand.

“yeah.” You sit up straighter, and take his hand in yours, “I’m fine Joaquin, hey,” you gently hold his face that makes him look at you, “I promise.” You smile.

You rest his injured hand on your lap and open the bandage to redo it properly. The next few minutes are spent in silence, the occasional honk and sound of passing vehicles outside being the only noise. You take a proper look at his hand after you’re done, and you bring it to your lips to kiss.

Joaquin inhales sharply as your lips touch his fingers, and your eyes lock on his.

“I thought I would lose you today.” He says, his eyes flickering from yours to your lips.

“I ain’t going anywhere Joaquin. I’m right here.” Your voice came out as a whisper, and he held your face in his hands.

He looks into your eyes again, silently asking for your consent, and your reply wordlessly by leaning towards him.

The kiss was gentle.

Joaquin’s lips were featherlight on yours and you closed your eyes to feel him whole. Holding the back of his neck you brought him closer as you fell back on the headboard, and he climbed the bed to hover over you.

You kiss each other slowly, letting go of the fear of losing each other flow through it.

You savor it; the warmth of his body, his breath on your face, his hands on your waist. He continues to kiss you as his hands traveled your body, and you didn’t open your eyes in fear that it was some kind of dream. 

He cautiously pulls you down on the mattress, your back meeting the sheets of your motel bed. Joaquin gets on his knees to take off his vest, tossing it on the floor. Your eyes couldn’t leave his toned torso, and his broad shoulders covered you entirely when he leaned forward, trailing kisses on your neck. The contrast in the touch of both his hands; one bandaged and one not… you closed your eyes yet again to just feel his touch on your skin. You couldn’t breathe by the way he bit your neck, and you arched your back as his hands gathered the t-shirt to roll it up to your ribs.

“We can stop if you want to.” He says in between kisses, and you moan, “no, please… don’t.”

“As you wish…” he says, his breath hot on your neck. He kissed you right in the valley of your breasts, and sucked on your skin.

You locked eyes with him as he carefully removed the t-shirt off of your body, leaving you in only your jeans. You grabbed a fistful of his hair as his lips left open mouthed kisses on your nipples, you heard him moan as he squeezed your breasts, a sound that made you pull on his hair harder, which only made him louder.

Joaquin made quick work on his belt as you quickly removed your jeans, but he clutched your hand halfway, “wait…” stumbling on his words, “uh… you’re hurt… let me…” he held your jeans and you let them go, as he pulled them down your legs and on the floor.

His hands caressed your thighs, and his gaze lingered on your body. The intensity of it made you shiver, but it wasn’t lust you saw in them.

He wanted you, needed you. Recalling the kiss that you shared earlier today; this was the complete opposite of it. This was pure adoration. 

You were his reverence.

While the shadow of his tousled hair masked his forehead, he locked eyes with you. As he lowered his body bringing his face closer to your thighs, you didn’t dare look away. You arched your back as Joaquin’s arms held you down, his muscles flexing as he kissed your inner thigh, and a loud whine left your lips as he tasted you on his tongue. 

He stopped only when your moans turned into screams, and when you looked at him while heaving for breath, he was gasping for air, his pupils blown, but the gaze still gentle.

You locked your legs on his waist before you could stop yourself, and tossed him on the bed. Now he was under you, and you could feel how eager he was as you looked down at his tented boxers.

Joaquin caressed your waist, “take it easy, y/n.” as he shifted his gaze to your injured shoulder.

“Sure.” you breathed out, heart racing, as you lifted yourself up while he removed his boxers. As soon as you touched him to stroke, he fell back on the bed, his brows knit in pleasure. You laughed; watching how he was reacting to your touch.

“Huh… that wasn’t funny, querida.” he huffed, and you gasped as he grabbed your waist to pull himself up.

Joaquin was now inches away from your face, his chest pressed to yours as he locked his arms around your waist. You tried to wrap yours around his neck, but you hissed as a sharp pain shot through your injured shoulder straight to your neck.

“Ow!” you buried your face on the nape of his neck, as he stiffened within you.

“Told you to take it easy.” he whispered as he caressed your hair, “you wanna stop?”

“No,” you whined, lifting your face to look at him, “no… I…” you huffed out, “I want you.”

He exhaled, replying with a warm smile, “okay.”

Joaquin gently held both of your wrists and brought your hands to his face to let you hold on to his neck, and you gladly did. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and closed his eyes before leaving a kiss on your lips. He pulled you closer as you lowered yourself on him, moaning in each other’s mouths. As you moved, he kept on kissing you. 

Your pace increased as you felt his heartbeat on your skin, his hands grabbing your back. He kissed your face as you lifted your chin, leaving trails on your face and reaching your neck, but you grabbed his hair, pulling him back and exposing his neck to you. Sucking on his neck, you hugged him back, the sharp jab on your shoulder now least of your worries. He pushed into you as you continued to suck and bite his skin wherever you could. He tried his best not to pull your hair, but failed as he grabbed a handful by the end only to bring you closer.

Fighting for air, you kissed him on his mouth… stroking him even after he came inside you.

Joaquin fell back on the bed, bringing you into his arms; exhausted, spent, the two of you fighting for breath. 

You shifted to your uninjured side and you held him while resting your head on his chest; groaning, he adjusted himself so you could lay your head in his arms and stroked your hair,

Both you and Joaquin couldn’t tear your eyes away from each other. He was a sight to behold—his unruly hair sticking to his forehead, his face flushed, and the marks you left on his skin gradually shifting in color.

“You good?” he whispers, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your bare back.

“Yeah. You?” you murmur, feeling the weight of sleep beginning to settle in.

A chuckle bubbles in his throat, and you can't help but smirk when he slaps a hand over his eyes, letting out a soft laugh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you tease, poking his cheek.

“You are…” he sighs, his voice serious but amused. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re really skilled with what you did earlier.”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress a giggle. “You mean the way I body-slammed a Flag Smasher? Or are you talking about…”

“Uh…” He glances up at the ceiling, and you swear you see him blush. “Both.”

You both burst into laughter, and he pulls the covers over you, tucking you close to him. As your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat when his fingers trail over your bare back once more.

“Can’t we stay like this forever?” he asks, his voice soft. “This feels like a dream.”

“It’s real.” You reach up, your fingers gently brushing the cut over his eye. “And even if it is a dream, it’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

His gaze softens at your words, and with a gentle kiss to your forehead, he confesses, “Stay right here, will you?”

You nod, your voice a quiet whisper. “Yes.”

And with that, you slip into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

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

Three Weeks Later, Wilson Residence

Karli was dead, the Flag Smashers were wiped out in a mysterious blast (which Zemo swore he had no part in), and John Walker had vanished off the radar. Sam was now Captain America. You and Joaquin had managed to sit that one out due to injuries, and life—relatively speaking—was almost back to normal.

The last three weeks had been the most peaceful stretch you’d had since the Thanos attack in New York. After a brief visit to Sarah’s newly renovated house—where Sam had to fight you off when you offered to pay for everything—you and Joaquin were finally heading to Arizona. He was finally going to take you to see the Canyons, a promise he’d made all the way back in that attic you two had shared.

It was night now, the kids were asleep, but the dinner table in the Wilson residence was anything but quiet, as Sam and Bucky were recounting the first time they met Spiderman.

“…and we got this kid climbing on the roof, he slams Bucky onto the floor, and screams out something about impressing Tony…”

“…and then he webs you to the escalator…” Bucky grumbles in-between.

“…I was getting to that! Anyways, I let redwing take care of the rest and send him flying through the airport and dump him midair. Ha!” Sam laughs, waiting for a reaction.

Sarah leans forward, utterly bewildered, “So you dropped a kid midair because he webbed you to an escalator?”

Bucky stops her with a laugh, “In our defense, he was on the opposite team!”

You couldn't help teasing him, “Still, you attacked a kid.”

Sam threw a baby carrot at you. “Okay, okay! Stop throwing food, Sam. What are you, five?”

Sam was about to throw another one at youtube bucky grabbed the baby carrots bowl and passed it to sarah, who gladly put it out of his reach.

You shifted your attention to Joaquin, who was looking at the whole ordeal trying not to laugh. The cut above his eye had almost healed, only a faint trail of new skin the only sign that there ever was any injury. 

“We have something to tell you guys,” Joaquin said, his voice a little too casual for the tension in the air. He reached under the table to take your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin.

You squeezed his hand in return, giving him a warm smile before you turned to look at Sam, Bucky, and Sarah.

Joaquin looked at you, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, and then he said it: “Y/N and I are dating.”

The table went silent for a second, and then Sarah’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling. “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you both!”

Sam laughed loudly, throwing his head back, while Bucky froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Bucky stared at the two of you in disbelief, his fork clicking loudly as it dropped to his plate. “Wait a minute... how long has this been going on?”

You winced. “About three weeks, maybe?”

Bucky groaned as he leaned back in his chair. “Three weeks? So, you’ve been hiding this from us?”

Joaquin shifted nervously in his seat. “Yeah, about that.”

“I swear, if you hurt Y/N—” Bucky's voice turned deadly serious, his Vibranium arm rising as he pointed it at Joaquin. “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Joaquin quickly held up his hands. “I would never—”

“Good.” Bucky nodded, satisfied. “Just making sure, You two gross me out.” Bucky side eyes you as you respond by leaving a loud smooch on Joaquin’s cheek.

“Yeah, I’m gonna throw up.” Bucky grimaces and gets up from the table with his beer.

“Get outta here old man.” You scream, all in playfulness as he slams the porch door. Bucky had a knick of theatrics, and you knew deep down he was happy for you.

“He didn’t mean that, Buck’s a secret romantic and I bet you ten bucks he’s crying happy tears on the back porch.” Sam tells you both as you begin to clear out the table.

“I know.” You laugh, helping Joaquin with the dishes.

As Sarah and Sam left for their rooms, you and Joaquin took over cleaning the kitchen. The house fell into a quiet rhythm, the only sound the soft hum of the water running in the sink as you both washed the dishes.

“That went well,” Joaquin said, nudging your shoulder as you stacked the plates in the drying rack.

“Don’t worry, Sam and Sarah adore you. Bucky does too, he’s just... well, too stubborn to show it.” You rolled your eyes, feeling his hands wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you close.

He kissed your neck lightly as you finished stacking the last of the plates. “That was the last one,” you said, leaning back into him, letting yourself enjoy the closeness.

“Mmm-hmm...” You smirked, resting your hands on his as he tightened his grip around your waist.

“Everyone’s asleep,” he whispered, his lips brushing the back of your ear.

“I know,” you murmured, leaning back further into his chest. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, his breath soft in your ear.

“Can we take this to the bedroom?” he grumbled, his voice low and inviting as he hugged you tighter.

You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder. “We’re sleeping on the couch, babe.”

His hands moved slowly to your hips as he nuzzled your neck, “Wanna take this to the couch then?” His playful tone was backed by the softest puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

Before you could even consider it, footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Bucky’s voice rocked through the silence, causing both you and Joaquin to spring apart. You quickly went back to acting busy with the already stacked plates, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Bucky sighed loudly, his eyes toward the ceiling. “Please, for the love of god, tell me you two weren’t... doing that in Sarah’s kitchen.”

Joaquin let out a nervous, “...no.” His face flushed, making you stifle a laugh.

Bucky groaned, rubbing his temples. “I swear, you two...”

“Bucky,” you said, turning toward him with a teasing smile. “Were you crying?”

His eyes went wide, and he immediately shot you a glare. “No. I’m just... tired.” He slumped his shoulders dramatically. “And I’m taking the couch.”

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “You two can take the mattress on the floor. But if I hear so much as a whisper from either of you, I’ll kick you out myself.”

With that, he stormed off, muttering under his breath.

You turned to Joaquin, fighting back a grin. His face was bright red, and his embarrassment was almost too adorable to handle. “Looks like we have to wait until we’re in Arizona,” you said with a sympathetic swat to his arm.

Joaquin groaned, “You know, I’m starting to think Bucky’s secretly shipping us.”

You shot him a wink as you walked out of the kitchen, “He’s just really protective. Come on.”

You patted his arm sympathetically, but then, with a mischievous grin, said, “What about the attic?”

Joaquin raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

You opened your mouth to say yes, as your heart raced just by remembering his touch on your skin, but before you could, Bucky’s voice shouted from the other room.

“I swear to god, I will get a restraining order against the two of you! Don’t even think about it!”

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@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth  @thefandomqueenuno @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron  @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee-faves @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Love y'all, Take Care!

[fairylatte7]

Love was something you never heard enough ~ Joaquín Torres

Time has taken its toll on you. As a reformed member of what was seen by many as a terrorist group, working for Captain America under the conditions of a pardon seemed like nothing much to you. But working for Captain America brought you Joaquín Torres, and he was everything. 

Reader addressed as y/n, minor mentions of death

Me and @daredevilenthusist were chatting and I just had to get to work. Also Sam was right, “Flag Smashers” is such an awful name, like yuck. Where Do Broken Hearts Go was on repeat while I was writing this one. Four is a top- tier 1D album. The vocals are immaculate on that record. I’m still madly in love with Joaquín, obviously. 

Happy reading!

Five years can do a lot to a person. 

It did a lot to you. 

To this day, you still wait for someone to assure you that The Blip was a dream, you were still living in your family home, and that your parents and siblings were very much alive and well. 

You have yet to receive that desired confirmation. 

From a suburb of the United States, to a camp for displaced people in Eastern Europe, to ending up on the run from the American military due to a growing movement that you aided in creating; a lot has changed. 

The affinity you had for computer science while in school back home made you a vital asset for the movement. Every message sent out to supporters, and signal blocked, that kept the group safe, was facilitated by you. 

Despite not being a fan of violence, you believed in what the Flag Smashers wanted in the world. Global governments and organizations continued to make empty promises, and you couldn’t bear to see one more child orphaned or family displaced in the name of getting things “back to the way they were.” 

Taking that serum was the beginning of the end. 

If you never took it, you would have never started to reconsider the group's methods of resistance. 

If you never took it, you would've never found yourself in New York City building a bomb.

If you never took it, you would’ve never been in the basement of that unfinished building. 

You would’ve never been shot. 

You would’ve never begged Sam Wilson to take you to the location where the bomb was planted. 

You would’ve never disarmed the bomb three minutes before it was set to destroy an entire sector of New York. 

If you never took the serum, you would’ve never had the courage to make your own decisions, form your own thoughts, and do what you believe is right, no matter what. 

Yeah, those five years did a lot to you. 

Your work on that fateful night provided you with notoriety in the public eye and pity from the US government. 

You were free of all charges as long as you worked under Sam Wilson, Captain America, so that they could “keep tabs” on you. 

“We don’t need another super soldier running around!”,an old senator complained as you sat in your court hearing. 

Whatever. 

You didn’t bother to argue. You had lost so much by this point that you didn’t care.

One whole year since then and you feel like you’ve been working among Sam’s team for your whole life. 

You were sent on missions to all sorts of interesting places, all over the world. Even if you didn’t completely understand what was going on at all times, you loved getting to be useful and work for something bigger than yourself. 

Working alongside Joaquín Torres didn’t hurt either. 

Well, how could it?

He was such a sweetheart that you worried that if you spent too much time around him, your teeth would begin to rot.

“Hi y/n!”

“How are you, y/n?”

“Great work out there, y/n!” 

“I’m proud of how far you’ve come, y/n.”

"Oh, really? Tell me more, y/n."

Oh, it made you sick. 

And you loved every second you spent with him. 

You constantly asked him questions about himself and his family. You knew his favorite foods, movies, books; his long term goals and aspirations. 

You memorized his habits. The way he smiled awkwardly when he made a mistake; or how he leaned in when attempting to get information on a situation that has, in Sam’s words “absolutely nothing” to do with him. 

You even subliminally changed the way that you held your phone after noticing how he held his.

You basically knew everything about Joaquín. 

Or so you thought. 

The two of you were on a mission in Colorado. You were staked out near the bottom of a canyon. It was hot, dusty, and terribly boring, as you had no intel on when the people you were waiting for were going to pass through.   

Joaquín was sitting outside of the vehicle because he, “needs space” and “being all cramped messes with my vibe.” 

Naturally, you joined him.

Now you both sat on red dirt, backs leaning against the truck, legs outstretched. 

He took a swig of his water bottle. You took note of how his jaw clenched as he swallowed. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. 

You would have been incredibly turned on by this action if it wasn’t so damn hot outside. 

“I haven’t been this bored since that mission in Lithuania where we were at that safehouse for three days.” you grumbled. 

Joaquín leaned his head back and turned to face you. 

“Hm? What made it so bad?” he asked.

“There’s only so many rounds of monopoly I can play before I start to lose my mind, Torres.” you replied. 

“Ah, I didn’t mind it so much.” he said.

You scrunch your face up. “Why?”

“I got to hang out with you for three days straight and get paid for it. I’m not sure what more a man like me could ask for.” 

You were well aware that with the heat feeding into your delusion, emotional maturity was at an all time low in your department. However, you were also aware that what he said had you heart doing a gymnastics floor routine inside of your chest. 

This is just the kind of person he is, you told yourself. Just because everyone you’d ever cared for in your life is gone now, does not mean that you have to latch on to the first person to give you attention. 

You gave a slight chuckle. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

Joaquín began to pick invisible lint off of his suit. He only did that when he was nervous. 

Was he nervous? 

Your thoughts got the better of you and him blurted out your respective questions simultaneously. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

You stared at each other in silence and, for a moment, the scorching heat, mission, and dust in your boots didn’t matter. 

There was just him, only him. 

Joaquín rubbed his face and mumbled to himself, “I’m so stupid…” 

“You’re not stupid Joaquín. You did nothing wrong.” You assured him. 

As he looked at you, his deep brown eyes were filled with something you had never seen from him before. 

He sighed. “I feel like I know so much but so little about you at the same time. You know everything about me. I wanna know you better, I guess.” 

You readjusted yourself as you took a deep breath. 

“After everything that happened last year, every person that really knew me was dead.”

You paused

“I was alone.” 

Joaquín’s eyes softened, he was hanging on to every word you said. 

“But you cared. You know me better than anybody.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was damp, both from sweat and the water he poured on his head to cool down. His forearm muscles flexed as he formed his fingers into a fist in his hair. 

“I don’t know why I waited so long.” Joaquín said. “I’d love to see you outside of canyons and safehouses in the middle of nowhere.” 

Maybe this was a hallucination. A strange byproduct of sitting in the heat so long. 

Maybe he was a hallucination. There is no way he’s real. He can’t be. 

“I’d like to see you too, Joaquín.” 

His eyes shined and his skin was even more golden under the intense sun. 

You were burning up and you wouldn't have it any other way.

When he began to lean in, you knew that once you had his face in your hands, you would never be able to let him go. 

And every part of you was fine with that. 

Just as Joaquín reached out to touch you, Sam’s voice came on through your in-ears. 

You and Joaquín bolted to your feet. 

“You two have got approximately 40 seconds before special ops flies directly overhead. Get in position.”

You gave Sam confirmation as Joaquín prepared to drive off. 

“And I heard all of that too.” Sam added. “So don’t come around me acting like nothing happened.” 

Joaquín gave you a knowing smile and you felt a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in years. 

The reason definitely wasn’t the tempurature outside. 

Time has taken its toll on you, there was no denying it. But it brought you Joaquín too, and that’s got to count for something. 

Gif and photo from pinterest, divider credits to @enchanthings here on tumblr!

thanks for reading!

[toshn]

teachers assistant mark grayson pining for the girl who wants his job 🧘‍♀️

mark grayson: “she'll be the death of me—“

— contents: teacher’s assistant!mark pining over f!reader — from the author: thank u sm for ur request!! i loved writing this like sm^^

there he was again. sitting at the teacher’s desk while mr. wilson discusses whatever topic in biology he’s on. your friend told you he was only present in some of mr. wilson’s classes—but a semester has already passed and you still saw his stupid face. you thought he’d only last for a few weeks and then you’ll be able to get the extra credit and finish as top of your class. but no. this ‘mark’ guy is overstaying and he’s gotta go.

“(y/n)? are you okay?” your friend asked, taking a hold of your shoulder worryingly. you didn’t realize the nasty scowl you had on as you stared at mark. you shook your head and hoped he didn't notice—no. you hoped he noticed. notice the ugly mean face you were making towards him so he could hopefully tuck his tail between his legs and leave that sweet teacher's assistant badge for you to use.

you looked at your friend beside you, "yeah. i'm okay, i was just... thinking of something."

"you mean mark?"

your eyes widened in shock, with a bit of disgust, "no way."

"you were totally looking at him. your eyes were about to jump right out of their sockets with how much you've been staring at him." they smirked, giving your shoulder a light shove. "c'mon. there's no need for you to hide your wittle crush on wittle marky.” they teased, “you know, i’ve seen him give you that look the other day. and the day before that. and even the day before before that.”

a deep resentful frown spread across your lips, your arms folding against your chest. that was by all means the farthest thing imaginable from what was going on. and there was no way he was looking like that towards you. there was a mutual understanding that you can’t be friends with the enemy, in this situation, he’s the enemy breaching foreign territory since he has the job you’ve been wanting. and it wasn't like that was the main reason you've been staring. you needed that job for the extra credit, but maybe a small part of you in the back of your mind agrees with what your friend said. you're never telling them any of that though. "i'm so gonna kill you one day."

they shrugged, shifting their gaze back to the power point mr. wilson was discussing.

halfway through the lecture, you looked down onto the blank notebook staring back at you. awaiting to be written on. you lifted your head to look at the power point when for some reason, something enticed you into looking at the teacher’s desk. where mark was at. you tried to subtly look at the desk for just a split a second, only to come into eye contact with mark. who was seemingly already staring at you beforehand. he must be plotting some kind of ploy to keep you away from stealing that sweet teacher’s assistant position. you quickly looked away before it could prolong and tried to soak any information that left the professor’s mouth.

you understood nothing. you instead doodled mindlessly on what was supposed to be your notes for today's lecture for the entirety of the class, failing to comprehend anything at all. the lesson wasn't really getting through your head for some reason, and you figured it was one of those days. the only thing that snapped you away from further drifting off into space was the professor’s loud voice bidding farewell, signaling the end of the lesson. you couldn't even remember the first thing the professor said, or hell, even anything. all you could think about really was coming into eye contact with mark. but maybe that’s because you hated him so much.

you were packing your stuff back into your tote, already planning on where to eat lunch at with your friend, when all of a sudden, a large hand appeared on your desk. placing your research paper down which had a large 'B' marked in red on the upper-right corner of your paper.

your mouth went agape. that was a flawless paper. you revised the damn thing more times than you could count and made sure each and every citation was reliable and substantial. you even went out of your way and consulted different professors in the field to make sure what you were doing was right. and mark had the balls to give you a B?

"how is this a B? did you check my paper?" you accusingly smacked the material in hand to emphasize that you are not happy with your grade.

he raised his eyebrow, "yeah. and what if i did? if you have any problems. feel free to talk to mr. wilson for whatever concerns you have." he blatantly responded, quickly walking away before you could protest any further.

"that little shit. he knows i'm onto him. he knows i'd be a better assistant than he would so he's- he's doing this on purpose!" you frustratedly ranted towards your friend, who was busying themselves with cleaning up their spot. “he’s unbelievable! how-how is someone like him allowed to be given that job!” you shoved the remainder of your stuff into your bag and scurried off towards mr. wilson, leaving your friend behind with an exasperated sigh.

noticing you approaching, mr. wilson turned his head towards you. “(y/n), how can i help you?” he politely greeted with a smile.

you slightly shifted on the spot, changing your demeanor slightly. you stretched your hand out and showed him your unfairly graded research paper. “mr. wilson, i was wondering what was the criteria for me to be graded with a B? my work deserves more than this grade i was originally given.”

he nodded his head in understanding, “ah. your academic paper. mark was the one who graded these on my behalf. what’s the matter with it?”

“professor, it really seems to me that he’s irresponsibly and unfairly grading papers that don’t deserve low gradings, i really spent my time and effort into producing an output that i was sure to get a higher mark than this.”

he took the paper out of your hands and skimmed the first two pages, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “this is a good paper, i’ll talk to mark about this later. for the mean time, i’ll be keeping it. i’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”

“thank you so much, mr. wilson. i really appreciate it!” you cheered, leaving the room with a content expression before a mischievous smirk crawled onto your lips. when mr. wilson finds out how bad mark messed up, he’s sure to give the job to you and-

“you just had to tell him. didn’t you?”

before you could get a few steps in from leaving the classroom, mark stood in front of you at the doorway. all tall and broad, preventing you from reaching the exit in peace.

you raised your eyebrows and scoffed, “you graded my paper unfairly and you know it. step aside-“ you squinted your eyes to look at the name tag beside him, rolling your eyes internally at the title above it, “grayson.”

you turned to his right to quickly leave him behind without saying anything more to mark. you were gonna be late for your lunch date with your friend after all.

mark held a hand to his chest, biting his lip to prevent the feelings bubbling up from within his chest. he wanted to jump out a window and scream how pretty you were even when you were mad at him. his heart was thumping so loudly it was ringing in his ears and it felt like it was about to implode into itself. he turned around to look at your retreating figure one last time, before preparing himself to face the professor over a grade he gave on a whim to piss you off.

she'll be the death of me.

@ toshn, pls do not steal or ur cheeks will!! be clapped.

[lavendergardenwrites]

A Shame Indeed (c.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: colin bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: use of female descriptors (miss, young lady, etc)

a/n: Part II to this post for colin! also a continuation of this series! i hope you enjoy and a reminder that requests are open! (both in general and for my 200 celebration :)) )

The Bridgerton drawing room is a wonderful net for beautiful sunlight. At least, that is what you gather while sitting there early one morning, a few weeks into your new role as governess. No main member of the family is awake, just the staff that keep the house afloat. It is rather peaceful, and you are grateful for the moments of solitude away from your room where you have piles of old curtain fabric surrounding you. As you finish stitching two panels of a Hyacinth size dress together, there are footsteps traipsing down the carpeted floor, alerting you of someone else’s arrival. You’re quick to your feet, lest it be a Bridgerton and you appear disrespectful. Though you have gained their trust and appreciation, it still feels as though someone might pull you back out of this dream scenario at any second. 

“Ah, good morning Mr. Bridgerton,” you nod, smiling lightly as Colin appears in the doorway. 

“Good morning Miss Y/N. It is rather early is it not? Is Hyacinth even awake yet?” He asks, looking down the hallway before walking closer into the room. 

“Alas, she is not. I figured wasting time while awake rather silly, however, so here I am”.

“With…” he looks behind you, back at the couch, and his eyebrows raise in confusion as his head tilts to the side. 

“Oh, those are curtains that Mrs. Wilson was going to have thrown out. There was a stain on them, apparently, but I have yet to find it”. 

That does not seem to lessen Colin’s confusion. 

“And what exactly are you doing with them?” 

“Hyacinth has been begging to go to the modiste with Lady Bridgerton and Miss Bridgerton, but the focus is on those who need new dresses for the season. So, in the absence of the actual modiste, I figured I could stand in and make her a new dress. It is, however, a surprise so please do not tell her,” you look between him and the curtain, hoping you hadn’t just spoiled your plan. 

Instead of verbally responding, Colin drags his fingers in front of his lips and twists an imaginary key, signalling his sworn secrecy. You laugh quietly, before turning to sit back down with your work. Now that you no longer have to fear the undermining of your surprise, you are free to work on it in the open, or at least in front of Colin. As a member of staff passes, Colin orders tea and scones, muttering something about how if the two of you were going to stay awake you might have some fuel. One thing you have learned throughout your few weeks is Hyacinth and Gregory’s love for mischief is rivalled only by Colin’s love of food. You say nothing, choosing to politely nod in agreement instead as you create the puff sleeves of Hyacinth’s dress. The scones and tea are brought quickly, you assume already prepared. You don’t think it will ever fail to amaze you how on top of everything the people who run Bridgerton house are nor the fact that you are now a part of that. 

“Do you care for cream or jam first?” Colin breaks the silence, almost startling you. 

“Oh, um, do not feel obliged to offer me any Mr. Bridgerton”. 

“Colin, please. We did agree to get to know each other on more adult terms, did we not?” 

“Well, I suppose we did. But that does not remove anything in the series of respect and class differentials Mr. Bridgerton”. 

“Yes, but if I am insisting, and you work for my house, then you must listen to me. Yes?” He looks quite pleased with himself as he pours milk into his teacup. 

“Fine, Colin it is. But if anyone asks, you are to inform them of your wishes immediately. I will not have people thinking I disrespect this house voluntarily,”. 

“Yes ma’am,” he laughs, “now, cream or jam?”  

The conversation carries on easily enough between the two of you, and for a second you forget yourself. You forget that you are inside the previously terrifying Bridgerton home, making clothes out of old curtains and drinking tea with one of your employers. It feels easy, relaxed, and you wish that you could perpetually stay in this moment. The warm sun on your back is the same that makes Colin appear glowing, making his laugh even that more heavenly in appearance. You pause, internally slow blinking and hoping that you’re not physically translating that on your face. You did not just call Colin Bridgerton’s laugh heavenly, did you? You push the thought out of your mind, remembering there is no place for thoughts like that while doing your job. 

That is until Lady Bridgerton makes her way into the drawing room and pauses at the sight before her. You notice her before Colin does, standing at attention immediately, dropping the dress down on the couch beside you. Colin stands cooly, walking over to greet his mother with a soft hug and a light kiss on the cheek. You do not think you’ve seen him do anything with much more force than that since your arrival, and you wonder if he is that gentle with every person he meets. Quickly checking that train of thought and registering it unhelpful at this current moment in time, you look back solely at Lady Bridgerton, apologising for the possibility that you had any part in waking her. 

“Oh no, my dear, it was not you,” she reassures you, choosing not to question why she found her third eldest and her newest hire alone together, but rather allowing Colin to excuse himself with the claim that he is to meet his brothers for a round of fencing. “May I ask why you have some of our old curtains in your possession?” She asks instead, taking Colin’s previously occupied seat on the couch across from you. 

“Oh, Mrs. Wilson said they were to be thrown away and I couldn’t bear the waste of perfectly good fabric, so I fashioned Hyacinth a new dress,” you display the work you had completed during your conversation with the third Bridgerton boy, trying to be prideful but fearing the response all the same. 

“How thoughtful of you,” Lady Bridgerton smiles and you secretly sigh in relief. Though you had never pegged Lady Bridgerton to be cruel or patronising in any way, some of your previous employers had not been as kind, so you always secretly fear the worst. Your letters to your mother would describe as such, the growing anxiety that every well-to-do mama that you serve under will be exactly like the last. As much as you continually remind yourself that the Bridgertons are different, those thoughts do love to linger. 

The afternoon sun brings a welcome break to your lesson with Hyacinth, who immediately insisted on wearing her new dress when presented with it. She looks lovely wandering around the garden, running across benches in the lightly patterned fabric which makes her easier to spot as well. Though that had not been your intention while making the garment, you have to admit it is a welcomed bonus. That child certainly has enough energy for all the ton twice over, so being easily seen is a necessity when she could run off at any moment. She had been dying to show you what she had observed in Gregory’s dance lesson and requested that you acted as the female so she could take Gregory’s spot. You curtsey as low as you can go before placing your hands on her small frame, bending at the knees ever so slightly so her hands can rest at a comfortable position. With no music to accompany you, Hyacinth takes to counting the steps out loud and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to suppress your laughter. One misstep has Hyacinth scolding you, though not entirely in earnest as the situation quickly crumbles into a fit of laughter between you both. The sweet girl sits next to you on the garden pathway, the two of you holding your stomachs as you laugh heartily. 

Colin stands at a window a floor above the gardens, overlooking the entertaining spectacle taking place before him. A persistent smile etches its way onto his face as his hands rest behind his back, grateful that you are down there and otherwise preoccupied so as to not witness his very obvious infatuation. He does not entirely know when his thoughts about you transitioned in such a way, he just hopes it is not as obvious as he feels it must be. Soon, he realises he is not the only person watching, as his mother has joined by his side, glancing down at what has captured her son’s attention so. 

“She has quite the way with the children,” his mother comments, continuing to glance at the two of you rather than addressing her son directly. 

“You chose well,” he agrees, looking quickly at Lady Bridgerton before continuing to smile at the sound of your laugh climbing its way up through the window. 

“A very kind soul indeed,” Lady Bridgerton sighs contently, turning then to look at her son. “With a rather large, loving heart as well. It would be a shame to let that go to waste”. With no further explanation, she turns and walks away, leaving her son in the sunlit spot on the carpet, confused. She did always have a way for reading her childrens’ minds, as well as their hearts, even when they could not conjure up their thoughts themselves. 

What a shame it would be, he agrees mentally. What a shame.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stars Align 3

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as age gap, manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: Steve Rogers was one of the biggest stars of Hollywood’s Golden Era. For years, his disappearance from the spotlight has been a mystery, that is until he walks right into your life. (Old Hollywood AU/1960s AU)

Characters: silverfox!Steve Rogers, reader is named ‘Satyr’ for clarity

Note: A longer chapter for yall.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Satyr 

You keep your foot from fully touching the ground. It’s cold and grimy in some spots. Your caution gives your gait an uneven affectation. 

The men lead you through the city, your inner compass spinning as your eyes skitter all around. You nearly collide with Sam as he turns and opens a door. A bell above rings and he waves you inside. Your toe hits the lip of the step and Steve catches your arm swiftly, keeping you from toppling forward. 

You thank him as he squeezes then lets go, retracting his hand as if branded by the touch. You smile over your shoulder as you enter the din of the restaurant. It’s mostly empty and the lighting is low. A juke box glows against the wall near the end of the bar and several tables are set out across the dining room. 

“Gene,” Sam calls out, “where’s that bar boy? He up for making a dollar?” 

“Oliver,” the man behind the counter calls over his shoulder as he wipes the surface. “Get on out here.” 

A skinny adolescent shuffles out from the door behind the large man. Sam strides up as he reaches into his jacket. You linger close to Steve as your eyes wander around. The man on a stool at the end of the bar glances at your shoeless foot. You wiggle your toes as the famed dancer beside you steps closer, almost protectively so. 

“Honey, what’s your shoe size?” Sam says as he unfolds several bills. 

You give your size and he repeats it to the kid, holding out the bills. “Go, get her some nice shoes. Something with polish,” he demands. “Get back her fast enough, and I’ll add a few extra, huh?” 

“Thanks, Mr. Wilson,” the kid, Oliver perks up. “I’m on it.” 

Sam chuckles and turns back to you and Steve. He tilts his head and a light nudge directs you away from the bar. Sam claims the table in the corner, placing his hat beside him as Steve pulls out a chair and waits for you to sit before he does the same. 

You still can’t believe any of this is real. You smile and subtly pinch your arm. Wake up. 

“Right, so, while we wait for your shoes,” Sam begins and signals over at the bar, “let’s get to business. First lesson, move fast or go nowhere.” 

“Sam,” Steve crosses his arms atop the table and leans on them. 

“By all means, you do the talking,” Sam pulls out his cigarette case and Steve tuts. He puts it away without taking one out and huffs. “I’m merely an agent. I get paid whether it’s me or you.” 

You glance over at Steve shyly and flutter your lashes. You can barely look at him. It’s just so absurd. It’s him! The star of Red Stripes and Called To Duty. Despite the years, he is just as brilliant off-screen as on-screen. 

“We got a script, we got backing, we want to do a film,” Steve begins.

“I’m sure it’s no secret that musicals aren’t exactly in demand anymore. Ginger’s more into dramas now, and a bit above what we’re looking for.” Sam intones as another man approaches; this one slender and as tall as a lamp post. He flips the mugs on the saucers in front of you and pours coffee in each. “Bad timing but there’s a vision.” 

“It’s not over.” Steve insists. 

“Sure fooled me and everyone else,” Sam counters. 

You peek between them with a wordless gape, struggling to keep up. 

“Alright, let’s give the money back to Stark,” Steve retorts. 

“Calm down, I’m teasing,” Sam lifts his mug and blows the steam away. Steve hooks his fingers through the handle of his but doesn’t drink. You don’t really drink coffee. “Look, as much as my man wants to make the offer right now, our producer requires things done in an orderly manner. Now, we’ve seen you dance, we heard you sing. We can clean that up, but we’ll need to do a reading and screen test--” 

“Screen test?” You echo. “Are you... are you asking me to audition? For a movie?” 

Sam chuckles and Steve drags his fingertip around the brim of his cup. Then he lifts his hand and examines the lines of it, curling his fingers, then stretching them again. He opens his palm and rubs it with his other. It’s a nervous gesture you wouldn’t expect of someone like him. 

“Well, I never even been on stage until today,” you giggle. “That’s... that’s-- is this a joke? One of those big city funnies?” 

Sam snorts and shakes his head. Steve shifts beside you. “I don’t got the time to waste on jokes.” 

“Forgive him. He’s a bit grim,” Sam says. “Look, we’re looking at a revival. It’s more than a movie. We’re bringing the golden era back.” 

“Oh, oh,” you swing your legs beneath the chair. “And you want me? But—I mean, I got a call back tomorrow morning.” 

“As a backup dancer, honey. We’re offering you the starring role, so long as you look just as good on a camera,” Sam explains. 

“I know, I know, sir. Thank you, I’m mighty grateful for that. I just—I don’t know if I should believe it. My ma always said I got lost in the clouds.” You flick your thumb nervously against your other hand. 

“That’s good. That’s what we need. Actresses these days don’t wanna put in that work. They want a stand-in to do all that with some fancy camera work.” Sam argues. 

“Come to the studio. Just for a dance. See how it feels,” Steve suggests. 

Sam gives him a look you can’t decipher, “forgive him. He’s the creative type. He’s all about the emotion, that’s why I’m here. And to be honest, I don’t know if I can handle sitting through a hundred auditions with this one.” 

Steve growls in warning. 

“Well, I... I suppose I could try. Nothing wrong with that. I mean, I came all the way here just for the audition today.” You shrug. 

“Came all the way to New York? From where?” Steve asks. 

“Ah, way out in the country. My only audience was Mr. Shawnessy’s cows.” 

Sam laughs again. He sure finds everything amusing. 

The tall man reappears and lays out paper menus. You sit back and thank him. When he goes you look down and try not to show your reaction to the prices. It’s not very expensive for most, but for you, you don’t have a penny to spare. The coffee you have no interest in will be enough of a gouge. 

“Mm, starving,” Sam leans forward to brows the menu, “how about you?” 

“Just thirsty. Think I might just have some water,” you smile without another look at the paper. 

“The Monte Cristo is great,” Steve offers. “Dancing always gave me an appetite.” 

“No, really, I’m--” 

Grrgghghhghg. Your stomach roars in direct contrast to your insistence. You cringe and sheepishly look down. You push your shoulders up. 

“Really, I had a roll with butter on the bus. I’m fine.” 

“My treat,” Sam proclaims. “You don’t think we’re gentlemen? We don’t let a lady pay for her own plate.” 

“No, please, you can’t,” you exclaim and clap your hands. “Really, it’s fine.” 

“You keep saying that but your stomach sounds like a thunderstorm,” Sam scoffs. 

“I’ll eat at the station. I don’t wanna spend your money.” 

“First time I heard a woman say so,” Sam chortles and ignores you a he signals again. 

“Station? Thought you had a call back,” Steve remarks flatly. 

“Well, er, yeah, I was gonna stay there since... since I didn’t expect--” 

“Sleeping at the station? No way. Not the next co-star of Steve Rogers,” Sam snips as the tall man once more approaches, “Winston, monte cristos for the table. Side of fries with each, and some of your chocolate cake. Betsy always made the best slices.” 

“Thank you,” you put your hands to your cheeks and lean on your elbows. “Promise, I’m really not pathetic.” 

“We all start somewhere,” Steve assures you. “I was hemming dresses and building sets when I started. Just a skinny kid hiding behind the curtains.” 

“He likes to say so,” Sam harrumphs. “But look at him now.” 

You smile as your cheeks burn and you chew your lip. Your stomach rolls over again as the smell of coffee makes you nauseous. You can’t wait to call your ma and tell her all about it. 

Steve 

Steve walks beside her, trying not to stare, even as his eyes move on their own to spy her from the corners. She walks with a limp as she tries not press her sole to the cold pavement. He battles with the urge to pick her up and keep her off the dirty street. That feels too much. 

Sam stops in front of Gene's and opens the door. She stops short as Steve does the same, nearly squashing her between their bodies. She turns at the tinkle of the bell and takes the other man's wordless invitation inside. She trips over the threshold and without a thought, he grabs her arm to keep her upright. 

The touch wraps his hand in fire. Her warmth seeps into him and it's like he's been electrified. He squeezes as the flames flick up over his face and he lets her go as she turns to smile over her shoulder. Another scalding lash across his chest. 

He's afraid of how just a flash of her eyes can make him want to tap his toes. He shouldn't feel that way. He barely knows her. He doesn't know her.  

He lowers his hand to his hand an wiggles his fingers. He's impressed. He was quick. He might still have it after all. His reactions are there, but what about the rhythm. 

"Gene," Sam calls to the owner, "where's the bar boy? He up for making a dollar?" 

The man calls for his son as he drags a cloth over the bar. 

Steve doesn't hear his next words as Satyr stays close to him. He can tell she's anxious. He would be too. He can tell she isn't from around here. Mostly, because he is. This place is in his veins, even if he tried to drain it out. 

Steve looks down at it then notices another glancing in her direction. He moves closer. She speaks and he winces. The kid takes the money as he thanks Sam and rushes out to find some shoes for her naked foot.  

Sam turns and Satyr remains, hypnotised by the scene before her. Steve gently taps her arm and she follows them to a table. He's sure to remember the lessons his mother taught him all those years ago and pulls out her chair. She sits and he does the same, his grip lingering on the back of her chair for just a moment. 

She looks dreamy as she runs her hand up one sleeve. She pinches herself but he doesn't mention it. He needs to stop staring. 

"Right, so, while we wait for your shoes, let's get to business. First lesson, move fast or go nowhere," Sam chirps and lifts his hand towards the bar. 

"Sam," Steve crosses his arms and puts them on the table. 

"By all means, you do the talking." Sam takes out his silver cigarette case but just as quickly puts it back as Steve clears his throat. "I'm merely an agent. I get paid whether it's me or you." 

She looks over at Steve and he tries not to flinch. She's shy, starstruck. He usually hates that but it makes him feel fuzzy when she tries not to stare. 

He steadies himself before he speaks, "we got a script. We got backing, we want to do a film." 

“I’m sure it’s no secret that musicals aren’t exactly in demand anymore. Ginger’s more into dramas now, and a bit above what we’re looking for." Sam adds as Winston comes to pour the coffee. “Bad timing but there’s a vision.”  

"It's not over," Steve asserts. 

"Sure fooled me and everyone else." 

Steve sneers at Sam's smart mouth, "Alright, let's give the money back to Stark." 

“Calm down, I’m teasing,” rasies his cup. Steve loops his finger through the handle of his as he tries not to fidget. There's a lot riding on this, that's it. That's why he can't sit still.  

Sam continues, “Look, as much as my man wants to make the offer right now, our producer requires things done in an orderly manner. Now, we’ve seen you dance, we heard you sing. We can clean that up, but we’ll need to do a reading and screen test--”  

"Screen test?" She utters. "Are you... are you asking me to audition? For a movie?" 

She makes it sound glamourous again. She makes Steve excited. His dread fades away with her hopeful tones. He remembers when he was once like her, but he knows better than to believe that feeling. He wants to save her from the same disappointment. Maybe he found her so he could do just that. 

Sam laughs as Steve circles the rim of his mug, his hand still tingling. He peels his hand away and opens it, looking at the lines and the markings of his age. He balls his fist then splays his fingers wide. He can't shake the tickle under his skin. The same hand he caught her with... 

"Well I never been on stage until today," she confesses and trills with laughter. “That’s... that’s-- is this a joke? One of those big city funnies?”  

Sam snorts and shakes his head. Steve doesn't want to laugh at her. "I don't got the time to waste on jokes, he assures. 

"Forgive him. He's a bit grim. Look, we're looking at a revival. It's more than a movie," Sam expounds, "we're bringing the golden era back." 

"Oh, oh," she hums in her seat. "And you want me? But-- I mean, I got a call back tomorrow morning." 

���As a backup dancer, honey. We’re offering you the starring role, so long as you look just as good on a camera,” Sam coaxes.  It's a good thing he's talking because Steve might just get on his knees. 

“I know, I know, sir. Thank you, I’m mighty grateful for that. I just—I don’t know if I should believe it. My ma always said I got lost in the clouds.” She screws her thumb into her hand as she speaks. 

“That’s good. That’s what we need. Actresses these days don’t wanna put in that work. They want a stand-in to do all that with some fancy camera work.” Sam insists. 

“Come to the studio. Just for a dance. See how it feels,” Steve offers. He needs her to try. Just one dance, he knows it will work. 

Sam narrows his eyes in Steve's direction before he pipes up again, “forgive him. He’s the creative type. He’s all about the emotion, that’s why I’m here. And to be honest, I don’t know if I can handle sitting through a hundred auditions with this one.”  

Steve sighs. 

“Well, I... I suppose I could try. Nothing wrong with that. I mean, I came all the way here just for the audition today.” She bounces her shoulders giddily. 

“Came all the way to New York? From where?” Steve wonder aloud.  

“Ah, way out in the country. My only audience was Mr. Shawnessy’s cows.” She chimes. 

Sam laughs once more. Satyr squirms and Winston returns with menus. She thanks the waiter and gives a quick peek to the menu. Her jaw firms and she looks up evasively. She hasn't even reached for the coffee. 

“Mm, starving, how about you?” Steve drawls. 

“Just thirsty. Think I might just have some water,” she smiles. 

“The Monte Cristo is great,” Steve suggests. “Dancing always gave me an appetite.”  

“No, really, I’m--” she begins. 

Grrgghghhghg. Her stomach undergirds her protest. She shrinks down in embarrassment. Steve's heart twinges. He's been there. 

“Really, I had a roll with butter on the bus. I’m fine.” She says. 

“My treat. You don’t think we’re gentlemen? We don’t let a lady pay for her own plate.” Sam offers before Steve can. 

“No, please, you can’t,” she claps and clasps her hands tightly. “Really, it’s fine.”  

“You keep saying that but your stomach sounds like a thunderstorm,” Sam teases. 

“I’ll eat at the station. I don’t wanna spend your money.” She argues. 

“First time I heard a woman say so,” Sam snorts and gestures to the bar.  

“Station? Thought you had a call back,” Steve intones. 

“Well, er, yeah, I was gonna stay there since... since I didn’t expect--” She refuses to look at him. 

“Sleeping at the station? No way. Not the next co-star of Steve Rogers,” Sam turns to search the diner, “Winston, monte cristos for the table. Side of fries with each, and some of your chocolate cake. Betsy always made the best slices.”  

“Thank you,” she cups her face as if trying to hide. “Promise, I’m really not pathetic.”  

“We all start somewhere,” Steve drawls, tempted to lean in, to touch her again. Don't. Old man, you are getting carried away. “I was hemming dresses and building sets when I started. Just a skinny kid hiding behind the curtains.”  

“He likes to say so,” Sam huffs. “But look at him now.”  

She smiles and Steve's caution catches alight. He doesn't care if he's being stupid. She is perfect. She is his fate. 

[librababe99]

ive had this idea stuck in my head for weeks. friends to lovers w Wade. I love your writing! would love to see you do something with this :DDD

Nikki, friends to lovers is one of my favorite tropes! The fact you've are my first request for Wade has me sooo stoked too😊

I hope you enjoy this!!

Title: More Than Just Friends

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Wade Wilson, Female Reader, Set during the 2016 Deadpool Movie Summary: Wade is used to hiding his pain behind sarcasm, but after a brutal night of mercenary work, the one person who always patches him up--His best friend--makes him confront feelings he can no longer bury. WC: 1.0K

It was late, but that was typical for Wade. The nights when he didn’t come home covered in blood, bruises, or worse, were rare. His apartment was as much a sanctuary as it was a warzone. Every time he came back, it was always with a new wound, and every time, you were there. Not that you minded.

You sighed as you climbed the stairs to Wade’s dingy apartment, the bag of medical supplies in your hand. You’d been getting calls from Wade for a while now, ever since he’d been discharged from the Canadian Special Forces and started taking on freelance mercenary jobs. The two of you had been close before—best friends, even—but this work had brought him back into your life in a way you didn’t expect.

It started as a few nights of patching him up, laughing at his stupid jokes while you taped him back together, but it had become routine. A strange routine, but a routine nonetheless. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone a week without seeing him, usually in some state of disrepair.

You knocked on his door, hearing a grunt from inside that signaled Wade’s familiar, albeit exhausted, voice.

“Door’s open,” he called, his voice rough, and you entered.

He was slouched on his old couch, blood smeared across his shirt, which was barely hanging on by a few threads. The sight of him in this state wasn’t new, but something about the way he wasn’t immediately making a joke unsettled you. His usual bravado, the sarcastic remarks, the teasing grin—none of it was there. Instead, he looked… worn down.

“Wade?” you called softly, setting your bag down on the coffee table. “What the hell happened to you this time?”

“Just another Tuesday,” he muttered, trying to crack a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You knelt in front of him, already assessing the damage. His knuckles were split open, bruises darkening around his ribs, and a cut on his cheek was still bleeding. You bit your lip, shaking your head as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. He watched you in silence, his gaze following your every movement.

“This doesn’t look like a ‘just another Tuesday,’ Wade. You look like someone ran you over with a semi-truck.” You tried to keep the tone light, but his silence was unnerving.

He winced as you pressed the cloth to the cut on his cheek, and for a moment, you expected a snarky comeback. Something about how he’d gladly take a semi-truck if it meant seeing you in scrubs. But nothing came. He just closed his eyes, leaning into your touch slightly.

“Wade?” you said softly, pausing. “You okay?”

His eyes opened slowly, meeting yours. There was something there, something raw that you hadn’t seen before. It made your heart skip.

“I’m fine, just… rough night,” he finally said, though his voice lacked its usual strength.

You continued tending to his wounds, the silence between you growing heavier. Normally, Wade would have filled it with crude jokes or exaggerated stories of his fight, but tonight, it felt different. It was like the weight of his life—the mercenary work, the violence, the loneliness—was catching up to him, and for once, he wasn’t hiding it.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” you asked quietly, wrapping a bandage around his hand. You’d wanted to ask him this for a long time, but it never seemed like the right moment. Now, with him this vulnerable, it slipped out before you could stop it.

Wade blinked, his gaze shifting away from yours. “Someone’s gotta do the dirty work, right? Might as well be me.”

“But you don’t have to,” you insisted, your hands stilling on his. “You’re not alone in this, Wade. You don’t have to keep putting yourself through this hell.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just looked at you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen. His usual mask of sarcasm and humor had fallen, leaving the man underneath—the one who felt too much but never showed it.

“I’m good at it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it’s all I’ve got.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “That’s not true. You have people who care about you. You have me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than anything you’d said before. Wade’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. You felt the tension rise, the room suddenly feeling much smaller.

“Do I?” he asked, and there was something vulnerable in the way he said it, like he genuinely didn’t believe it.

“Of course, you do, Wade,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “I’ve been here, haven’t I? Every time you get hurt, every time you need someone. I’m always here.”

Wade swallowed hard, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Instead, he looked at you with something closer to fear—fear of what he might say next, of what it might mean.

“I’ve always joked around, you know,” he began, his voice shaky. “Flirting, teasing… but… you know I care about you, right?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t sure how to respond. Wade was always so flippant with his feelings, always hiding behind his humor. But now? Now he was serious.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling your heart pound in your chest. “But do you know?”

He looked at you, and for once, there was no joking, no sarcasm—just Wade, raw and real. “I’ve been scared, I guess. Scared that if I said something real, I’d screw it up. I’m good at screwing things up.”

Before you could respond, Wade did something you never expected—he leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t his usual playful, teasing kiss. It was soft, tentative, almost as if he was afraid you’d pull away.

But you didn’t. You kissed him back, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned into him. The kiss deepened, and all the tension, all the unspoken words, melted away.

When you finally pulled back, Wade rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “That wasn’t a joke,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I meant that.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling as you looked into his eyes. “I know, Wade. I meant it, too.”

For once, there were no jokes, no walls. Just the two of you—more than just friends.

[sixpounder]

a mercenary’s heart

x-men origins: wolverine timeline | wade wilson x reader

summary: in which a simple mission goes sideways when you cross paths with wade wilson. between gunfights and a high-stakes chase for valuable intel, the tension between you finally snaps, leading to a moment neither of you can take back.

warings: mature content mdni (unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, kinda public sex), strong language and mentions of assassinations.

word count: 2.3k

lowercase intended

the mission was supposed to be solo.

you’ve spent years working alone, carving out a reputation as one of the best mercenaries in the game. you don’t need backup. you don’t need distractions. you definitely don’t need wade wilson.

and yet, as you creep through the jungle toward your target’s fortress, his voice slithers into your earpiece like a bad habit.

“nice night for a little breaking and entering, huh?”

you freeze mid-step, fingers twitching toward your weapon. no. not him.

“tell me this is a joke” you whisper sharply, flattening against the rough bark of a tree.

“oh, sweetheart, if i were joking, you’d be laughing right now.” his voice is thick with amusement, the smirk practically audible.

you inhale slowly, willing yourself to stay calm. you haven’t seen wade since the last job the one that almost got you killed because he couldn’t stop showing off. you swore if you ever crossed paths again, you’d put a bullet between his eyes.

and yet, here he is. smug. infuriating. and, worst of all, standing just a few feet away, peering at you through the darkness. his tactical gear clings to him in all the right places, twin katanas strapped to his back. his lips curl into a slow grin when he catches you staring.

“miss me?”

“get in my way, wilson, and you won’t live long enough to find out.”

“oof. ice cold. i love it.”

you don’t have time for this. the fortress is just ahead, guards patrolling the perimeter. you focus on the mission, slipping through the shadows, but wade follows effortlessly, staying just close enough to remind you he’s there.

then, movement. a patrol rounding the corner. too close. you start to duck back, but wade moved faster.

before you can react, his hand grabs your wrist, spinning you and pinning you hard against the stone wall. his body presses flush against yours, concealing you both in the shadows. the sudden contact knocks the breath from your lungs.

he’s warm. solid. every inch of him pressed against you in ways that should not make your stomach tighten.

“shh” he murmurs, his lips right near your ear.

your pulse pounds as the guards pass, oblivious. wade doesn’t move. his breath ghosts over your skin, the heat between your bodies suffocating in the thick jungle air.

you shift slightly, big mistake. his grip tightens, just enough to make you aware of every single place he’s touching you. his hands, strong, rough, linger against your waist. his chest rises and falls against yours, slow and controlled, while your own breath feels sharp and uneven.

“relax, sweetheart” he whispers. “unless you like being this close to me.”

your fingers twitch with the urge to punch him. or pull him closer. you’re not sure which.

the guards are gone. no more reason to stay like this. so why hasn’t he moved?

your eyes flick up to his. his usual cocky grin is still there, but beneath it, something else. something darker. his pupils are blown wide, gaze flickering to your lips before snapping back up.

oh.

no. no, no, no. you are not about to make this mistake.

you shove him back, hard. he barely stumbles, but his grin widens.

“gotta say, i’m getting mixed signals here.”

“the only signal you need is me walking away.”

and you do. or, at least, you try. but the tension doesn’t fade. it follows you. through the fortress, through the mission, through every damn moment that wade is too close, too aware of you.

and when everything goes to hell, when an explosion tears through the compound and you find yourself backed into a corner, outnumbered, he’s right there. cutting through enemies like a man possessed, making sure none of them get to you.

you don’t have time to question it. you fight side by side, bodies moving in sync, until the last guard drops. silence settles, thick and heavy. your hands are shaking from the adrenaline.

wade turns to you, face unreadable. “you good?”

you nod. too fast.

he steps closer, eyes scanning you like he’s memorizing every piece of you. his usual cocky bravado is gone, something raw lingering in its place.

and maybe it’s the adrenaline. maybe it’s the fact that you almost died. but suddenly, you can’t breathe.

“y’know… you don’t have to keep pretending you hate me.”

your heart slams against your ribs. he’s too damn close. too damn right.

you should walk away.

but instead, you grab his collar and yank him down into a fierce, desperate kiss.

wade freezes, only for a second. then he reacts.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you against him, his mouth claiming yours with a heat that makes your knees weak. it’s messy, frantic, years of tension snapping all at once. you taste blood and gunpowder, feel the sharp edges of him pressing into you like he’s trying to burn the moment into his skin.

he makes a low sound in his throat, almost like a growl, as he backs you against the nearest wall. his hands tighten, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. you fist your hands in his gear, pulling him closer, because this, this is dangerous, reckless, stupid and… you don’t care.

then, he slows.

the raw urgency melts into something deeper. his lips brush against yours, softer this time, like he’s memorizing the feel of you. one of his hands moves up, fingers trailing along your jaw, tilting your chin slightly so he can kiss you again, slower, deliberate. like he means it.

it sends a shiver down your spine.

his forehead rests against yours for a moment, breath warm, hands lingering at your waist. neither of you move.

“that’s for saving my ass back there” you murmur, voice steadier than you feel.

for once, wade is silent. his grip lingers, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you feel him.

then, finally, a slow, wicked grin.

“well, if that’s my reward, i think i’ll save that perfect ass more often.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t push him away this time. not completely, in fact, you pull him closer for another kiss. your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling gently his short hair, your body is completely pressed against his, while his hands roam lower, grabbing your ass and squeezing it possessively.

he lets out a low growl of approval, his fingers digging into your skin slightly as he pulls you even tighter against him. the kiss becomes more intense, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that's hard to ignore. he breaks the kiss only to trail soft, teasing bites down your neck. a small moan escapes your lips, while thinking you should be doing anything but this right now, even though it felt so wrong, it still felt so right… you didn’t want to stop.

“damn” he mutters softly, one hand sliding down to squeeze your ass again while the other tangles in your hair, you angles your head for another deep kiss. he's hard as a rock, it's obvious through his pants and you noticed. his body presses you against the nearby wall, making you gasp.

that is enough to bring you back to reality. what were you doing? this place wasn’t safe. you were literally pressed against a wall outside a fortress hidden within the rainforest. there could still be enemies.

“what's wrong?” he murmurs against your mouth, noticing your sudden shift in mood. his hips roll against yours instinctively, despite the fact that he knows you're probably right to stop but he doesn't want to stop. he wants to keep going until you make him stop.

you let out a little moan. you didn’t want him to stop either “nothing, just… are we sure this place is safe now?”

he lets out a soft chuckle, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to catch his breath. “baby, we're in the middle of the jungle surrounded by an entire army of people we just killed, and i just had my hands all over your ass. nothing about this is safe.” he pauses, giving you a playful smirk.

“fuck off” you chuckle rolling your eyes at him.

he laughs, a genuine sound that echoes through the jungle. “alright, alright” he says, but he doesn't move away from you. instead, he keeps you pressed against the wall, his body still hard against yours. "but seriously, do you really want me to stop?" he continues, his voice dropping to a more serious tone.

“absolutely fucking not, all this situation just makes all of this hotter” you whisper in his ear, before starting to leave a trail of small bites and wet kisses along his jawline and neck.

“jesus christ, woman…” he mutters, tilting his head to give you better access. one hand slides up to tangle in your hair while the other moves to support your thigh, pulling it up around his waist. “you're either gonna get us both killed or make me come in my pants”

“i like the second option better” you smirk before pulling his face closer to yours to kiss him again.

“i bet you do” he groans into the kiss, his body pressing even harder against yours. “you're fucking killing me” he mutters, his hands gripping your hips tightly. he lifts you slightly, allowing you to wrap both legs around his waist. the change in position allows him to grind against you more intensely.

“fuck” you moan out loud, before taking off your tight t-shirt. his eyes darken with lust as he takes in your exposed torso. “goddamn” he growls, his hand immediately moving to cup your breasts over your bra. he kisses you deeply, his hips grinding against you in a rhythm that leaves no doubt about what he wants. you grind back against him, you wanted more.

he breaks the kiss to look at you, his breathing heavy. “iI'm gonna fuck you right here against this wall if you keep moving like that” he warns, his voice low and rough. his hands move to unhook your bra with expert ease, tossing it aside without a care.

“is that a threat or a promise?” you flirt, grinning again against him like she did before. he grins back, his fingers digging into your hips possessively. “it’s a fucking promise” he replies darkly, capturing your mouth again. he can feel your breasts pressing against his chest, your legs tightening around his waist. he's painfully hard, and your little grinds aren't helping his self-control, it starts to snap, and he puts you down, reaches to unbutton your pants. “tell me to stop now, 'cause once i start…” his fingers slip inside your panties, stroking you.

“no keep going” you almost beg.

“best thing i've heard all fucking day” he grunts, finally freeing his aching cock from his pants. you turn around bending over the wall. he positions himself at your entrance, and he pushes into you slowly, this was making you more and more desperate.

“ah hell, you're so fucking tight” he groans, gripping your hips tightly as he starts to move inside you slowly and deeply. he reaches around to play with your clit, hoping to hear more of those beautiful whimpers. “is this what you want?”

“yeah!” she moans loudly, he was making her feel so good.

“fuck yeah it is” he growls, picking up the pace. his hips slam against yours, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the jungle, mixed with your moans and his grunts. he leans over you, biting your shoulder gently.

“shit” he hisses, your movement nearly sending him over the edge. he loves how your body meets his, how you push back whenever he thrusts forward. he adjusts his angle slightly, hitting a spot deep inside you that makes your eyes roll back. “fucking hell, you feel amazing”

all of this was too much for you, with every thrust he hit that sweet spot inside of you, it was making you lose your mind, you were a moaning mess.

“you're so close, aren't you?” he pants, feeling your walls clench around him. he moves a hand to cover your mouth, muffling your loud moans. “come on, baby. let go for me. i wanna feel you cum”

his words pushed you over the edge. with a loud moan, muffled by his hand you cum. he feels your climax ripple around his cock, groaning loudly as your orgasm triggers his own. with one final deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, coming hard. his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your skin as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through him. “holy fuck”.

he pulls out slowly, making you whimper again. he smirks. “too sensitive?” you nod. he watches your body carefully. your breasts rise and fall quickly as you try to catch your breath. your inner thighs are wet, and your hair is disheveled. “damn, you're beautiful like this.”

“thank you” you turn around to look at him, you were literally mesmerized, he was so gorgeous and hot you could stare at him for hours.

he leans in and captures your lips again, kissing you deeply before pulling back and grinning mischievously. “so, when can we do that again?” his hand reaches out to play with a strand of your hair, twirling it around his finger. “i'm thinking... soon.”

“how about we go back to my hotel room? maybe i can offer you a glass of something” you flirt, knowing damn well that the two of you won't even waste time drinking as soon as you get there.

“oh, i like the way you think” he chuckles and gives your ass a playful smack before hoisting you over his shoulder and starting to carry you back towards the jeep.

a/n: let me know you liked it, and if you did, don’t be scared to like, comment or reblog, it would really help me since this blog is new. let me know if you have any kind of request, not just for deadpool, it can be of any marvel character or more, i’m happy to write them <3

[tothegirlwiththemousyhair]

Worries

Wade Wilson x Reader <3

Reader is panicking about Wade while he's out on a mission even though he's literally immortal.

Themes: Fluff, comfort, pure tooth-rotting sweetness.

Word count: 881

Wade had spent most of the day out of the house, it isn’t weird at all for him, but what’s weird is that he hasn’t sent you a text this entire time. He was out on a couple of low-effort missions, his favourite time to send you dumb selfies or opinions about what’s going on. Memes, bad outfits, a bad guy cowering in fear, anything that could make you laugh was sent but not today.

You assumed that maybe the mission was more difficult than Wade thought, someone found a way to murder him, there’s no signal, he’s just busy… etc. You definitely weren’t slightly worrying about him. Definitely. “Whaaaat? Meee? Why wouldn’t I be!” were your specific words to Logan when he walked into the kitchen and asked if you were alright because you were staring into your phone aimlessly.. He gave you your space and went back to what he was doing (I love Logan, but this is a Wade fic.) 

The downward spiral you were stuck in kept advancing and pretty rapidly. In an attempt to calm down your panicking state, you curled up into a ball in the corner of your couch, and watched your favourite show. 30 minutes passed by and you realised you missed a lot of the plot because your mind tuned the show out, and instead spent that time thinking “What if someone actually did find a way to kill him? What if he couldn’t heal fast enough? What if he’s just stuck on a tree trunk somewhere in the forest like a shawarma?”. You knew it wasn’t all that likely to happen, but it’s human instinct to worry about someone being stabbed... or skewered. Especially if you love them.

Inbetween all that worrying, you fell asleep on the couch. Hours pass, and Wade comes home wrecked but the adorable sight of you curled up on the couch definitely compensated for it. He snuck over to the bathroom silently, dumping all of his gear into the “hero-suit hamper”, something you insisted on after 'bad guy blood' got on your cutest pjs. He took a quick shower, getting all of the grime of the day off of him (mostly other people’s blood.) If it was up to him he’d just change into pjs and worry about showering in the morning, but he knows you have a different standard for hygiene.

He finishes showering and he heads over to the living room where you’re still asleep. There’s a moment of silence where he’s just admiring you and then realises that this is most definitely not the most comfortable sleeping position. He scoops you up, resting your head in the crook of his neck. You stir awake for a moment, “Wade? Heyy you’re backkk”, then press a barely-there kiss to his jaw. You go back to your sleeping state, definitely a lot calmer now that you’re sure nobody murdered your boyfriend.

When you wake up in the morning, there’s a slightly concerned Wade Wilson sitting at your side. “Honey, why were you panicking yesterday? Logan kinda told on you btw” Oh fuck now you have to deal with telling him and you’re going to sound delusional and- “Baby? You ok over there?” He interrupted your state of panic because your silence combined with the face you were making were very obviously at least a tiny bit panicked. “Ok so… I went into a bit of a downward spiral thinking about how maybe someone figured out a way to kill you. I know it’s very impractical and it’s silly to even consider, but I mean what if you don’t heal in time, or they cut you up and put the pieces of you really far apart?”

“It’s always great to hear that you’ve been thinking of all the ways to get rid of me honey, but I really doubt that’ll happen. Also it’s fairly hard, I’d know! I tried!” He replies, trying to get you out of this loop of horrid thoughts. “Wade, all that does is remind me that you were suicidal.” You snuggled closer to him, trying to feel that he’s still there. “Were! Past tense! It’s a very important tense how would we speak withou-” you interrupt him holding his lips shut with the tips of your fingers. “I’m just worried because you can be careless sometimes, alright? I know I sound insane.”

He pries his mouth out of the smushed-shut position you had it in, “First of all, you don’t sound insane, you sound very caring and I think that’s sooo cuteee." He presses a small kiss to your forehead. "Second of all, I promise to be a bit more cautious in missions for your sake, alright?” You cuddle into his chest, your head in the nook of his neck similar to last night, and he hears you murmur a small ‘thank you’, his arms naturally wrapping around you to hold you close to him.

There’s an extremely rare moment of completely silent peace between you and Wade, which of course he ruins, “Also if my parts were split and spread, do you think I’d reform into several mes? Like a lizard?” Earning a small chuckle from you.

As annoying as he was, he made your heart swell, and that’s all that mattered.

[stubz]

The media usually get most things about time traveling wrong. Like, you can save people in the past without the space time continuum falling apart. As long as they're a nobody that is. Can't kill Hitler but you could probably save your grandpa who died from a car crash.

Our technology does not stop working once we go to the past. We have office issued coms, computers, and music players. Yes we have music players. Listening to the sound of death in 1346 England gets old.

You can't bring someone from the past to the future and you can't stay in the past. If you do then it's a death sentence. That's the biggest thing they get wrong. It has nothing to do with time paradoxes or ripping the fabric of reality. Its just how the body and mind react.

When bringing someone to the present their body will hyper age and that will kill them. Even if you bring a kid from 2000 to now they will likely be brain dead. The mind and body simply can't handle the stress of hyper aging.

Staying in the past is a death sentence because you can't die. For whatever reason, a person from the present can't die in the past. They can't get sick, age, any injury they get simply disappears. They are paused in time and only when they return to their time will things resume. Sounds fine right? Well it is if you don't go too far back.

We have a cautionary tale. A senior officer, Wilson, decided he'd like to retire and live during the renaissance. Everyone knew he wouldn't die so it became an experiment. The check ins started at once a week then once a month then once a year until Wilson insisted he'd be fine and to not interrupt him until the end of the renaissance.

As a senior officer with an unblemished record his wish was granted.

300 years he was left alone. 300 years he lived as a immortal. He met dozens of famous artists and poets. Saw their works at the grand revealing. Enjoyed a life of luxury thanks to his pension that made him the richest man throughout the time period.

We all wondered about the stories he would tell us when we saw him again. How would he act after living in the past for 300 years? Did he still have any trace of his Boston accent or was it lost forever? What did he miss from the present?

He missed death. Grabbed a time machine from one of the doctors, went to the present, and stuck himself with the closest thing he got his hands on. It was a pair of office scissors.

Quick. We were all surprised by how quick it was. There were no signs or clues. Wilson greeted the group with a smile, hugged Dr Bishop his old friend, gave them a thick leather journal, the rest you know.

Through reading his journal we understood why he did it. There were so many. Too many. Pages upon pages of names.

Wilson had written down the name of every deceased loved one he had during those three hundred years. He had lost 50 close friends, 2 wives, 13 adopted children, and 20 apprentices. And that's just from the names we could read before the writing becomes illegible.

We've had a dozen others after Wilson, one was another attempt while the others were stranded and lost. Being trapped a hundred years back in time has a 98% survival rate as the majority of the lost have people they will meet soon that will help with the grief. Grandparents, parents, even old teachers, that's how Scott Nolan passed the time, became roommates with his old high school principle throughout the 1950s.

The farther back they're stranded the smaller their chances of rehabilitation are. 200 years back has a 65% success rate. 300 years has a 25% success rate. Now of course it all depends on how long they are trapped there. A week in 3000 BCE will not turn you into Wilson but finding the lost isn't always easy. We have so many rules and protocols to find them as fast as possible but things happen.

Broken time machine means you're trapped and that we only have the year you went to. Broken comms equals no area location. Failing to send out a distress signal means that control will not send out a team until after you missed your check in. And that's for missions, unauthorized trips are a whole other thing.

All in all 80% of the lost are found and recovered within 48hours. After those 48hours those numbers I just mentioned start to become real.

It's been a month.

You're probably wondering now how does a time traveler become lost and stranded? Human error. Machine error. Doesn't really matter. No matter the job shit just happens. Mine was human. Misheard the coordinates and now I'm here in the Paleolithic period with a dead time machine.

No one knows I'm here. Control thinks I'm in Japan during the Edo period with the rest of the clean up crew. Clean up crew probably haven't reported me missing, I was given a free pass to miss work so they must think that's what I did. Neither will know I'm missing until the job is done.

What then? Cleaning crew don't have personal comms. Time machine is dead and there was no distress signal.

The longest time a lost was stranded was 1500 years. Bachelor party gone wrong. It took control a month to find them all as they had all ended up stranded in different times. The groom was found last. By accident. An officer on a mission in 1830 West Africa miraculously found him after hearing rumors of a monster roaming the plains.

He was an animal in human skin. It took ten years for him to be rehabilitated. The bride was there every step of the way. He still requires monthly check-ins however.

Wilson lived three hundred years and died. The groom lived fifteen hundred and survived. Let's see how I do.

[nizhspo]

hi!!! i literally LIVE LAUGH LOVE for your writing.... could i ask you to write about any character from hq i honestly don't mind with any associated with the song

Signs by Justin Timberlake, Snoop Dogg, and Charlie Wilson

i have actually only heard this song like three times in my life so listened to it on loop to get like the vibes and THIS is how i interpreted i think so i hope i deliveredddd

the club is packed.

not shoulder-to-shoulder, but pulse-to-pulse. bass heavy, red lights sharp, bodies close enough to blur. someone’s got a fog machine going in the corner, and the air’s wet with sweat, perfume, and tequila fumes.

your heels hurt, your gloss is sticky, and you haven’t stopped dancing since your second drink.

you don’t plan to. not tonight.

“signs” is playing, bold, loud, cocky, and the energy shifts the second that hook hits.

you feel it. the way the room warps around you. the way the stares lock in like heat-seeking signals. and you know why.

you’re it tonight. not just pretty. not just hot. you’re untouchable.

and they feel it too.

from across the club, osamu is watching.

he hasn’t moved from the bar all night. coors light in one hand, the label peeled halfway off. his shirt’s black, rolled at the sleeves, chain subtle under his collar. he doesn’t chase. he doesn’t speak unless spoken to. but he watches.

the kind of watching that feels like confession. the kind that says i want her, but i won’t say it first.

he sees you laughing, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, mouth wrapped around a straw, and he swears under his breath.

“you gonna make a move or what?” suna mutters next to him, not looking up from his phone.

osamu doesn’t answer at first. just nods toward you, lit by neon, moving like music made you in its image.

“girl like her?” he says eventually. voice low. unreadable. “she don’t need someone like me dragging her down.”

but he doesn’t stop watching.

because damn if you don’t look like sin wrapped in strobe light.

…

atsumu is already halfway to you.

gold chain swaying. shirt unbuttoned just low enough. eyes on lock. he’s too much, but he knows it. that’s the trick. he’s not apologizing for the attention. he thrives in it.

he leans in toward suna on his way out: “she’s lookin’ right at me. you saw that, right?”

and you are.

you smile. because you know he’ll take it personally if you don’t.

he approaches like it’s his birthright, cocky grin and all. his hand hovers just short of your waist, close enough to feel but not enough to touch.

“that smile for me, sweetheart?” his voice is sweet tea and danger.

your brow lifts.

“depends,” you say, sipping slow. “that cologne versace or gas station special?”

he loses it. doubles over like you shot him.

“oh, i like you,” he laughs, clutching his chest. “ain’t nobody ever caught me slippin’ like that.”

then he leans in closer, voice dropped low like a dare. “you with your friend tonight?”

you glance over your shoulder at the girl in the booth still texting her ex and sipping watered-down cranberry. “yeah.”

he tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “she cool with you bringin’ any dudes over?”

“nah.” you say it too fast. too smooth.

he hears the lie. doesn’t call it out. just grins.

“mm.” he murmurs, leaning into your ear. “that’s fine, i got a place we can go if you just say the word.”

you laugh. throw your head back. maybe to drown the flutter in your chest. maybe to distract him from how you’re already scanning the room for someone else.

because the truth is—you’re not seeing anyone else in the club right now.

you’re seeing everyone.

…

suna doesn’t move until you do.

when your legs finally give out and you perch on a velvet stool near the wall, sipping water and watching the swirl of the floor, he’s there.

not flashy. not obvious. just there.

he hands you a cold water bottle, unopened. “figured you might need it.”

you squint up at him. “what are you, the hydration police?”

“nah.” he leans against the wall, one shoulder tipped lazy. “just grabbed two.”

he doesn’t look at you. just scans the room, like he forgot you were even there. like he’s not waiting for anything back.

you crack the seal. take a sip. he doesn’t say a word.

just stays there. quiet. like he’s fine with not being noticed. then stays there like he might leave, but hasn’t decided yet.

“but if i were trying to impress you tonight…”

he takes a sip of his own drink, glances at you sideways. “i’d start with saying you look better than the music sounds.”

you cough. smile. maybe blush.

he sees. doesn’t gloat. just lets the silence sit between you, heavy like a held breath.

…

you’re the center of the storm.

glitter caught in the low light, sweat shining at your temples, your hips keeping time with the bass like it’s written into your bloodstream. every move you make draws eyes, intentional or not. every turn of your head, every flick of your wrist, every low laugh you give to someone who doesn’t matter.

atsumu finds you again.

this time, he doesn’t come cocky. doesn’t lead with a joke or a dare. just steps in close. close enough that you feel the heat of him, the faint scent of whatever cologne he probably stole from his brother, the steady thump of his pulse where his chest brushes yours.

his voice drops low, velvet and earnest. “lemme take you home.” his lips ghost near your ear. not touching. but not far.

you tilt your head, just a little. smile slow. “you drive?”

he scoffs, almost wounded, but amused. “nah,” he says, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “but i got a guy.”

you huff a laugh. “of course you do.”

and you’re already turning, already gone, leaving him grinning in your wake, shaking his head, hand dragging through his hair like he might just follow anyway.

he watches you walk off like he knows you’ll haunt him for the rest of the night. like part of him hopes you do.

…

osamu meets your eyes from across the room like he never stopped. like he’d been watching since the minute you stepped in. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t nod. just holds your gaze with that steady, unreadable calm, shoulders relaxed, one hand around the neck of a dark glass bottle, the other tucked in his pocket like he’s got nowhere else to be.

you move slow when you pass him. not to show off, not exactly, but enough that he notices. the brush of your dress, the shift of your hips, the barest skim of your fingers as they trail the rim of his glass. cold against warm. silk against calloused skin.

he doesn’t flinch. just tips his drink toward you in a lazy kind of toast.

“you always this quiet?” you murmur, not stopping.

he watches you. eyes sharp, mouth unreadable. “only when i’m thinkin’,” he says.

you glance back, one eyebrow raised, lips curled at the edge. “thinkin’ about what?”

his head tilts just slightly, like the question amuses him.

“trouble,” he says. voice low, smooth, like smoke curling out the back door of a bar. “and how i’d chase it if it looked like you.”

that makes you laugh. a soft, honest thing from the chest, like it snuck out before you could hold it in.

he watches that, too.

but you don’t stop walking. just circle around him like a cat might—shoulder brushing his as you pass, catching the faint scent of something clean, woodsy, grounded. like cedar and salt and restraint.

you glance over your shoulder. “you got a twin in here or somethin’?”

he leans back on one heel. “depends.”

“on?”

“you askin’ ‘cause you’re curious,” he says, taking a slow sip, “or ‘cause you’re hopin’ there’s more than one?”

you grin. don’t answer. just keep walking, and let him watch.

…

suna’s back on the couch, long legs stretched out, one arm hooked lazily behind his head like he owns the corner. there’s a drink in his free hand, mostly melted ice now, beads of water sliding down the side. he’s sunk low into velvet cushions, hoodie bunched at his elbows, face tilted toward the ceiling like he’s tuning out the club, letting the bass rattle through his bones instead of his thoughts.

you drop next to him, warm from the tequila and the attention, skin still humming from the dance floor. your thigh presses against his as you settle in, closer than you need to be. glowing. grinning.

“you keeping tabs on me?” you ask, voice light, teasing.

he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even shift. just tips the rim of his glass toward his mouth, sips once, and says, “nah. you’re just hard to miss.”

you scoff, bump his leg with your knee.

he blinks slow. turns his head like it’s a chore. finally meets your eyes.

and then, barely, smiles. not with his teeth. just the corner of his mouth. just enough to make your breath hitch. just enough to let you know he’s been watching you all night. and liking it.

“what?” you murmur.

he shrugs. “nothin’,” he says. “you’re just… loud.”

“loud?”

“not like that.” his gaze dips, once, slow, deliberate. “you just take up space.”

you don’t know what to say to that. so you don’t.

you just lean back into the couch beside him, heart kicking a little faster, knee still pressed to his. and neither of you moves.

…

the song loops again—“cupid don’t fuck with me!”

the bassline snaps through the floorboards, rattles through highball cups and glass bottle necks and the sweat-slick bodies moving in rhythm. the lights strobe low and golden, like honey spilled across skin, like the night wants to lick every inch of you clean.

you’re in the center of it. orbiting. untouchable.

they’re still watching—all three of them.

one leaning against the kitchen doorframe, jaw tense, eyes hooded behind the rim of his beer.

one sunk into the corner of the couch, gaze sharp, unreadable, like he’s trying not to stare but failing.

one posted up near the speaker, arms folded, pretending to be lost in the music, but the moment you laugh, his head turns.

none of them move. none of them interrupt.

and maybe you won’t kiss any of them tonight. maybe you’ll smile and vanish into the night with your lipstick still perfect, your pride still intact, your mystery still intact.

but god, do they want you to. want you close. want to be the one you let in, even just for a second.

and that’s the fun of it: being the storm in the room. the maybe. the if. the want.

[sjsmith56]

All the King’s Men, Part 1 - Born Into It

Summary: A confrontation at a mob wedding signals the start of a possible war. For one of the mob bosses, Bucky Barnes, it comes at a time when he is considering leaving the life behind.

Length: 4.1 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Helmut Zemo, Tony Stark, Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow, Joaquin Torres, named OFC.

Warnings: Unrestrained ambition, regrets.

Author notes: I hope you like this.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.

It was never supposed to come to this. In the world Bucky Barnes lived he was never supposed to go against the King he swore an oath to, Alexander Pierce. But he made a decision that came with consequences. Then he met her, and his entire world turned upside down. More choices were made, people were hurt or killed, and he accepted that this was now the time of war. As he loaded his guns, he looked at the grim face of his best friend and lieutenant, Steve Rogers. With the sound of the deluge that pounded against the roof and windows of the warehouse like a constant dirge as a reminder of what he had to do, he nodded at his friend, then at the others that waited for him. Together they went out into the rainy night, getting inside one of the waiting vehicles to face either the end of their existence or a new beginning.

Six Weeks Before

It was the wedding of the year; the marriage of Alexandra Pierce to Brock Rumlow. The daughter of the King of the Five Boroughs, Alexander Pierce, was marrying one of the King's Men, the one responsible for the Bronx territory; a match made in heaven. More likely, it was a match made in the conference room of Pierce's offices in the glass walled Insight Tower where he ran his empire. Without a son to pass his domain on to, Pierce had five potential successors, Bucky Barnes, in charge of Brooklyn, Tony Stark in charge of Manhattan, Helmut Zemo from Queens, Wilson Fisk who ran Staten Island (more like its warden than its crime boss), and Rumlow, who ruled The Bronx with an iron fist. Although Rumlow's elevation to family wasn't necessarily a promotion to successor, it was still an indicator to many that he was likely to be the next King. Whether that was going to be acceptable to the other King's Men remained to be seen.

On the terrace of the large Manhattan hotel where the elaborately decorated wedding reception was being held, Barnes had a drink with a couple of his men, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson. He lit up a cigarette, gazing out over the New York cityscape. Nothing verbally was said between the three; it wasn't necessary since they knew each other so well. As the other two leaned against the railing, facing the wedding guests who were outside taking in the view, Barnes continued to focus his attention on the bustling city, wishing he didn't have to make an appearance at this particular wedding. Another one of the King's Men, Helmut Zemo, approached them, accompanied by his closest advisor, an ancient but crafty man known only as Oeznik, who had served Zemo's father. The Queens boss nodded at Rogers and Wilson, then lit up his own cigarette and took a position next to Barnes.

"You must be disappointed, James," he said, using Bucky's full birth name, a habit he used with all of them. "Everyone thought you were Pierce's golden boy."

"Not at all," answered Barnes. "I'm happy for Rumlow and for her. Let him deal with her temper tantrums and need to buy something new everyday to fill the hole in her heart knowing she wasn't the son her father always wanted."

"Bold words that have a touch of truth and bitterness in them," smiled Zemo, his slight accent revealing his European birth. "Don't tell me you hope to find a love match. You know that's not possible for men like us."

"No? Yet you had that, Helmut," said Barnes, turning to look at his counterpart. "She was the light of your life. I envied you and I still hold out hope that there might be someone like her out there for me."

A flicker of pain crossed the other man's eyes, then it passed, and he smiled sadly. "She was the perfect wife, and I miss her. It's also why I will never marry again." He took another drag of his cigarette then gestured to the city. "It all looks so clean from up here. Bright lights, beautiful buildings. Anthony has done a great job hiding the true nature of the city from its inhabitants."

"He likes it when things look shiny and clean." Bucky inhaled his cigarette, blowing the smoke out forcefully, and watching as it dissipated. "I'm happy in Brooklyn. It's where I grew up. It's home, even the dirty and dangerous parts. I made choices, just like you." He turned around. "You're happy in Queens, aren't you?"

Zemo shrugged. He was always good at hiding his emotions, except when his late wife was mentioned. Turning away from the view he looked at the others outside on the terrace with them, then he lowered his voice.

"Trouble is coming," he said. "I respect you, James. You say what you mean and mean what you say, and you are principled. It's a rare thing in our business. Tread carefully."

He took one last drag of his cigarette then stubbed it out with his shoe. With a nod to the others, he and Oeznik returned inside, leaving Bucky contemplating the man's words. None of what he said was a surprise, really. The past year had provided some dark moments that affected him personally.

"He must have heard the same rumours," said Steve, lowering his voice while watching the others. "Zemo could be a valuable ally if Fisk makes his move."

"True, but he's betrayed his friends when it suited him." Bucky breathed steadily. "Tony has already said he'll stand with us. Rumlow is the wild card and Pierce knows it, has nurtured it since I walked away from Alexandra. It's his way of keeping us on our toes." He looked at his watch. "Pierce will likely call a meeting in the next half hour. Why let a wedding interfere with business?"

Twenty-five minutes later the word was passed that a meeting would be held in a private room on the third floor. All the King's Men, their lieutenants, and advisors were expected to pay their respects in person to Alexander Pierce. No other word was given about the reason for the meeting. Bucky, Steve, and Sam made their way to the room, which had a small anteroom before it where Pierce's men offered up boxes, like what one would see at the security check in an airport. Nothing was said but each man was expected to put his weapons in the box and leave them with Pierce's security. It was a gesture of respect that this place and time wasn't to be used to settle old scores or to start new ones. No one was to bring an instrument of death into one of these meetings.  Funny that they were allowed at the wedding, but mob life could be like that.

Bucky left both his guns and the knife he always kept in his boot in the box, then looked at the prototype prosthetic arm that he wore. Having lost his left arm after an attempted hit during a vacation in Florida that killed his mother and sister, his new arm was like nothing available to most people. It was impervious to bullets, fire, and force; it was also incredibly strong, allowing him to lift up anyone by the neck. In the year since it was fitted to become part of his body, the vibranium limb had served him well. Shifting his gaze from his arm to Pierce's man, he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

"You may keep it on," said Mike, the object of his gaze. "Mr. Pierce already approved it."

With a nod, Bucky entered the room, taking his place at the table with six chairs placed around its perimeter, flanked by more than double that number in a second layer. Steve and Sam sat behind Bucky. Pierce sat at the head of the table, with his advisor Jasper Sitwell right behind him. To his right was Rumlow with Rollins, his second in command. Zemo and Oeznik were next, followed by Bucky and his cohort, then Tony Stark and his men, Happy Hogan, and James Rhodes. They were still waiting for Wilson Fisk. A commotion in the anteroom drew everyone's attention as Fisk's angry voice indicated he wasn't happy about giving up his cane, claiming that he needed it for support because of a knee injury. Pierce whispered something to Sitwell, who stepped out then came back in leading Fisk and his man, James Wesley. His cane had been left behind. He took his place to the left of Pierce.

"Thank you all for coming to my daughter's wedding," began the King of New York mob bosses. "It seemed remiss not to take the opportunity to have a brief meeting of the Boroughs. Rumlow, tell us the latest in your part of the city."

The dark-haired man stood up and gave his report, concluding with thanks to Pierce for allowing him the honour of Alexandra's hand. Each of the King's Men stood up and gave their report on the business in their area of the city, until it came to Fisk. The big man sat stubbornly in his chair.

"My knee injury prevents me from standing for very long," he began. "Please do not see my sitting as any disrespect to the assembly here." Pierce nodded sagely at the man, who was the oldest of the King's Men. "Staten Island continues to thrive, as we control the docks completely. Nothing comes in or goes out without payment being made. The more powerful unions are under my control as we found ways to make sure their leaders knew where their loyalties should lie. I predict a good year for revenue." Pierce nodded, as if this were the end of the report then Fisk cleared his throat. "Has any decision been reached on naming your successor yet?"

"No, not yet," answered Pierce. "Even if I had decided I would call a separate meeting to announce it."

Fisk nodded. "There have been rumours that Rumlow will be your successor, as payment for agreeing to marry your daughter."

Rumlow's face darkened and he almost said something, but Pierce raised his hand.

"Are you saying I had to bribe someone to marry my daughter?"

Fisk cleared his throat. "Not at all. Alexandra is a lovely woman. I'm sure she had many suitors for her hand."

"My daughter is a first-class bitch," said Pierce. "But she and Brock are genuinely attached to each other. It doesn't mean that he is on the fast track to become King of the Five Boroughs, and he knows that." He glanced at Rumlow, who nodded in agreement. "As for the rumours, I've done my own investigation of where they originated from, and it seems Staten Island is the top candidate." He leaned towards Fisk, glaring at him. "Are you unsatisfied with your position?"

Most people would think that Wilson Fisk didn't react to the question, but most people didn't know him. He, like the other King's Men, kept a relatively low profile, although he was more reclusive than the other under bosses. Any attention given to their positions could lead to Pierce and he led the most reclusive life of all of them. But it was obvious to all the other King's Men that Fisk didn't like being singled out in front of his peers. A slight grimace, some might even call it a tic, appeared on his face, then was gone just as quickly.

"No, I'm not unsatisfied," he answered. "Are we done here?"

Bucky could feel the tension in the room. They all could. Fisk was walking a very narrow and dangerous line, and he was doing it alone. None of the other King's Men were jumping to his defence. Whatever Pierce said now could determine the future of their alliance. The grey-haired man set his mouth in a grim line and sat back in his chair, waving his hand dismissively at the Staten Island boss.

"We're done," were his only words, sounding oddly prophetic.

Fisk, despite his bulk and supposed injured knee, easily rose from the chair. Wesley rose with him. Without another word the two men exited to the anteroom and retrieved their weapons. Through the open door the others could see the guard hand Fisk his cane. Then the big man deliberately grasped the handle on it and pulled it away from the stick portion, revealing a sword encased inside the implement. He shoved it back in, then left. The others still sat at the table, waiting for a comment on the display. Pierce didn't disappoint.

"Gentlemen, I believe Wilson Fisk has just declared war. I plan to dance with my daughter right now but if you wish to leave to prepare yourselves for what's to come, I fully understand. Thank you for coming to the wedding. Good evening."

He rose and left the room, his actions mirrored by Sitwell, Rumlow and Rollins. The others stayed seated for several more moments, then Zemo stood up.

"I think I will sit this one out," he announced, then bowed his head slightly at the remaining King's Men. "Anthony, James. Good luck."

He and Oeznik left. While their men went to retrieve their weapons Stark and Barnes contemplated their own moves while still sitting at the large table. The older man stroked his goatee then fixed his gaze on the younger man.

"As much as I don't like or trust Fisk, he has a point. I know you have a history with Pierce, but you have to admit that since Rumlow became involved with Alexandra the two have become quite chummy. Surely, you've heard some rumours that didn't originate in Staten Island."

Bucky slowly looked over at Stark, returning his gaze.

"I have but rumours are often unsubstantiated. Are you picking a side, Tony?"

The other man shook his head. "Not at all. I also have a history with Pierce. He and my father were good friends, well, as good as two men could be in our business. But make no mistake, Pierce has always had his own agenda, as has Fisk. I wouldn't be surprised if the two of them cooked this up to find out how the rest of us would react. I'm going to do my due diligence, and I would suggest you do the same. Perhaps we can compare notes before we make any rash decisions." He tilted his head and smiled slightly. "Agreed?"

"Agreed. Zemo warned me before this meeting that he believed trouble was coming."

"Funny, he said the same thing to me."

Stark rose, as Hogan and Rhodes entered with his weapons, waiting while he put his guns back in his holsters under his jacket. Steve and Sam waited in the anteroom with Bucky's weapons. They bowed their heads slightly as Stark and his men left, then watched as Bucky took his guns and knife. Without a word the three of them left the hotel, stepping directly into the armoured SUV driven by Joaquin Torres, a young man recruited by Wilson. Thus far, the performance of his duties had been exemplary.

"Home," said Bucky.

There wasn't much to be said on the ride home. All three men who were at the meeting knew that life was going to become a bit more dangerous. A power struggle was about to happen, and lines seemed to have been drawn, if not yet stepped over. If only it didn't seem to be a setup they could plan accordingly. As they passed a broken-down car at the side of the road Bucky noticed a woman leaning against the hood, on her cell phone. It was only a fleeting look as they passed, but he strained to keep her in view as the car sped further away.

"Circle around and go back," he said to Joaquin. "Stop at that car."

Sam and Steve both looked up from their phones, then looked behind them but she was almost out of sight.

"What is it?" asked Steve. "Someone we know?"

"Not yet," said Bucky, then he smiled. "But you might recognize her when we get back to that car."

At the next exit, Joaquin pulled out and quickly found a way to double back. Minutes later he pulled up behind the broken-down car and Bucky got out. Sam and Steve scrambled to follow him as he walked past the vehicle to the front of the car where the woman was still trying to get her phone to work.

"Having some car trouble?" asked Bucky. She looked up, seeming surprised to see him. "We were just passing by, and I noticed you. I saw you at the charity gala last week, but we didn't meet then. I'm James Barnes. These are my associates, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson."

She smiled and he knew then that coming back for her had been the right move. "I remember you, too. Audrey Steele." She gestured to her car. "I'm not sure what's wrong with it and I'm not getting a signal to call for a tow truck."

He glanced at Sam. "She's right about the signal," he confirmed. "Once we're in a better position I could phone one of our guys to pick it up and take it to one of our garages." Sam grinned. "Would that be acceptable Ms. Steele? I'm sure we can get you home safely."

"Well, normally I wouldn't accept a ride from four strange men, but I do recall a mutual acquaintance at the gala insisting that you and I should meet." She looked up at Barnes who had an amused expression on his face.

"That would be Natasha Romanov, wouldn't it?" He smiled. "She was supposed to introduce us then someone monopolized her time." He glanced back at Steve who just grinned. "Please, let us take you home."

"Alright." She opened her car door, to take her purse out. Sam advised her to leave the vehicle in park. "What about my key fob? Won't they need it?"

Sam smiled. "Give it to me and I'll drop it off at the garage after we drop you off."

She offered him the key fob then followed Bucky to the car, sitting between him and Steve while Sam sat in the front with Joaquin. After giving the younger man her address, she looked at Bucky.

"So, James, what has you out on a Saturday night?"

"A wedding of a business associate," he answered. "We were obligated to make an appearance. I could ask the same of you and please call me Bucky. Only a few people call me James."

"I was stood up," she replied, looking down at her hands for a moment. "Should have known when he said he wasn't willing to come pick me up. He cancelled the reservation but didn't even bother to let me know. Left that to the maître d'.

"Give me his name and I'll have him killed." Bucky smiled when he said it, which made her laugh, but Steve saw the look in his eye and shook his head slightly, not liking it when his friend casually referred to their profession.

"He's not worth it," she replied. "Besides, that would get you into trouble. I can fight my own battles."

"I'm sure you can." Sitting beside her made him aware of her perfume. "That's a lovely scent you're wearing."

"Thank you. It's Eternity by Calvin Klein. You smell pretty good yourself."

Bucky grinned with good nature at her remark. "Thank you. It's Beau de Jour by Tom Ford. It's kind of old fashioned but I like it."

There was silence for a moment then Sam spoke. "I'm wearing Dior Sauvage myself."

Everyone laughed; even Joaquin smiled.

"You must be good friends and work well together," said Audrey. "I sense you know each other very well."

"We do," replied Bucky. "Steve and I have known each other since we were boys. We met Sam in college, but he fit right in. Working together just seemed like a natural progression. We trust each other."

"What is it that you do?" she asked.

"Imports and exports mostly," said Steve, before Bucky could answer. "With additional investments in transportation services, security, and entertainment."

"Well, that didn't tell me much," replied Audrey, which drew a frown from Steve, something she didn't notice. "Although, if you're involved in security work then it stands to reason that you keep a low profile. I'm involved in charity work. Planning events mostly for non-profits and NGOs, although I have been involved in the operations of some charities." She frowned slightly, then smiled as the SUV entered her street. "It's the last brownstone on the right."

Joaquin had to double park as there were no open spots on the street. Bucky got out and offered Audrey his hand to help her. She said goodbye to the others, wishing them a good evening and receiving the same sentiment from them. He walked her to the bottom of the steps and stood looking down slightly at her, as she was quite tall for a woman.

"Thank you for the ride. I guess I should give you my number to let me know when to pick up my car."

"Give me your phone," said Bucky, entering his information in it, then messaging himself so that his phone pulsed with its text sound. He opened the message then saved her contact information. "Would you go out with me? I would never stand you up, at least not without making sure you knew that something dire was keeping me away from you."

"Yeah," she nodded and smiled. "I would like that." She looked back at the SUV. "It would just be you, right?"

He chuckled. "Just me. Do you need another vehicle, in case your car needs more than a day to repair?"

"No, I mostly work from home but thank you for thinking of me." She smiled warmly. "I'm glad we met. I might not have accepted the date with Terrence if I met you first."

Bucky took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "He was an idiot. Any man who would stand up a woman like you isn't fit to call themselves a man. Goodnight, Audrey."

"Goodnight, Bucky."

She went up the steps and unlocked the security door before waving at him and closing the door behind her. He watched the windows to see which flat's light turned on. Rewarded with her appearance at a window on the third floor he returned to the SUV and got into the back seat. This wasn't the best neighbourhood to be in after dark. Why was she living here?

"Phone Natasha and find out who Audrey's date was. First name, Terrence. Don't hurt him, just find out what you can, and I'll deal with him myself. What a fucking fool that man was."

Steve and Sam made eye contact with each other. It had been some time since Bucky was involved with anyone; Alexandra Pierce actually and that was before he lost his arm. It might not be the best time for him to begin a new relationship, but he was a better man when he was in love. Hell, they all were.

Part 2>>

Series masterlist

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[labgoddess123]

house and crew (and their cars)

pairings: none

warnings: none

summary: combining two of my hyperfixations into one post: house md and cars!

a/n: HIIII just so everyone knows this list will not include any cars past 2011 so it can be accurate to the actual timeline of the show :) thanks for reading!

—————————————————————————

house: 1970 dodge challenger r/t in “go mango”

-we know house drives a dodge dynasty canonically in “house md” BUT I wanted to give everyone their own unique car so sue me

-house gets this car because I can’t imagine him being a “new car” guy; he’s definitely into classic muscle cars/loves the nostalgia of his childhood

-I thought this specific yellow-orange color would be an interesting choice (although his motorcycle in the show is in fact a somewhat similar color)

-he definitely only brings this out for special occasions though; no way he’d daily drive it it’s far too special

-I feel like he’s one of those old guys that details his car constantly and tries his damndest to keep his challenger in tip-top shape

-he definitely knows how to work on cars (even if his leg prevents him from doing a whole lot)

-goes to car shows to judge other people and make fun of them

wilson: 1998 subaru outback wagon limited in “rio red”

-wilson is a simple man when it comes to cars: as long as it gets him from point a to point b and has decent trunk space he doesn’t care

-his volvo sedan suits him pretty well but idk…he’s definitely a wagon guy because he thinks they’re weird

-his car would definitely be a rust bucket because he’s too cheap to get a new vehicle; the paint could be completely chipped away and he’s like “eh idc”

-essentially as long it it Runs he will take it

-despite this I feel like he would still take good care of his car, keeping up with maintenance etc.

-probably calls it “ole reliable”

-certainly his daily driver and only car; I believe he drives a c6 corvette later on in the show but I just can’t see him being a sports car guy period

cuddy: 2000 jaguar xk in “georgian gold”

-cuddy definitely has some crazy expensive luxury car that’s horrible to maintain

-went with a jaguar coupe because it’s classy but also just so…2000s

-cuddy is certainly a gold car girlie I just know it in my heart

-I can also see cuddy as a sports car girl like she just wants a little turbo or something but nothing crazy fast

-definitely likes the finer things in life; she earns good money and spends it how she wants

-it also makes her appear confident; sexy and put-together

-she likes that the car is cute (even though it’s kinda ugly (i still like it tho hehe)), probably has some weird old lady name like “rhonda”

chase: 2005 bmw 325Ci in “black sapphire metallic”

-chase definitely wants a car he can brag about and show off, hence why I chose a bmw convertible

-bmw is like the ultimate cocky rich guy car brand so I was like…this is a super obvious choice

-chase would also primarily use it to pick up women with; I can totally see him being like “hey ladies look at my cool expensive car”

-DEFINITELY an awful driver; doesn’t use turn signals, speeds like a bat out of hell etc. essentially he really fits the bmw driver stereotype

-went with black because I also don’t see chase as a colorful car guy

-I don’t think he would name his car but he’s certainly really obsessive about it. like if someone dissed his car for whatever reason he’d be throwing hands

-idk he just generally acts like it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread (it’s still a nice car for sure but the way he acts about it you’d think it was a bugatti)

foreman: 2003 lexus LS 430 in “black”

-foreman is a sensible car guy; he wants something nice but not too expensive and he wants something reliable

-therefore lexus is the best choice for him

-foreman likes the finer things in life but he’s not like chase where he brags about how good is car is or something

-he’s also similar to wilson in the fact that as long as it gets him from point a to b he’s fine with it

-definitely takes good care of it though; washes it all the time, is always on top of oil changes

-I don’t think he does the maintenance himself though I think he takes it to the lexus dealer

-went with black because it’s sleek and a classic color; I don’t see foreman driving anything that wasn’t a grey, silver, white, or black car

-it definitely has that ugly tan/wood panel interior too; house makes fun of him for it but foreman secretly likes it

cameron: 2006 hyundai accent hatchback in “ice blue”

-side note: I know this is a photo of the sedan but I couldn’t find any photos I liked for the hatchback so…that’s why

-cameron is the complete opposite from her diagnostics coworkers; she wants something cheap, cute, and unique

-loves the color of her car, I bet she can spot it in a parking lot a mile away

-everyone makes fun of her for being frugal but she doesn’t care to have a luxury car; it’s simply not a priority for her

-probably breaks down on her all the time because it’s an old hyundai but she doesn’t care

-others think it’s ugly but she thinks it’s cute

-probably forgets to take it to the shop and the engine blows up in it

-always uses her turn signals and is a very safe driver (likely to a fault)

—————————————————————————

[grayson-on-the-chandelier]

THE TIMELINE RESETS

"A fault... In the system."

"He isn't at fault, Ymir."

"Know your place, Genesis, or I'll have your memories stripped as well."

"You can't do this! This goes against the laws of the universe. You're playing a dangerous game-"

"Have you forgotten that I am the law?!"

"... He has children. A family.."

"Which breaks his timeline. It worsens. One more out of step and you will join him, forgetting everyone you love on this good for nothing earth."

"... But he is the one I love."

Gotham City.

Patrol was measly today. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Crime Alley was chaotic as usual, East End somehow had a chicken frenzy (no idea how that happened) and the streets were empty as usual. What was strange was Signal's late night appearance, but the man must've been missing out the fun in the mornings, so...

Appearance of the city was fine. My appearance? Not so much. I never knew exactly when I decided to grow out my hair and dye the front, or change my costume to include a jacket. Neither did I decide to get a star across my eye and dots under my other eye, as well as getting contacts. They didn't feel like contacts, though, just made my eyes brighter.

Something else changed. The pictures in my apartment were different. It wasn't Bruce or the Bats, even though the Flying Graysons poster was still up. I found a weird framed photo besides my bed when I returned from patrol.

There were two children, one with brown hair and owl wings, dressed in a blue sweater. The other had white hair and purple clothing. A teenage girl in a teal and purple costume stood besides another middle aged man, somewhere between his 50s. I was in there too, long hair and blue shirt, next to another guy. He had long hair, fashioned in a braid. Purple and yellow was his color scheme. Two others (who I assume were twins) clad in red and green stood next to the children. What was weird...

I couldn't remember who they are. Or were...

I took a look at their faces. Who were they to me? How come I don't remember them? I had no memory, or even the slightest idea of who, what, why and when they were... Well, appeared?

My apartment doesn't even look the same. More pictures, more framed up certificates? But I was a drop-out. Nothing much about Bruce, and Tim had dyed his hair? I missed so much... What happened? Where was I when this occurred?

I took a look at the photos with the people I didn't recognize. A woman with an owl. A young boy who signed the frame 'Swift'. A red head reporter called Dottie. A set of triplets in their 20s, each green, blue and pink. A snowman, with a woman holding a knife. Roy even went through changes.

I was also thoroughly surprised at the Court of Owls mask that was mounted on my wall, along with my sword and a picture of me in my COO uniform. I thought I had thrown everything out...

Next to my bed were more photos, but this was centered around the same man from earlier; purple and yellow colour scheme. He had wings under his eyes, and I was in the picture with him. Who was he to me? A lover? A good friend? Someone dearest?

I shook my head. I don't know him.

With some time on my hands, I decided to crop my hair. The long hair style was growing on me, I admit, but back to my short hair it is. I kept the dyed front, hoping my roots would grow out. I had barely finished when there was a tap at my door.

I opened it and almost jumped. Slade fucking Wilson. But... No fear, no knife, no-

He took a step, and I immediately stepped back. "Woah, woah, woah. I don't know what's your deal, Wilson. One more step and I am not afraid to throw you off the stairs."

Wilson titled his head in amusement. "You can't. Besides, what's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into me? Last I remembered, you threatened my team and forced me to study under you."

Then he became serious. "What are you talking about, Dick-"

"Nah uh. We're not on first name basis." I was freaking out.

"Son, wha-"

"DO NOT..." I almost punched him. He didn't flinch, he didn't move away. Like he was waiting to be punched. "Do not call me son. I'm not and never will be your son, Wilson."

The old man raised an eyebrow. I swore he was tearing up, but he left without a word. I closed the door, then fell to my couch. What was he doing around my apartment? Slade visiting with no plan of assassinating me? Who were the people in the picture? What did he mean by 'son'?

I... I'm not his son.

WOOOOOOHOOOOO

//HAPPY FATHERS DAY AND LATE PRIDE

Holy shit the timing-

Unfortunately not realiving myself cause TUMBLR is not unblocked and I only have 20 minutes on the website.

Posting though. Improvement.

Angsty.

I've had the idea of resetting Dick's memories for a long time, and I finally found the motivation to post and prep a draft. Started writing a version in school and realized it was Father's Day, cause originally it was gonna be one of the children at the door but nooooo it's gonna be SLADE!!!! Poor man. I originally wanted it to be Dick's birthday too, but I prefer to follow real time dates.

Update of my life - school? Sucks. Home? Sucks. Relationship? Great. I have insta. My Discord and TUMBLR are still blocked by parental controls, so im a sitting duck.

I do control Stranger and Screech's blogs, as well as Eo, since my friend can't contribute. Since I've heard my ask box has been filling, I will be answering once I have the allowance to my dad's PC. I'm sorry again for not being active the past few weeks. Family, school and time issues have been keeping me from posting. You have the right to be angry at me. Sorry again.

My regards to Sage, Ash, Goose, Roy mun, Viv mun and a couple others that have been my friends for a long time. This isn't a goodbye, only a see you later.

Ollie here, and I am not throwing away my shot. Signing out.

[braveclementine]

October 7: Professor!Kink (Clint Barton, Sam Wilson)💚

Warnings: 18+readersonly, loss of virginity, pet names, Professor Kink, Sir Kink, voyeurism, praise kink, light degradation, some choking 

Note: This is kind've all over the place. I feel like these are somewhat rushed oneshots and I apologize in advance for the whole book really if it's not up to the same standards you were expecting based on 2022 and 2023. 

Copyright: I do not own Sam Wilson, Clint Barton or any other Marvel Characters. I also do not condone any copying of this.

༊*·˚

You slipped into the dark school building, noting the security cameras were already off, and crept down the hallway as quietly as you could. You clenched the can of blood-red spray-paint in your hand tightly, as though holding it any looser would result in you dropping it. 

Your heart was beating heavily in your chest, knowing that if there was a single teacher, janitor, or security guard here, you were in big trouble. You figured as long as none of your personal Professors caught you though, you would be less humiliated. 

You made it to the large, plain wall that was going to be used later that week to start a wind farm project. Your plan was to write in big, bloody letters 'WIND TURBINES KILL BALD EAGLES'. Followed perhaps by a lovely drawing of a bald eagle if you had time. It pissed you off how in order to 'save the planet' with natural resources, they were willing to let an entire species of animal go extinct. 

Yeah. They were really saving the planet there. 

You shook the can up quickly, deciding to wing it so that you could get done faster. The spraying sound made you stop halfway through the letter 'W', looking around. You knew it wasn't really that loud, only sounding like that since the building was dead silent. But still, it felt like an alarm just signaling to anyone that you were there. 

'I'll just knock this out in one go.' You thought to yourself and quickly wrote out the letters. Satisfied, you decided to skip the bald eagle (the letters would probably be enough) and you turned around before freezing. 

"I have to say I'm surprised." The dark figure of a shadow moved towards you, but it didn't matter that you couldn't see him. You recognized the voice of your art Professor immediately. "You never seemed like the vandal type Miss Y/L/N." 

You swallowed harshly but said as nonchalantly as possible, "And here I thought you'd see it as an expression of art." 

"I'm sure you did." Professor Wilson stepped into a portion of the light coming in through the window and you caught a glance of his face. He didn't look angry, but it was hard to read his actual expression. You could've sworn he was actually smirking though, and that perhaps there was some sort of glint of planning in his eyes. But what did you really know in the dark?

"Yeah. So? What do you think? I was thinking of adding a bald eagle next." You kept speaking, taking a slow, hopefully nonchalant step towards the stairs. You wondered if it was possible to outrun him- although it didn't really matter since he knew who you were. 

Suddenly, you could feel someone was behind you and you spun around, jerking a little as you came face to face with your. . . Archery Club Coach? 

"Clint?" You asked without thought, surprised. You had joined Archery in your Freshman year as something to do, and had enjoyed it and stayed on. 

"So this is the little trouble maker we were warned of?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow. "I have to say, I'm surprised." 

You scowled but said nothing, wondering how you were going to get out of this. 

"I guess someone wanted to get into trouble." Mr. Wilson said from behind you, making the hair on your arms stand up. There was something about the way he said 'trouble' that made your stomach turn in a funny way. 

"It'll wash off after a couple of days." You muttered. "It's not that damaging." 

"You hope." Mr. Wilsons' voice was close, right behind you, making you tense. Your brain was telling you that you were caged between two men, both stronger than you, in a dark school, with the security cameras turned off, and no one around. You couldn't have put yourself in a worse position. 

"Tell me, Y/N. What do you think your punishment should be?" Clint asked softly. There it was again. That way he said 'punishment'. . . the two of them seemed to be cluing you into something. 

"None at all." You said, but it came out as a whisper as you looked between the two of them. Clints' expression was still open and friendly, but there was no mistaking the predatory glint in your art Professors' eyes. 

"We could make that happen." Clint admitted. "Sam over here anyways." You felt a strange thrill swoop through you at your Professors first name. How friendly were they with each other? 

"So I wouldn't be in trouble?" You asked cautiously. 

"Well, you'd still be punished by the two of us. . ." Sam said and you nearly gasped as he took your face in his hand. It was warm against your cool cheek and it took all of your self control not to lean into his touch. "but it wouldn't be on any records." 

Fuck you were so turned on. You were half-hoping they were talking about what you were thinking about. The other half of you was wary, not wanting to be that girl who fucked her Professor to get out of trouble or get good grades. 

"And if I opted out?" You asked quietly. 

"Well, Sams' not evil." Clint said casually. "We'd just have to report you to the school and let them take over from there. The way it would happen if you had been caught by anyone else." 

You were silent for a moment while the two of them stood there, communicating with each other over your head. "Okay." You said quietly, finally letting yourself lean into Sams' hand. Immediately his thumb stroked against your cheek. On a fluffier level, your feeling of loneliness you hadn't even realized you had lifted some. 

You hesitated for half a second as Clint stepped to the side. "Lead the way." He  said to Sam. 

Sam led the way up the stairs that Clint had originally come from and you followed, trying not to trip in the dark. Sam unlocked a room that you had never been in and you followed him in. He flicked the light switch on and you winced at the suddenness of the bright lights, covering your eyes for a second. 

"Good idea. I wanted to see her cute face when we fucked her." You heard Clint say from behind you and your cheeks warmed. 

You couldn't keep it in any longer, "P-Professor Wilson?" 

He looked at you, amused, "Yes?" 

You looked down at your feet then, unable to keep eye contact. "I'm um. . . this is- this would. . . be my first time so-" 

"First time and you want it to be with your Professor." Sam said, amused still. He grabbed you in an almost tender way around the neck, forcing your chin up to look at him. "And here I thought you were such a good girl." 

"Think we discovered that's not true when she defaced the wall down there." Clint chuckled. You tried not to stare as he'd already taken his shirt off, showing a wall of muscles, looking like Michelangelo's' David. He smirked as he caught you staring, sauntering over to you to take your chin from Sam. "See something you like Birdie?" 

"Yes Sir." You said, slipping into your quieter, more submissive personality. The one that you usually wore at school so that people didn't really look at you. The killing of the Bald Eagles had really fired you up. 

Clint groaned and looked up at Sam. "You know after years on the archery team she still calls me 'sir'? Gets me so fucking hard I have to go into the forest and shoot more than arrows." 

You went red, thinking of all the times you guys had waited at the archery field, waiting for your 'Captain' to come out of the forest because he had lost arrows in there. Looks like those had just been excuses, but you would never have guessed what he had been doing in there. 

"Well she always gets me hard during class with those skirts she wears." Sam drawled, removing his own clothes. He also looked like he had been sculpted by Michelangelo or Bernini. Absolute perfection really. Sam smirked at you. "It kills me when you uncross those legs of yours to let people get by you. I can see right up your skirt and see how wet you always are from staring at me." 

At that, you gasped, cheeks flooding in embarrassment. You had always thought no one would notice, since no one could see. You had never made a single outward sign that you had a crush on your art Professor. But apparently he had noticed since day 1. 

"You should start wearing skirts to archery." Clint moaned, slipping behind you to hold you to his chest. You could feel is hard on against the lower part of your back and you swallowed hard. Sam lifted your shirt over your head while Clint started to unbutton your shorts. "I thought it was bad enough when you bent over in these shorts. Can't even imagine what your ass looks like in a skirt." 

Fuck fuck fuck. You were going to be soaking by the time they'd undressed you and you hadn't even started! No doubt they'd tease you endlessly over that. 

You stepped out of your shorts without thought as Sam pulled them down. Clints hands landed on your bare hips, his fingers dipping between the elastic of your knickers and your skin. You shivered slightly, never having been touched like this. 

As you'd predicted, Sam chuckled as he ran the pad of his thumb against your soaked cotton. "I'm pretty sure I could taste you through your clothing you're so wet." 

You let out a pathetic whimper, wishing he'd stop teasing and just fuck you. 

Sam smirked, "Go bend over the desk." 

Clint released you and you walked over to the desk, putting your chin on your arms as you bent over the table. 

"How many?" You heard Sam ask, to which Clint responded, "How about twenty? I like saving birds too, so I don't want to go that hard on her." 

Twenty what? Twenty. . . spankings? How old did they think you were? Four? 

"Twenty sounds good. Hmm honey?" Sam asked teasingly, but you didn't answer, more arousal pooling in your underclothes at the new nickname. 

You heard it before you felt it, this smacking sound filling the air and then a stinging in your left ass cheek. "Oh." You gasped in surprise, not having expected that. Your pussy clenched at the same time, as though the spanking had been pleasurable instead of painful. 

When Sam was done spanking you, you felt like your ass was numb and you'd never be able to sit down again. Clint chuckled at your helplessness, watching you shift back and forth on your feet while keeping your head resting on your arms. 

"Here we go birdie." Clint said, picking you up slightly to stand you on your feet, taking vindictive pleasure in the way you winced slightly. Your ass was a gorgeous shade of red and Sam was proud as a peacock as you stood there, eyes slightly watery, but not crying. 

Yet. 

Sam unhooked your bra, letting the cloth drop off your arm as his hands came up to immediately cup your breasts. Clint meanwhile, took his sweet time in pulling your knickers down, biting his bottom lip as he watched strings of thick arousal clinging to the fabric. "Oh honey." You whimpered. 

"Look at this sugar." Sam said, dipping his fingers into your pussy, before standing up. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as you watched Clint take his fingers into his mouth, sucking them like he'd never tasted anything better. 

"She's just as sweet as I always thought." Clint said, lifting you up an inch so that Sam could pull the soaked underclothes off completely. 

"I think I'll keep these." Sams' glinted as he tossed them over onto his own clothes. "Just a sweet little reminder until next time." 

You didn't even get to question that before they were talking amongst themselves about what to do with you. 

"First time should be in a bed." Clint suddenly said and your eyes snapped to his.

Sam nodded. "Agreed. We'll take her back to our place." 

"'Our'?" You questioned out loud before you could stop yourself before frowning and tilting your head a little, "Oh, you're roommates?" 

Clint snickered. "History will say they're roommates. . ." 

Sam rolled his eyes, before picking you up in his arms, tossing you over his shoulder. "You're real naive honey. Don't worry, we'll fix that." 

You couldn't really see where you were going, but you were more concerned with the fact that you were completely naked and being carried through public. You squirmed on Sams' shoulder, wishing you could look around. 

"Don't worry birdie." Clint said from somewhere behind you. "We're not going to let anyone else see you like this." 

"Nobody else is out anyways." Sam said and you were jolted as he went up a set of steps. "Besides, we're here now." 

You were maneuvered into his arms now and you wrapped an arm around his neck out of instinct, while Sam walked down the hallway, shouldering a door open to reveal a well lived in bedroom. Meanwhile your head was still turning from this turn of events. It was only now you realized they'd walked part of the way across campus half-naked as well. 

"Give her here." Clint demanded and you were handed over to him. His lips crashed against yours as you felt the comforter under your bare back. "Sams more of a voyeur." Clint mumbled against your lips. "So he definitely wants to watch you as your taken for the first time." 

You flushed, flicking your eyes over to Sam who smirked, running his hands around your mounds, squeezing them slightly. "Don't worry honey. I'll still play with you a bit. After Clint has broken you in a bit." 

"I think she's wet enough I don't even have to warm her up." Clint said gleefully. "How about it birdie?" 

You weren't sure what warming up would entail so you softly said, "Sure." You paused for a beat and then added, "Sir." 

"Atta girl." Clint grinned, shucking his pants and boxers off. You tried not to audibly swallow as you saw how big and thick he was. Probably a good six inches and as thick as. . .well you weren't quite sure. But it certainly didn't look how it did in the anatomy textbooks. You really probably should've explored PornHub. 

Your Professor settled into a chair near the bed and you turned your attention to your Coach as he climbed over you, moving your legs apart gently with his own knees. You instinctively wrapped them around his waist loosely. 

You couldn't help but notice his scent first as it wafted over you. He smelled like the woods and sweat from hard work and pine. You turned your head, kissing the side of his jaw and he hummed, his smirk turning into something softer. 

"Let me know if you start to hurt." Clint said softly, before you felt him stretching out your entrance, pushing inside. He went slow while you laid back, your mind astounded at the strange, foreign feeling. Yes, it hurt. There was definitely a stretching pain as he slowly filled you up. But the pleasure! It was mind-blowing, how good it felt. 

"Oh." You moaned, your mouth falling open, your eyebrows pinched. 

Sam moaned lowly then, taking his cock in his hand as he saw your face drop into a perfect image of ecstasy. If he could've taken a picture. . . He squeezed himself tightly as he jumped in his own hand at the thought. The things he could've taught his students about Baroque art with that single image. Fleeting moments held for only a second. . . 

"How you feelin' Birdie?" Clint asked softly, almost against your lips. He was fully seated inside and you were pulsing around him harshly, trying to get used to his size. 

"G-Good, I think, Sir." You said quietly, looking up at him. Clint glanced briefly over at Sam whose attention was solely on the girl in front of them. Clint grinned, mostly to himself, before he started to move. 

You swore you saw stars. In a good way, of course. But dots seemed to dance across your vision as Clint moved inside of you. Every thrust ended up with him hitting something deep inside of you that sent tingles of pleasure all across your body. If you could describe it, you'd use words like 'electrical' or 'white noise'. It was so strange, so amazing, you couldn't describe it at all. 

Sam watched all of these emotions play across your face, his hand working himself even harder with each one. You were so gorgeous, so responsive, so emotional. Him and Clint had had an eye on you forever, even before you'd taken Sams' art class. The perfect girl for the two of them and now you were finally theirs. 

Clint could feel you squeezing him, your wetness increasing and the pleasure in your eyes increased and he knew you'd cum for the first time in your life. He smirked, lowering his lips to your skin, kissing sweetly where he could, before biting gently into your soft flesh, low enough so you could cover it. But you'd always know you were theirs now. 

You were embarrassed with how quickly you'd reached your peak, but before you could worry that it was all over, you could feel that lovely crescendo building up again. "Sir." You whimpered, your body craving approval for some reason. Like you needed Clint to tell you that you could cum before you did. 

"Yes birdie?" He asked, his nose nudging under your chin. He could feel you gripping his arms, could feel you spasming around him, and knew you were close again. "You want something?" 

"Yes Sir." You said, arching your back slightly which Clint took advantage of to wrap an arm under you, pulling you up into his lap in a stead position. Both him and Sam watched your eyes widen as you took even more of him into you from this new pose. 

Sam finally spurted through his fingers at that one look, most of the drops landing on his hand or the cloth he had underneath him. He got up, grabbing your chin in a gentle, but still dominating way, your lips falling apart and he shoved his fingers in your mouth for you to clean, watching your hazy eyes as they filled with new emotion at the taste. 

"Go ahead and cum for me birdie, that's a good girl." Clint said, picking up on your praise kink before you had, making sure to give you exactly what you were craving. "I'm gonna cum too." 

"Paint her, Clint." Sam said, making Clint give him a displeased look. Sam was the one with the artistic kink. Clint had a breeding kink. Sam gave Clint a warning look you didn't see. "She's not on birth control." 

Sam. . . That was the wrong thing to say to a guy with a breeding kink. 

"Oh fuck." Clint cursed, squeezing his eyes closed, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He spilled into you while you were having your second orgasm. Clint barely caught himself on the bed to keep himself from crushing you, catching his breath as well. 

It took you a moment to realize what had just happened and you looked over at Sam, who was still standing by the bed. Your pleasure high was still affecting you though and all you could do was smile up at him, which was so adorable Sam couldn't help but smile back, before leaning down and kissing you sweetly. 

"You're so pretty." Sam complimented you. 

Clint pulled out slowly, giving both of you a sheepish look. "Sorry." 

"'S'kay." You mumbled to which Sam sighed. 

"You'll have to apologize again when she's not cock drunk." Sam teased Clint, climbing onto the bed with you. 

"Am not." You pouted, snuggling into Sams' arms, feeling like that's where you ought to have belonged this entire time. 

"You sure about that honey?" Sam asked. 

"Yes Professor." You said in a sultry voice, looking up at him under your eyelashes. And fuck if it wasn't a pretty sight. 

Sam groaned lightly. "Another night honey. Can't ruin you completely just yet." 

After a moment you asked, "What am I going to tell people?" 

And Clint propped himself up on his elbow with a grin and said, "It's a honeymoon baby!" 

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Little Muffin - James Wilson x peds!reader

description - y/n is perfectly serene and relishes in the company of the little muffin in her tummy. James on the other hand is the picture of stress and has suddenly realised what y/n being pregnant actually means!

warnings - pregnancy, medical scare, angst, men being misogynistic (which is a general warning for life!)

requested - yes

word count - 1.4k

authors note - I've found myself veering towards a subplot of the pregnancy for this series - is this something people would be interested in?

a/n pt2 - the little bit about the butterflies is from when I once asked my mum what it feels like when your baby kicks and she described it like that and I thought it was beautiful :) Also comment name ideas for the peds!reader baby!!!

*your pov*

I bounded down the hallway clutching my bump. My sneakers slid across the floor with an audible squeak, and I landed bang in the centre of James’ door. I ran through the open door, signalling that he wasn’t with a patient, and almost toppled to the floor if I hadn’t been caught in the strong arms of my boyfriend.

“Darling,” He looked down at me sternly. “What have I said about running the halls in your condition?”

“Not too.” He smirked at my pout and proceeded to kiss it off my lips.

“So, what was so important you had to sprint to tell me.” He took me by the hand and braced my back to lower me down to the couch. Even though I was only sporting a modest five-month bump, he still handled me as if I was made of glass. I wanted to moan about the clinginess, but I found it too endearing. It showed his heart and it proved to me why I knew he would be the best father ever for our little muffin.

“I felt a kick.” A beaming glow overcame his face and his hands raced to join mine on the protruding bump. We waited for what felt like hours until a flutter of butterfly wings sprouted in my stomach. James’ hands gently squeezed my bump as he felt the little foot greet his hand as if it was a little handshake. He giggled and pressed in deeper as if willing them to kick again. I took his hands in mine and shifted them along the bump. I was listening to my baby and trying to follow the feeling of butterfly wings.

“There’s a baby in there. Our baby. That’s our baby in there.” He gleefully announced.

“Oh yeah, I remember putting it there.” I replied, rolling my eyes at his adorable display of innocence. Yes, he’d been married before, but none had gone as far as this stage. He was an old hand at marriage but practically a baby when it came to…well, babies.

“Yeah, I’ve always known you’re pregnant,” he got up to pace, flapping his hands about in glee. The smile never left his face. “And you were just pregnant y/n.”

“Just pregnant y/n” I shot him a glare.

“You didn’t let me finish. ‘Just pregnant y/n who is the love of my life and the most beautiful angel to ever walk the earth.’”

“Better.” I winked.

He continued after managing to save himself. “But now you’re carrying a baby! Our baby.”

“So, you’re telling me that you never connected me being pregnant, to us having a baby? Which medical school did you go to again?”

“Oh my god, we have so much to do. We need a crib. But how do we know if the crib is safe? What if the baby doesn’t like the crib? What if they cry as soon as we put them in it? How do we stop them crying? What if they’re with me when they’re hungry cause I can’t give them milk, I don’t have the boobs for it.”

“Stop!” I, ungracefully, hoisted myself up off of the couch whilst cradling my bump. I walked over to my anxious boyfriend and clasped my arms around his middle like he had done to me so many times before. “We will be fine. You will be fine. I know it’s scary but that’s because it’s all unknown and we won’t know until we’re in that hospital room and we hold our baby for the first time. It’s like I tell every parent, there is no secret answer but as long as we both promise to love our baby no matter what, then our hearts will steer us right.” I brought his head down to me to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I promise.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

James bounded into House’s office after being paged ‘emergency’ by House. He entered with the speed of an Olympic runner and the grace of an elephant. The sight he was greeted with was me reclined in the chair, panting, and shifting every time a sharp pain hit my walls and House standing to the side looking at his watch whilst his fingers clasped my pulse point.

“What happened what’s going on?”

“I think Braxton hicks but I’m not sure, I paged Higgins from neo-natal to confirm.”

James had practically thrown himself onto the floor in front of me and took my sweaty face into my hands. He then proceeded to assess every part of my body, paying close attention to my bump. He lost all the gravitas of a doctor and in that moment, he was a scared father.

“You’re calling someone for help?” He looked incredulously up at his friend.

“Well forgive me for not wanting to mess up for people I actually care about.” House shrugged off the answer and avoided our eyes.

I briefly forgot my pain and turned to the grumpy doctor. “Aww.” I cooed at the doctor I was clearly winning over. But it was cut short as another wave of pain hit.

I could see the fear in James’ eyes, so I quickly righted mine to show calmness. I knew the facts, I knew the statistics, we both did. But nothing prepared you for this. Books could tell you what to do, not how to feel. Not when it was you. Not when the risk was your child.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Higgins finished his examination and turned to the boys. Interesting, how he chose to speak to the two men, one of which not even having a hand in the baby-making process, rather than the mother who also has an MD herself! I chose to forgo to argument about sexism, choosing instead to focus on calming my breathing now that the pain had passed.

“You were right it was Braxton Hicks,” Higgins relayed to the boys. “Always good to check though, hey House.” He roughly clapped him on the back, sporting a roguish grin at having been paged by the arrogant doctor. House huffed at the childish display.

James instead took over and thanked Higgins for his help. His eyes then found home in Houses’ before saying “Thank you. For not taking the risk.” I detected a miniscule sigh of relief at this affirmation that he’d done the right thing. Believe it or not, House did care about us and my wellbeing. It was like his leg; his sensitivity had atrophied. We were helping him exercise it. I felt tears well in my eyes at this emotional display. The men stopped their gazing and turned towards me at the sound of a loud sob.

“Thank you, House. You’re such a good friend to me.” It was stupid, I know but I needed to tell him how much he meant to me. The hormones flowing through my veins screamed at me to hug House. So, I sprang up and clasped him in an unwanted hug.

“I’m warning you now, I am not good at female emotion.” He was leaning away from the hug, but finally relented and gently tapped my back with his hands that were stiff from my squeezing. Wilson laughed at the beautiful scene between his best friend and the love of his life.

Higgins, who we all forgot was still in the room, cleared his throat. “Braxton hicks are perfectly normal at this stage of the pregnancy, and they are nothing to worry about, just mild discomfort.”

“Hey!” I stalked towards him with my finger raised. “How about I contract your uterus and see how you like it!”

Higgins was a deer in the headlights and only got up the courage to run away when he spotted James gesturing to, in his own words, ‘GET THE HELL OUT’. I soothed my anger and returned the pendulum back to my normal mood before it swung again.

“You can actually have Braxton Hicks throughout most of the pregnancy because most women don’t even feel them.” James and House stopped still, realising what James had just said.

I spun around.

“No uterus! No opinion!”

I mimicked meditating and closed my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“And just for that, I’ll have two double cheeseburgers, extra pickles, extra sauce. Two large fries and a diet coke.”

“Honey, I don’t think that’s very healthy—”

I halted his speech. “That doesn’t sound like getting me my food. Both of you. Hop to it, before I contract your uteruses!” I stormed out of the room.

House shoved Wilson’s shoulder. “Great, you got us in trouble!”

They left the office in search of Godzilla’s food order.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-