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literaryavenger · 4 months

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Captain America: The Winter Soldier - 3

Summary: You find out the truth about Fury and, after he brings you up to speed, you make plans to take down Hydra for good.

Pairing: platonic!Steve Rogers x F!Reader, platonic!Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader, platonic!Sam Wilson x F!Reader, platonic!Nick Fury x F!Reader, platonic!Maria Hill x F!Reader

Warnings: Language. Pierce being a dick. Mentions of death. Mentions of fighting and fire arms. The Winter Soldier, he's a warning. My poor attempts at being funny. Idk, everything else in the movie?

Word Count: 3.8K

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The ride is quiet until Steve, who was shocked into silence until this moment, says “It was him.”

You look at him on your right but his gaze is to the floor. “He looked right at me like he didn’t even know me.”

“How's that even possible?” Sam says from in front of Steve. “It was, like, seventy years ago.”

“Zola.” Steve answers without skipping a beat. “Bucky's whole unit was captured in '43. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him and…” he trails off, looking up at Sam.

“None of that's your fault, Steve.” Natasha says and you turn your attention on her.

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.” You're too busy looking at Natasha’s palling face to be sad for Steve.

“We need to get a doctor here.” You say, your eyes landing on the blood on her shoulder, which apparently Sam noticed too.

“We don't put pressure on that wound,” he says, turning to the agent next to him “she's gonna bleed out here in the truck.”

The guard pulls out an electric rod and looks like he's gonna use it on Sam but, suddenly, he pokes the other guard with it.

You're all so fucking confused until the guard takes out his helmet to reveal a groaning Maria Hill.

“That thing was squeezing my brain.” she looks at all of you while you let out a breath of relief, but she lands on Sam and then looks back at Steve, pointing at him. “Who’s this guy?”

“Long story” you say and, when she narrows her eyes at you, you roll your own. “I’m handcuffed too, I’m obviously on your side.” you say while raising your cuffed hands and raising an eyebrow.

She softens but relented only after receiving a nod from Steve, confirming what you're saying.

She helps you escape and soon you're entering a seemingly abandoned facility, Natasha leaning on you for balance.

A man you recognize as one of the doctors that were operating on Fury runs towards you and you frown.

What the hell’s going on?

“GSW. She’s lost at least a pint.” Hill says to the doctor.

“Maybe two.” Sam adds.

“Let me take her.” the doctor says, but Maria stops him.

“She’ll want to see him first.” she says while she leads the way, the doctor helping you carry Natasha.

Hill takes you to a room where you’re all shocked to find Fury lying in a bed, alive.

“About damn time.” he says and you almost cry after hearing his voice.

You all sit down and, as the doctor starts to work on Natasha’s wound next to you, you all listen intently as Fury explains what’s going on.

“Lacerated spinal column,” he ends by listing his injuries “cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, one hell of a headache.”

“Don't forget your collapsed lung.” the doctor says from Nat’s other side.

“Oh, let's not forget that.” Fury says sarcastically “Otherwise, I'm good.”

“They cut you open,” Natasha says, you knew she took it hard after all. “your heart stopped.”

“Tetrodotoxin B.” He says like it was obvious. “Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Steve voices what you're all thinking.

“Yeah.” you add, obviously hurt. “Why not just tell us?”

“Any attempt on the director's life had to look successful.” Hill answers for him.

“Can't kill you if you're already dead.” Fury seems amused with himself, then gets more serious. “Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust.”

You try not to take that too personally and, glancing at Natasha, you can tell when she meets your eyes that she's trying to do the same.

Fury gives you guys some time to process everything before you move to a room with a table to start strategizing on how to move forward.

“This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize.” Fury says while looking at a picture of a young Pierce. “He said, Peace wasn't an achievement, it was a responsibility. See, it's stuff like this that gives me trust issues.” He finishes looking at you guys.

“We have to stop the launch.” Natasha says, ignoring Fury’s last remark.

“I don't think the Council's accepting my calls anymore.” He says while opening a case containing three chips.

“What's that?” you and Sam ask at the same time, glancing at each other.

“Once the Helicarriers reach three thousand feet,” Hill says, turning her computer around and showing you “they'll triangulate with Insight satellites becoming fully weaponized.”

“We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own.” Fury cuts in.

“One or two won't cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work, because if even one of those ships remains operational” she hesitates for a moment “a whole lot of people are gonna die.”

“We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is HYDRA. We need to get past them, insert the server blades, and maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what's left-” Fury gets cut off by Steve.

“We're not salvaging anything.” he says sharply. “We're not just taking down the carriers, Nick. We're taking down SHIELD.”

“SHIELD had nothing to do with it.” Fury says defensively.

“You gave me this mission, this is how it ends.” Steve has his Captain voice on and you know there's no room for discussion. “SHIELD's been compromised, you said so yourself. HYDRA grew right under your nose and nobody noticed.”

“Why do you think we're meeting in this cave? I noticed.” Nobody else says anything, just watching back and forth from Fury to Steve.

“And how many paid the price before you did?”

“Look, I didn't know about Barnes.” Fury says after a moment.

“Even if you had, would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that, too?” He's almost glaring now. “SHIELD, HYDRA, it all goes.”

“He's right.” Hill simply says, nodding.

Fury looks at Natasha, but she simply stares back and he knows he’s not gonna have any help from her, so he turns to you.

“You’re okay with this, Agent?” he asks you and you don’t even have to think twice about it.

“We took an oath to protect people, Fury.” you tell him, holding his gaze. “If taking down Shield does that, and I believe it does, I’m game.” you shrug.

He then turns to the last person in the room.

“Don't look at me.” Sam says, also shrugging. “I do what he does, just slower.”

You grin at him while Fury scoffs a little.

“Well,” He starts, sitting back and sighting, looking at all of you before staring back at Steve. “It looks like you're giving the orders now, Captain.”

After you make our plan, Steve goes outside for some air. You and Sam watch him leave, then look at each other, a silent question hanging between you two.

“You go.” you tell him and he nods before following after the supersoldier.

When you turn around you’re met with Fury and Hill’s curious looks and Natasha’s smirking face.

“What?” you say annoyed, crossing your arms defensively in front of you.

“You and Wilson, huh.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Romanoff.” you tell her as you sit back down. “He’s a nice person, you know as well as I do how rare it is to find that in our line of work.” your gaze shifts to the table but you can still feel their gazes on you.

“You couldn’t have known, YN.” Fury says, seemingly reading your mind. Your eyes snap up to his, he's never called you by your first name.

“I should’ve, Nick.” you exchange the favor. “All the closed meetings, all the shady attitudes… I should’ve seen it. I’m trained to see it.” you're frustrated with yourself, with all the adrenaline out of your body now you’re left only with guilt.

Surely if you’d have seen it sooner you could’ve done something. Maybe the outcome would’ve been different.

“They tricked all of us.” Nat says, glancing at Fury and resting her hand on your shoulder.

“You’re a good agent,” Hill interjects, “don’t doubt yourself because of those traitors.”

“You’re right.” You nodded after a moment, putting your hand on top of Nat’s on your shoulder and looking back at Fury. “You’re all right.”

As you finish the details of the plan, only one thing is missing.

“How do we get the Director there?” Hill asks after Sam joins you, informing you that Steve went looking for a uniform, whatever that means, and would meet you there.

“Uh, I have an idea.” you says, leaning back in your chair and smirking.

They all suit up and leave after making sure your comms work.

“Be careful.” you hug Natasha before they leave “All of you.” you add looking over her shoulder at Hill that nods and Sam that grins and then winks at you.

You go back to the room where Fury is and he asks, “So where’s our ride?”

“On its way.” you simply say, checking your phone.

You can hear the others through the comms as they meet up with Steve, his own voice coming to your ear as he puts his own earpiece in.

“Where’s Y/N?” he questions the team.

“Awe, you miss me already, Cap?” you say and can hear the other’s laughter.

“You wish.” you can practically hear his eyes rolling.

“I do wish.” you answer, laughing. “I’m with Fury, don’t worry we’ll be there in time.”

You’re both suited up too when you hear loud noises coming from outside, Fury gives you a confused look but you just smile and wiggle your eyebrows playfully as you lead the way to the roof.

A helicopter lands and the pilot gets out and makes his way towards you, shaking your hand before heading downstairs where a car is waiting for him. You make your way to the pilot’s seat and Fury takes the co-pilot’s seat.

“Where did you even get this?” He questions you after putting on the headphones while you start the helicopter, ready for take off.

“You’re not the only one with connections, Director.” you answer, glancing at him with a smile and can hear him laugh next to you.

The whole time you can hear the team’s conversation, everything’s going according to plan thankfully, and nobody’s gotten hurt yet.

Just as you hear Natasha say “don’t worry, company’s coming” to who you assume is Pierce you land the helicopter on the landing pad.

You and Fury make your way inside and Pierce is nothing short of surprised at seeing Fury alive, much to your delight.

“Did you get my flowers?” he says sarcastically and, when Fury only glares at him, he turns his attention to you. “Agent.”

“Asshole.” you greet him with a smile.

“I'm glad you're here, Nick.” he turns his attention back to him.

“Really? Cause I thought you had me killed.”

“You know how the game works.” Pierce says, as calm as a sociopath.

“So why make me head of SHIELD?” Fury has to know.

“Cause you were the best and the most ruthless person I ever met.”

“I did what I did to protect people.”

“Our enemies are your enemies, Nick. Disorder, war. It's just a matter of time before a dirty bomb goes off in Moscow, or an EMP fries Chicago. Diplomacy? Holding action, a band-aid. And you know where I learned that?” He doesn’t give him time to answer, clearly enjoying his evil mastermind speech. “Bogota. You didn't ask, you just did what had to be done. I can bring order to the lives of seven billion people by sacrificing twenty million. It's the next step, Nick, if you have the courage to take it.”

“No,” Fury says, taking Pierce to the retinal scanner, guns on him from both Nat and you “I have the courage not to.”

“Retinal scanner active.” the computer says.

“You don't think we wiped your clearance from the system?” Pierce says smugly.

“I know you erased my password, probably deleted my retinal scan, but if you want to stay ahead of me, Mr. Secretary,” he takes off his eyepatch to reveal his scarred eye and you grimace. “you need to keep both eyes open.”

They both look into the retinal scanner, with Fury using his injured eye.

“Alpha Level confirmed.” The computer says “Encryption code accepted. Safeguards removed.”

You can hear Steve and Sam talking in your ear as you hold Pierce at gunpoint while Nat finishes uploading the files online.

Sam saying to Steve that he’s heavier than he looks makes you smile, Steve answering “I had a big breakfast” makes you almost snort because Sam made him that breakfast, but you stay professional.

You hear Sam apologizing to Steve after being grounded, his suit broken, and then Maria telling Sam that Rumow’s heading your way. Sam says he’s on it and then you hear Steve trying to plead with Bucky before he starts fighting him.

“Done.” Natasha finally says “And it's trending.”

Just then Pierce sets off the pins he gave the council members, causing it to burn a hole into them. You, Natasha and Fury point your guns at Pierce but he turns to Natasha.

“Unless you want a two inch hole in your sternum, I'd put that gun down.” Natasha doesn't back down though “That was armed the moment you pinned it on.”

You all reluctantly lower your weapons.

You can hear Sam saying “Man, shut the hell up” and frown, then you hear him fighting probably with Rumlow and you sincerely hope Sam lands some good punches.

“Lieutenant, how much longer?” Pierce asks into his radio.

“Sixty-five seconds to satellite link. Targeting grid engaged. Lowering weapons array now.” you hear the response.

You hear Hill counting down too. “Thirty seconds, Cap!”

you can hear Steve get out a strangled “Stand by.”

You hear him struggle, then he says “Charlie-” but gets interrupted by a gunshot and you hold your breath, already imagining the worst and barely hearing Pierce talking into his radio.

Just as they’re about to give the order to fire you hear Steve again saying “Charlie locked.” and you feel like all three of you let out a breath of relief at the same time. Although your relief is short lived as you hear Steve telling Maria to fire.

You all look outside as the Helicarriers start going down.

“What a waste.” Pierce says, disgusted at the sight in front of him.

“Are you still on the fence about Rogers' chances?” Nat says as smugly as she can with an active weapon pinned to her chest, but Pierce is having none of it.

“Time to go, Councilwoman.” he grabs her arm “This way, come on. You're gonna fly me out of here.”

“You know, there was a time I would have taken a bullet for you.” Fury tells him as they start to leave.

“You already did.” Pierce glances back at him “You will again when it's useful.” before he can even finish the sentence Natasha activates a small disc that emits an electric shock through her whole body and disables the pin, giving you a chance to kick the phone out of Pierce’s hand while it reboots.

Fury takes this time to pick up a gun and shoots twice at Pierce, then walks over to you as you kneel next to Natasha who’s unconscious on the floor.

“Romanoff!” he says “Natasha!”

“Tasha, come on!” you say desperately.

She slowly opens her eyes. “Ow.” she lets out, before looking up at you two. “Those really do sting.”

You let out a breathless laugh and help her up, glancing back at Pierce dying behind you, a quiet ‘Hail HYDRA’ coming out of his mouth.

You help Natasha into the helicopter, before taking the pilot’s seat again, Fury next to you.

“Please, tell me you got that chopper in the air!” you hear Sam say.

“Sam, where are you?” Natasha asks him as you try to look around for him.

“41st floor, north-west corner!” he sounds like he’s out of breath.

“We're on it, stay where you are.” You say, making your way to him.

“Not an option!” You can hear him pant like he’s running and as you look up you see him jumping out a window, so you tilt the helicopter just enough to allow him to slide in through the door sideways, and then you straighten just as fast, getting out of there just in time as the whole building comes down.

“41st floor! 41st!” Sam yells once he’s caught his breath.

“It's not like they put the floor numbers on the outside of the building!” You yell back at him while glancing behind you as he glares at you.

“Hill, where's Steve?” Natasha says in the comms “You got a location on Rogers?”

You fly around the wreckage, all of you trying to locate Steve although it feels almost impossible with all the damage left by the Helicarriers.

How can you find him? How could he even be alive after not only that fall, but all of the pieces still falling from the sky? He could’ve been knocked out, he could be at the bottom of the Pontomac, slowly drowning-

“There!” Sam interrupts your pessimistic thoughts as he yells and points at a figure along the shore of the river. “That’s him!”

You land as close as him as you can, running out with Sam beside you, Nat and Fury a little behind. As you get close you see that it is indeed Steve, kudos to Sam for his falcon eyes.

The more you get close the more you worry, he looks bloody and beaten. When you’re finally kneeling next to him, you’re praying that he’s alive.

Sam’s hand flies to his neck and you can tell he lets out a relieved sigh, before turning to you. “He’s got a pulse.” he says and you mirror his action.

You pick him up together and take him to the helicopter, placing him inside while Nat takes the pilot’s seat this time and goes straight to the hospital.

With Steve being in the hospital and Fury being technically dead, the joy of being summoned at a committee hearing falls on you and Natasha. After being sworn in, the Committee General asks the first question.

“Why haven't we yet heard from Captain Rogers?” You and Natasha look at each other and she answers.

“We don't know what there is left for him to say. I think the wreck in the middle of the Potomac made his point fairly eloquently.”

“Well, he could explain how this country's expected to maintain its national security now that he, and you, have laid waste to our intelligence apparatus.”

“HYDRA was selling you lies, not intelligence.” you interject.

“Many of which you both seem to have had a personal hand in telling.” you hate to admit it but he’s got you there.

“Agents, you should know that there are some on this committee who feel, given your service record, both for this country” Scudder then looks directly at Nat “and against it, that you belong in a penitentiary, not mouthing off on Capitol Hill.” he says and it takes everything in you not to snap at him as you clench your jaw.

Natasha can see it in your face as you look at each other, so she goes ahead and talks first.

“You're not gonna put me in a prison.” her eyes are still on you “You're not gonna put any of us in a prison. You know why?” You know she's asking you to finish her sentence.

“Do enlighten us.”

“Because you need us.” you say without missing a beat, looking away from Natasha and directly into the man’s eyes. “Yes, the world is a vulnerable place, and yes, we help make it that way. But we're also the ones best qualified to defend it.”

“So if you want to arrest us, arrest us.” Nat says after a pause.

“You'll know where to find us.” you finish.

You both get up and walk out, exchanging a small smile that's quickly hidden for the benefit of the cameras.

A few hours later you and Natasha get to the cemetery just as Fury’s walking away, smirking at each other when you catch the end of his sentence.

“You should be honored, gentlemen.” you say as you get closer.

“That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you.” Natasha finishes for you.

“Not going with him?” Steve asks you as he meets you halfway.

“No.” you both say at the same time.

“Not staying here?” only Natasha answers this time.

“Nah. I blew all my covers,” she glances at you “I gotta go figure out a new one.”

“That might take a while.” he points out.

“I'm counting on it.” She smiles. “That thing you asked for, I called in a few favors from Kiev.” She hands Steve a file. “Will you do me a favor? Call that nurse.”

“She's not a nurse.”

“And you're not a SHIELD agent.” you say and he smiles.

“What was her name again?” he asks.

“Sharon.” Natasha says and you add. “She's nice.”

Natasha kisses Steve on the cheek, hugs you and when she turns to walk away, he looks at you.

“Your face looks better.” you notice. “Well, as good as it can look, considering...” you trail off vaguely motioning to his face with a fake disgusted look and he laughs.

“Yeah, the serum can only do so much.” you laugh too, but then you hear Natasha and you both turn to her.

“Be careful, Steve.” she tells to him “You might not want to pull on that thread.”

And with that, she’s gone.

“You’re not going with Nat?” he asks you as you turn back to him.

“I figured you might need a hand.” you nod to the file in his hand and Steve opens it as Sam walks up to you guys while you steal a glance yourself at the photo of Sergeant Barnes in it.

“You're going after him.” Sam says and it's not a question, it's a statement.

“You don't have to come with me.” He says, his eyes on the file.

“I know.” Sam says, after a moment of silence you finally look away from the photo of 40s Bucky and you see both men looking at you expectantly.

“Chasing a 96 year old brainwashed assassin?” you says, a smile starting to grow on your face “Sounds fun.” you state and Steve nods.

“Really?” Sam deadpans. “What are your weekends like, YLN?”

You only smirk at him in response, then you both turn your attention back to Steve, his eyes back on the file.

“So,” Sam says, “when do we start?”

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ladykailitha · 1 year

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All My Roads Lead Back to You Part 2

We get to see a little bit more about the work Dustin and Steve do and Steve gets the shock of his life.

Part 1

***

Steve loved his job and getting to work with his best friend made it all the more awesome. Thankfully his Platonic soulmate wasn’t around to hear him say that.

But she was coming to visit this weekend and that was always made for a great time.

He stopped by the development team to say hi.

“Dusty!” he greeted warmly. “Hey, man! What’s up?”

Dustin gave him a hug. “Hey! I didn’t know you’d be in today. How’s my favorite god daughter?”

Steve laughed. “Don’t let Lily Byers hear you say that.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Well considering she’s in China with her badass parents at the moment, she’ll never know.”

Steve batted his eyelashes at innocently.

“Right, Steve?” Dustin asked. “She’ll never know, because you won’t tell her, right?”

Steve held out for two seconds longer. “Of course not. Her mother still carries that Russian pistol of hers. I’m not about to start beef between the two girls.”

Dustin just shook his head. “I always thought it was interesting that the only ones of our Party to have girls was you and Nancy and Jonathan.”

“As Max would say, ‘too many boys’,” Steve agreed. “Like she didn’t have three of her own.”

“All tall with red hair and freckles,” Dustin said.

“My daughter is doing just fine,” Steve murmured. “She’s finally found a replacement for Lauren in her band.”

Dustin smiled. “That’s great. They come up with a name yet?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope. I think right now they’ve been calling themselves The Band.”

“Ouch.”

“So the real reason for this visit is...” Steve said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously, “I was wondering if you had ear plugs I could use for their practice. I know I can just turn off my aid, but that does jack shit for my right ear.”

Dustin laughed. “Yeah, man. I’ve got you covered.” He went over to the design table and picked up a small grey box. He turned and handed it to Steve.

“They’re smooth with a flared base so they’ll slot gently into the canal,” Dustin explained. “You’d have to take out your aid or you just use the one. It’s up to you.”

Steve weighed them appreciatively. “Thanks, Dusty.”

“No problem,” he said with a grin. “I can’t imagine having to listen to a bunch of teenagers playing their instruments badly for a couple of hours.”

Steve grimaced. “What’s worse is that they haven’t figured out their style yet, so it’s a discordant mess of genres.”

Dustin made a face. “That’s rough, man.”

“How are you and Suzie getting along these days?” Steve asked gently.

Dustin sighed. “It’s official, she can’t have kids.”

Steve winced. “Even with in vitro?

“Yeah,” he replied mournfully. “We’re thinking adopting next.”

Steve nodded. “Let me know if you guys need anything right?” He squeezed Dustin’s arm in sympathy.

Dustin nodded.

Steve said goodbye and got back to work. He put the ear plugs in his briefcase so he wouldn’t forget to take them home. He shook his head. All his life he fought hard against being a business man like his dad. But it turns out that he’s good at it. Damn good at it.

He signed good morning to his receptionist, Vanessa.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, her voice a little off, the way it can some times get when you can’t hear yourself. “You have your ten o’clock appointment in fifteen minutes, but your lunch meeting canceled. Death in the family.”

Steve sighed. He signed back, “Send flowers and condolences and see if they want to reschedule. We need their micro chips.”

Vanessa saluted smartly and Steve flipped her off. He walked into his office and flopped into his chair with a sigh. He loved Vanessa. She had been with him since he went public with his hearing loss.

They had a great professional relationship and her husband, Nick loved Steve, too. He would tease her that he love Steve more than her and swore that he got Steve if they ever divorced.

Nick was hearing but his parents weren’t and that’s why Nick was Steve’s personal sign interpreter for his clients. Because Steve couldn’t be everywhere and he employed a lot of HOH and deaf people. Which he had gotten flak for when they first started. How would a deaf person be valuable to an audio company? And that was one of the reasons, Steve had come out as hard of hearing.

Because Steve was the reason S&D existed at all. As at the time he found out about his hearing loss, even the best hearing aids at the time were bulky, had a tinny quality to them, and were prohibitively expensive.

So of course big brained Dustin Henderson looked at them and said, “I could do better than that with a box of scraps in my mom’s basement.” And did. But the other thing Dustin was and still is, was mouthy. He couldn’t get investors to pay attention because he would end up getting mad and storm out.

Which is where Steve came in. He could sweet talk anyone. Was kinda famous for it, in fact.

There was a knock on his door and he looked over at the phone on his desk. It was flashing red. His appointment was here.

Steve stood up and greeted them with his most charming Harrington smile.

“Thank you for coming in today,” he said brightly. “Shall we get started?”

Steve got home from work to find Edith already home and doing her school work.

“Hey, sweetie,” he said kissing the top of her head. “How was school?”

“Hey, Dad,” she greeted. “It was okay. Algebra should be banned from schools forever.”

Steve got out a pitcher of water from the fridge and poured himself a glass. “Still having trouble with it?”

Edith sighed. “Yeah. It’s such a pain in the ass.”

“What did I tell you about swearing?” Steve asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Not until I’m an adult and not until I’ve moved out,” she grumbled. “Which ever comes last.”

Steve grinned. “Good girl. It’s more about trying to teach you that there are some places that won’t let you swear, like at certain places of business. And getting used to curbing your language will help with that.”

She sighed dramatically. “I know.”

He ruffled her hair and kissed the top of her head again. “Your band coming over tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said. “If that’s alright? I know you said only once a week but we need to make sure that garage will be okay to practice in.”

Steve laughed. “I’m aware.”

Edith rolled her eyes. “Like you know what being in a band is like.”

He swatted at her. “I know you think I live under a rock but I had friend that was in a band before I married your mother.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Are they famous?”

“No,” Steve said solemnly. “Their bus rolled over and killed their bassist before they got the chance.”

Edith’s eyes went wide. “You mean like Metallica?!”

That startled Steve out of his funk. “Yeah, like Metallica, only not. Because they decided that they couldn’t continue without their friend and hung it all up.”

“That’s too bad,” she said. “I’m not sure I would have been able to go on playing if Mandy or Kenny died.”

He nodded. “Just let me know if you guys need anything.”

“Will do!”

Steve could hear the band tuning their instruments and smiled. He paused. His face felt tight around his eyes and that wasn’t a good sign. He didn’t want a migraine at his little girl’s first band practice here at the house. That would be bad.

He took some Ibuprofen and hoped that would stave it off long enough until practice was over.

He then went out to the garage to say hi to everyone. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and his heart plummeted to his stomach. Standing there tuning a guitar Steve knew better than his own god damn name was a young man of about sixteen or seventeen with dark curly brown hair that fell about to his chin, big brown eyes and dimples in his cheeks.

“Dad!” Edith cried out. “Hey I want you to meet someone.”

Steve somehow managed to walk over to Edith’s friend. “Hey,” he greeted lamely.

He couldn’t remember if Dustin had said if Eddie had a kid. But this boy couldn’t be anyone else’s.

“H-man,” she said excitedly. “This is my dad, Steve Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said and Steve stomach dropped out further. His voice was almost the same, too.

“Dad, this is Harri Munson,” Edith said. “Mostly we call him H-man.”

Munson. There it was. There was no doubt now. This was Eddie Munson’s boy. The swooping feeling in his stomach became a roar.

“I met him in art class about a month ago,” she continued happily. “I learned he played guitar and I told him about our band and he was super excited to join. Which was great because after Lauren’s backstabbing–”

“Migraine,” he managed to croak to Edith before he dashed off.

Edith grimaced. “Sorry you had to see that. My dad gets migraines sometimes and I guess today is one of them. Poor bastard.”

Harri winced. “My papa used to get migraines, too. That sucks. Are we going to be able to still practice?”

Edith nodded. “Yeah, he said it would be fine. We just can’t turn up the sound to eleven.”

Harri laughed. “Gotcha.”

“You gonna need a ride home after?” Edith asked, not seeing a car.

“Nah,” Harri said. “My dad wants to meet your dad. Make sure I’m not going to get murdered or kidnapped or whatever.”

Edith rolled her eyes. “I know how that is. My dad is super protective too. Like I swear he went through major trauma he refuses to tell me about.”

Harri nodded. “Stupid NDAs is all Dad will say when I ask.”

“Yes! My dad, too!”

They both laughed.

The band started playing and about half way through they decided to stop and take a break.

Just then a car pulled up. It was slick black muscle car that made Mandy, the band’s resident gearhead whistle long and low.

“Who’s honey child is that?” she asked appreciatively.

Harri raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s my dad’s car.”

Edith frowned. “He’s not here to pick you up yet, right?”

Harri shook his head. “No, like I said he wanted to meet your dad.”

She nodded.

***

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Epilogue

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @trashpocket @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @mightbeasleep @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @steddie-as-they-go @lillemilly @callas-shitshow @bisexualdisastersworld @renaissan-vvitch

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #reconnecting years later AU #ladykailtiha writes

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bruisedboys · 1 year

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no but thoughts on james x clumsy!reader. i feel like he’d be constantly worrying over you and ur bruises and ur just like james :))) im fine :)))))

this omg!!! ur so right aerial i love you

james potter who sees a new bruise on your knee that definitely wasn’t there before and his eyebrows shoot up and he’s all babe??? what happened here???? and honestly you hadn’t even noticed that one but it’s probably the result of one of your many ‘tripping over air’ moments. you’re like don’t worry, jamie. it doesn’t even hurt but he kisses it anyway. speaking of, he claims his kisses will ‘heal all wounds’. once you cut your finger while peeling potatoes, james freaked the fuck out and was fully about to call the ambulance even though it was just a small nick. anyway, once you’d calmed him down, he’d kisses your wounded finger, blood and all, saying it’ll heal faster now, swears.

also!!! he definitely carries around band-aids in his pocket just in case. and doesn’t let you put them on yourself, he has to put them on because he’s your boyfriend, duh. and once you’ve been together a long time he develops a sort of sixth sense for you, so he can almost always catch you before any bad falls. or he’ll just like … constantly hold your hand or have his arm around your waist to stop you from falling / walking into things <3 omg I need him

#★ mal writes!#ღ james #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x gn!reader #james potter x reader fluff #james potter drabble #james potter blurb #james potter x fem!reader #✉️#𖦹 aerial!

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missingmark · 1 year

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― who you gonna call? pt.1

the boys know they'll always have someone to call when they need them. that someone in question being you, luckily that feeling is more than mutual.

‧₊˚ matt x gn!reader

‧₊˚ warnings: light swearing, otherwise very very wholesome :)

‧₊˚ word count: 840

‧₊˚ pt.2 ( nick ) | pt.3 ( chris ) | masterlist

( 𝖒. ) ; you call him when it all feels like way too much

You had almost fallen asleep in Matt's car if it weren't for the enthusiastic rambling of your best friend next to you. One of his hands would sometimes leave the steering wheel to comb through his hair or emphasize his words with some sort of gesture. Your eyes, even half lidded, would follow his movement, your head against the window in the passenger seat

He had offered to pick you up from college after hearing how awful your day was.

"-and, I don't know what happened but Nick suddenly developed a weird obsession with Po from Kung Fu Panda, it's like all he talks about. Can you believe it? Chris has to leave the room any time it starts."

If you weren't so tired you would have giggled at his story, but any movement seemed to drain your energy even more and you were saving it up for having to peel yourself from the seat and walking into their home.

Matt insisted on assisting you, carrying you on his back into the house as he continued to talk.

"Yesterday I walked in on him reading an article called "25 inspirational Kung Fu Panda Quotes that will change your life forever" and when I tried to address it he just hissed at me. He hissed."

Chris looked up from his place on the couch, a smile forming on his face at the sight of the two of you. He, too, was forced to listen to your whining in the group chat about your hard day.

"Move," Matt muttered once he stood in front of his brother, turning around and letting you plop onto the couch with a small thud, your head landing in Chris' lap.

"Ouch! Dude, your head is heavy as fuck."

You opened one eye to glare up at him.

"Cuz it's full of knowledge, stupid."

"I highly doubt that, considering you literally sat through the wrong class today and didn't notice for the whole 50 minutes."

"How do you know that?!" You yelled, covering your face in embarrassment.

"Cuz you literally spammed us all about it in the group chat today, you goof."

"Oh god." You mumbled into your hands, not noticing the third brother also entering the room, leaning over the couch to offer you some of his sympathy.

"Why did I even want to become a film major, who put this insane stupid dummy-dumb idea into my head?!" You groaned, kicking your legs in frustration.

"Because you made a compilation of Nick falling down when we were in middle school and you called it your magnum opus," Chris recalled, stroking your head in sympathy.

"That was a pretty funny video," Matt mumbled under his breath.

"I should quit," You murmured only to be met with disagreement from your friends.

"Sure you're having a bit of a tough day, but you'll get through it," Nick tried to cheer you up, "You'll be done with college soon anyway."

"But if you want to take a bit of a break, we'll understand, maybe skip some classes tomorrow to get a good rest and-"

"That's a terrible idea, Chris! They already missed one of their classes today. If you skip you'll just be farther behind with the material."

Nick walked over to you, taking your hands in his as he looked deep into your eyes.

"A real warrior never quits," he smiled.

You almost smiled back.

"Po said that in the first Kung Fu Panda, but to be honest the second one is like-"

"Ok. I have to leave," Chris mumbled, lifting your head as gentle as he could despite the sudden spike in rage that was building up in him at his brothers words.

He walked towards the kitchen only for Nick to follow after him.

"What?! What's your problem with the panda? You hater!" Their voices grew faint. Only you and Matt being left at this point.

He walked over towards you, lying down on the couch too and pulling you into his chest.

"I believe in you. Never ever tell him I said this but Nick is right; don't quit, okay? Rest a bit now and I'll help you with your assignments once you wake up."

You grinned into his sweatshirt and let the tiredness finally take over your body.

i wrote this while watching schaffrillas production review kung fu panda 2.

i hope you enjoyed, luv u <3

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfiction #missingmark writes #real person fic #sturniolo triplets x you #nick sturniolo x yn #nick sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo fanfiction #nick sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #missingmark

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zootopiathingz · 4 months

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My prediction for Zootopia 2

So as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, there’s an interesting Wildehopps dynamic where Judy is more case-focused while Nick prioritizes safety, which I can maybe see being used for conflict in the next movie. (Cuz if there’s going to be conflict, it needs to be done right for development and not just for the sake of having characters argue…please take notes, Disney)

I imagine the movie starting out with the two of them working flawlessly. They know just how to take down criminals together without exchanging a word. Then one day they’re given a simple interrogation case that quickly escalates and long story short Judy ends up getting hurt. Nick rushes to help her, and she urges him to go after the criminal. He hesitates, but he doesn’t relent and ends up taking her to a first aid kit, frantically bandages her wound, then pursues the criminal along with backup. But by then it’s too late, the culprit is nowhere to be found. At first Judy’s a little frustrated, but she can’t be too mad at him for saving her. Chief Bogo, however, will be furious, and while he is sympathetic about the specific situation they were in, there’s still a dangerous mastermind on the loose. (And then there’s some kind of lecture about balancing work and safety of your partner, etc etc)

Throughout the movie there’s a sort of back-and-forth between “which is more important”, as well as some budding romance because yes. And then at some point the two are forcibly separated by The Bad Guys™️ and are forced to find a way back to each other. However these mammals have done their research. They didn’t just choose two random cops to kidnap for fun. They know who Judy and Nick are and plan to use their dependency on each other against them. For the sake of evil plot and angst the Bad People demand that Judy tell them some Important Information about whatever and when she refuses, they pull the old “if you don’t give us what we want you can say goodbye to your partner”. Naturally Judy’s intimidated by the threat, but she knows they’re just saying it to get in her head. Never let them see that they get to you, after all.

It isn’t until The Big Fight when she finds out they were not bluffing, as when she refuses again one of them ends up attacking Nick right in front of her. She frantically rushes to his side, trying not to panic as she hears the cruel words of their captors; “We warned you. It’s sad, isn’t it? Having to choose between our missions and the ones we love most? We fail either way. That’s why you’re better off working alone”

Then some kind of trap is activated in the room, with limited time until it sets off, and the Bad Bitches escape leaving the two to die tragically. Judy tries to push Nick up, but his injuries are more fatal than they appeared. He can’t move, he knows this. He urges Judy to leave while she can, to stop the criminals and return home safely. And it’s at this point Judy finally understands his point of view. If the roles were reversed he would be carrying her to safety, regardless of the matter at hand. She can’t leave him. She won’t leave him. So she helplessly begins dragging him with all her strength, forcing back tears as there’s a tiny voice in the back of her mind telling her it’s pointless and that they’ll never make it out alive together. (Insert some kind of dramatic “I can’t leave you! I love you!” scene here or something)

Somehow they’d make it out obviously, and they’d have some kind of heart-to-heart moment while he’s getting treated for his injuries. Ultimately they decide that no matter what happens from that point that they’ll put their fears aside and work together to take down the Big Bad, because that’s what they’ve always done.

#cheesy asf but I think it could work #maybe slightly less gorey/graphic considering its modern disney lol #zootopia #zootopia 2 #disney sequels #judy hopps #nick wilde #wildehopps #character analysis #movie predictions #zootopia 2 predictions #long post #lady luxo rambles

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

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Sparring!Series - Part One: Sparring: Nick Amaro x Reader

Tagging: @misscharlielulu @cosmic-psychickitty @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @beardedbarba @crazy4chickennuggets @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @multilin21 @burningtacozombie @sendmylcve

"You wanna go a few rounds?" Nick asked you, appearing alongside the punchbag you were beating the hell out of.

You were clad in athletic leggings, and a white off the shoulder Bon Jovi t-shirt you’d thrown on over a black sports bra. He’d lost count of the amount of times he had run his hands underneath that t-shirt, how good your skin felt underneath this palms. There was nothing he didn't love about you, and he knew what you needed.

Blowing off steam was the only thing that could sooth whatever demons were possessing you. You were pissed at him for leaving, for taking that undercover op without discussing it, angry at yourself for allowing those emotions to get hold of you like that because out of everyone you knew better.

You rarely lashed out, but Nick knew you needed to. He could help you channel that frustration into something better, make you let go of your defences so you would open up to him again.

"I'll go easy on you." Nick said purposefully as he stepped back onto the sparring mats.

You gave him that look, the one that said you were going to make him eat his words. He smiled because that had been his intention, rile you up so you could vent that anger before it morphed into something more toxic. You removed your boxing gloves, setting them down carefully before following him onto the mat. Nick opened his mouth to say something, but you were already in motion. You caught his arm in a vice-like grip, pulling it around your waist in order to throw him over your body.

A judo move, he recognized and a respected your decision to try to incapacitate him with one swoop. Nick dug in his heels and yanking his weight backwards. Nick's arm snaked around your slender throat, pulling you so that you were taut against the length of his body. His lips sought out that sweet spot just underneath the curve of your jaw.

"I'm back now." he murmured, tasting the salt upon your skin.

God Nick had missed being like this with you, being this close, feeling you pressed against him. Your elbow impacted with his solar plexus causing him to grunt at the abrupt pain as you lunged forward out of his arms, following it up with a kick that he dodged quickly by darting to the right.

It was clear you weren’t as forgiving as he had originally thought but he used this as an opportunity to gauge your progression. You were getting better. His interest in your developing skill set was purely selfish. You took on guys, bigger than you, carrying a lot more mass, he wanted you to be prepared, to be able to get yourself out of any given situation you may find yourself in.

Nick's moves consisted mainly of blocks and defensive postures as he fended off each one of your attacks with clinical calculation. He couldn't afford to go onto the offence and run the risk of actually causing you some real damage. He felt a fierce pride in how far you had come in the past few months, your diligence and training paying off.

Nick had had enough of this fight. He could see you were starting to lag. You were getting tired, your features flushed with exertion, that fury seemed to have filtered down to something more communicable. It seemed like an age since he had held you in his arms, since he'd kissed your pert lips and whispered the words 'I love you' in your ear.

His distraction allowed you to catch him off guard as you slipped under his arm and drove your shoulder into his muscular chest. His balance was all wrong and Nick ended up smacking down onto the mats, his gentle hands yanking you down on top of him as he hit the floor hard.

Nick found himself lying flat on his back, staring into the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. Your thighs were straddling his hips as your body's moulded together. Your breathing was ragged, Nick could feel the pounding of your heart against his chest as his large hands roved along the curve of her spine.

"Hey." he said that charming grin spreading across his handsome features.

"God, I missed you." You muttered instead, burying your face into Nick's exposed throat.

Nick wrapped his arms around your body, hugging you closer against his solid form. It was good to have you with him again. He could never express how much he loved his fierce, passionate woman.

"Carino." he drawled, tugging your ponytail lightly. "I need you to get off me before Ezra’s new class starts.”

"We should probably get back to my apartment before someone sees me taking advantage of the fact I have you pinned down like this." You murmured, arching your hips slightly so you were rubbing against Nick’s demanding lower body.

"At least then they'd all know who you belong to." Nick told you before nipping that sexy, soft spot just under your earlobe.

"Nick..." You drew out his name like a love song as he fixed his hands upon your hips and thrust up against you.

"I know, I know." He groaned against your mouth, his hands gripping your ass as he rolled his hips against your core. "We shouldn't do this here we could get caught. Anyone could walk right in and see me with my hands all over you."

"Stop making it sound so appetising." You muttered.

You were desperately trying to be the reasonable one here, but his warm, firm hands felt so good upon your skin. His cock was already erect and wanting, you could feel it as he ground against you sending a deviant thrill up your spine.

"Did you say stop?" Nick asked you as his hands chased up along the outline of your waist until his palms cupped your breasts, his thumbs teasing over your hardening nipples through the t-shirt. "Because carino, I don't think you want me to stop."

Your hands covered his, halting his ministrations before you looked down at him, eyes burning with arousal as you spoke.

"Take me home."

Love Nick Amaro? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#nick amaro x you #nick amaro x reader #nick amaro imagine #nick amaro

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knownangels · 17 days

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maslow's hierarchy

wc: 6.8k

Benji drags himself out of bed a moment before the alarm kicks off.

By now, he’s developed somewhat of a sixth sense for certain happenings around base. It’s a sense that might, were the more superstitious recruits given a crack at describing it, be called preternatural.

Lately those murmurs have picked up both in popularity and frequency; Benji likes that. It could be any number of things to thank for the increasing number of terrified soldiers bumbling out of his path, avoiding trips to medical. It could be Benson has resumed his charming habit of fabricated ghost stories about the resident medic. It could be Benji’s own doing, really: his recent predilection for hanging around the terrifyingly unpredictable corporal hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Whatever it is, Benji’s thankful. Any time another set of eyes pops wide and snaps away from his face, it’s like a needle has split his vein and shot something straight to his heart. Something that makes his head swim, something that blows his pupils wide, something that makes his mouth twist with pleased adrenaline.

Something wicked nice, as the corporal might put it.

He takes his time meandering down to the clinic, where his on-call alarm had been directing him. Benji hadn’t been fortunate enough to be on the mission from which all the trembling, blood-soaked soldiers return. But his luck is good enough that there are a fat number of them, wet with fear’s sweat and stinking of that post-fight metallic tinge.

He likes being there when it happens. Not just because a body will open in any number of interesting and memorable ways. Not just because they cry and scream out of fear and pain alike. Nah. Benji likes being there when it happens because inevitably, once the fog of sleepy shock passes, once they realize the predicament they’ve gotten themselves into with whatever nasty, painful misfortunate —

They look at Benji. They know he’s there. Know why. Know that he holds, in eager glove-clad hands, the tools to fix them. To make it stop hurting.

(Whether he will or not is another story entirely.)

Benji likes watching the injured take that journey. It always plays out so obviously on their face as the path winds, tugs them along. This hurts, turns into someone help me, turns into oh fuck, not him, not him. Benji might not have their friendship. He might not have their trust. He certainly doesn’t have their loyalty.

But he does have their reliance. Their need. To stop the bleeding, to close the wound, to make the pain stop. They fear him, but they need him — and Benji likes looking at a face and seeing need swiped across it like splatter. He likes it almost more than the fear.

The first injured mercenary he attends to is green. New enough that he doesn’t know any better. As Benji approaches the door, light gleaming through the cracks of the frame, he hears the soldier’s dismay.

“Not him,” the mercenary is chanting, over and over. Pleading, really. He must have seen Benji’s name on his chart. New enough that he dodesn’t know better, but been here long enough to be warned. Maybe to hear a story or two.

“Please, please. Not him. You can do it— right, Dr. Toussa—doctor? You can, can’t you? Please, man.”

“Mais no,” Nick responds, his familiar and even tone carrying through the crack in the door. He sounds amused. It’s nearly a laugh. “What a preposterous assumption, private. I will be retiring for the evening. Perhaps — oui. A nice glass of chardonnay awaits, I think. Une récompense, you see, pour mon travail acharné.“

Benji waits beyond the door, listening to the near-tearful begging of the injured soldier. The quiet shuffle of fabric as Nick undoubtedly removes his stark white coat, lays it carefully on the coat rack he keeps by the door.

Which swings open. The arc throws just shy of the tip of Benji’s nose — only a few centimeters.

He doesn’t move.

“Ah.” Nick says, as congenially as he seems capable. “Bonsoir, Benji.”

“Evenin’, Nick.” Benji tilts an imaginary hat. He feels his mouth already pulling into a grin. “Leave some for me?”

“And otherwise?” Nick chuckles. “Do labor of myself when you are so happy to help? Non.”

Despite the congeniality, despite Nick’s seemingly high spirits, despite Benji’s grin — the hallway is tense. Benji stands in front of him, short but broad. Unmoving. Arms tucked behind his back.

Nick doesn’t move an inch, despite leaving medical with hastened steps. He doesn’t look to be in a hurry home any longer. He looks frozen. He looks careful.

Benji’s smile widens. After a beat, he moves to the left with a single sidestep. The hall now open to him, Nick moves as well. But like always, he rotates the parallel to Benji’s shoulders. Keeping them facing each other, eyes locked to his, grey-dotted jaw soft but shut.

“Well, y’know how it is.” Benji tilts his head, showing teeth now. “You have to be real passionate in the healthcare industry, yeah.”

“Thankless work.” Nick agrees. He has begun to walk backwards, towards the exit at its far end. The stark red letters of the sign blink in a halo around his pale hair.

Benji clicks his tongue sorrowfully. He folds both hands over his heart. “Well, gosh. Thanks an awful much, doctor.”

The moment hangs just one long, delightful silence longer. Then Nick tilts his chin (head tipping only enough to dip his nose, his eyes staying locked to Benji) and tips an invisible brim of his own.

“Certainement. And, merci à toi, of course.” Nick takes another step. “Goodnight.”

Benji smiles wider. For a split second, Nick begins to turn as if he intends on giving Benji his back. His steps stutter only that second, though. Benji has the pleasure of watching him twitch and still. Briefly. Almost impercitbly; Nick is more than that. Better than.

But Benji notices.

So Benji waits until Nick is halfway down the hall, halfway to putting Benji and the base in his rear view, to call out.

“Nicky.” He says, lifting his voice only slightly over the distance. “Is that what Margot used to call you?”

Nick stops walking abruptly.

He can’t tell if Nick swallows. If he has any sort of response to what is, as they both well understand, a cruel jeer despite Benji’s friendly tone. He doesn’t know if Nick fears him. He sort of doubts it. But what he does get, what he sees plain as day:

Need.

I need you to stop talking. Nick’s eyes say, boring into his like drills. I need to be away from you. I need a glass of wine.

Benji’s wide smile twitches, as if it wants to pull wider. He likes the need.

“Oui.” Nick admits evenly. Barely three breathes have passed between them. “Sometimes.”

“Well. Not anymore, anyway.”

Benji waits a few breaths, too. Then he nods, smile tilting into an intrigued upside-down frown, and happily ducks into medical for his emergency shift.

The blubbering private nearly pisses himself when Benji steps into his “room”. In reality, the curtain-separated cubbies are barely more than a gurney and what little equipment can be crammed into the space. For this unlucky bastard, it’s just Benji and his kit and his eager hands.

Benji snaps gloves onto them as the new merc watches. His tan hands are white-knuckled on the edge of the gurney, fingers tight between the rungs as if he’s holding on to avoid being washed out to sea.

“I heard you talking to Dr. Toussaint about me.” Benji says, retrieving his suture kit and gauze. He holds the paper wrapped square up to the light, pretending to assess it for unsterile tears or rips.

The soldier before him says nothing, but his breathing picks up. Any quicker, and the monitor’ll start going off. If he’s expecting Benji to lash out, or to hurt him, or do something worse like any number of the vile acts he’s committed in stories…he’s probably surprised by Benji’s careful, expert treatment.

The wound on his leg is thoroughly cleaned, sterilized, and adequately closed up. Benji isn’t cruel for a second of it, although the desire to touch two centimeters deep in the split of red-weeping tissue sits fresh at the front of his brain.

“I heard rumors.” The private brushes fingers against his thigh. He doesn’t sound terrified anymore. Maybe just a bit wary.

“Most of you have.” Benji says. He turns with a shrug to pluck the gloves off and wash his hands. He closes the lid on the empty numbing syringe, tucks it dutifully into the sharps container, and does everything quick, correct, and by the book.

If not…uncharacteristically kind.

“Guess they’re wrong?”

Benji turns and props himself against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. When the private’s eyes stray down, Benji corrects the expression on his face by making it softer.

“Are you asking, or telling.”

His nearly-silent words make the other soldier smile slightly. He leans forward, wound in his leg forgotten, fear put out back.

“I guess I’m telling.”

Benji ducks his head, as if shy. “I’m not like that.” He asserts. He sounds how he ought to — kindly assertive, but not defensive; humbled, but hurt. He sounds like it bothers him, what people think. That it wounds him.

“At least not that I’ve seen.”

Benji takes a step closer. The private doesn’t seem concerned by the fact that the door — his one escape — is now on the other side of the medic.

“I just,” Benji says, dragging from the end of the gurney to close his palm lightly around the soldier’s gauzed thigh. “Really am fulfilled making people feel better again. Like…making them feel good.”

The private smiles at him, eyelashes fluttering.

Benji smiles back. Then he squeezes.

Hard.

But he goes back to his quarters alone. Worse, he goes back to his quarters unsatisfied. There was no nice throb in his gut, no half-hard tightness to his trousers, no telling flush or sweaty neck or arousal of any fucking sort. Usually, he wouldn’t be alone. The private was exactly the sort who accompanied him — scared but intrigued, confused about the source of their need.

And yet Benji had sent him off practically with a lollipop. Sure, the reopening of the gash in his legs had hurt — if his soulful shriek of pain was anything to go by — but that’s where the evening had found its end. Not in more pain, or a kiss to along with it, or more on top.

He could have added threats. Another welt to go with the seatbelt criss-crossing his chest. The wounds: blade to the thigh, stripe of red along his sternum; Benji’s teeth printing his neck.

Except.

Benji goes back to his quarters alone. Nothing lingers with him about that night, about the treatments. Not even that sad little sound that he’d rung out as if from a rag. Benji’s usually all about those sounds. Pain or pleasure, they meant a job well done, that he’d accomplished either. It was do no harm, after all, not do no pain.

As for pleasure?

Midnight creeps by. Then one, then two. He lays still, for the most part, the length of those hours before his patience (thin, already, the mood he’s in) snaps entirely.

Benji sits up with a snarl, legs hanging over the side of the bed. He scrubs at his eyes. He’s getting —he’s remembering — and there aren’t any lovely sounds or flashy colors or sticky, wet insides to dance in front of those memories. He’s stuck with them for the moment, faint and blurry but there nonetheless, fuck.

And then—

He hears a laugh resound the length of the hall. It’s peppy but full, a winding sort of off-key at the end. For each second that it echoes on, that sort from the sort of humor that shocked, Benji’s foot taps quicker.

What’s so funny, corporal? He thinks. Benji is no stranger to venomous thoughts, but the bitterness layered in that surprises him. Who’s making you laugh? Tell them they’re late on their physical, hey? Send them down. I wanna hear the joke, too.

Benji tosses himself back on the bed. His thoughts bump around together: collide, bounce away, overlap, muddy up. One of the only consistents is a mess of red hair. That laugh lingering. He imagines it as a creature attached inside his ear.

Benji slips his hand down his chest. Rests it there, finger pressed into the divot of an old bullet graze across his pectoral. It presses slightly. On that particular spot of tough scar tissue, the touch causes a strange sensation he’s never found a similar feeling. It’s almost like an ache. Almost like a nerve was reattached wrong in the healing process. Pressing down there makes something tug slightly beneath the skin, an almost hurt.

Benji swallows and huffs out his air. Then he keeps the touch moving down. The slope of his stomach; hipbone; thigh.

He’s quick about it. Or…it’s quick. He has a laugh stuck to the interior of his skull. The more he loses himself in the easy rhythm of his hand, eyes pinched shut so he can better connect to memory, the fainter that laugh gets. It turns instead to certain noises he’s heard before. Recently, in fact. The yelp from the soldier, he imagines as Xavier’s own higher whine. A little cry of pain, a swear or snarl with that messy accent.

Benji imagines the heave of these noises in a warm chest. Skin under his palm. He imagines pressing down with his weight. Holding down. The stutter of the chest, a noise turned into a pitiful gasp for air.

In his mind, he lets up. The cruel — potentially lethal — fantasy lingers in the pricks of tears to green eyes, pinched-angry red nipples, a plummy bruise of incisors to his shoulder. But Benji feels the body beneath his pulls in a breath from that brief imagined mercy —

Then he imagines it laughing.

Holy shit, Xavier says in his head. That one kind of hurt.

Benji’s — well. It’s quick, after that.

The following week, Benji lingers after a briefing. The remainder of the company flow around him, trickling from the room like shadowy fish on a current. The number of soldiers at the base dwindles by day; they’re all aware of the ones who don’t come back from missions, who disappear after a meltdown by the commando, or leave in the middle of the night. Benji’d caught Tanaka at the far side just that Friday evening, shuffling some big-eyed redhead out a breach in the perimeter. He’d nudged her slightly behind him in some last-ditch show of heroics, but Benji had only shrugged and tapped his nose.

His silence was another favor to collect on. Tanaka was smart enough to know it.

Tanaka is also smart enough to pay little attention to Benji’s behavior. Their eyes briefly amongst the crowd, two pairs of dark pools magnetizing together before one bounces away. Always observing, that one. Benji was glad to have a pair of eyes when he’d need them, and even happier to know that Tanaka respected threats when they were given in earnest. Or implied.

Benji gives him a cheeky little nod anyway. The other man disappears around the corner, a tail-end of the crowd of black uniformed bodies. And once everyone has gone, Benji goes back into the room.

He knows Tanaka’s probably still waiting around that corner, protective but wary.

I’m not gonna kick your dog, mate. Benji thinks as he strides across the room. Don’t you worry.

His footfalls are quiet, but not silent. It doesn’t shock him to discover that the corporal is otherwise occupied, when he wrenches open the door to the meeting room’s supply attaché, as Nick calls them. Fucking supply closet, the rest.

In the blurry darkness, Benji can make out the corporal’s tall form tucked into a corner. His back is to the door (sloppy), shoulders curled and head hung between them. Benji opens the door further; light spills in near his boot. It does a wonderful job of illuminating, like a work of shadow art, the frantic movements of his wrist. But it also alerts Xavier to the fact that someone has discovered him in an incredibly compromising position.

Wouldn’t be the first time, Benji knows from rumor. It’ll have to be memorable.

“Oh God,” Xavier whimpers, dropping his chin. He sees the yellow sliver of outside light and lets out a shocked yelp. “Don’t—“

Benji shuts the door behind him, casting them in pitch-black. Xavier stumbles, whirls around, shoots an arm out that nearly catches Benji in the face. He dodges it and then makes a guess whereabouts —

“Jesus!” Xavier squeaks, making something fuzzy and predatory pound between Benji’s eyes. “I’m — I thought—“

“Relax.” Benji says, pulling himself towards Xavier with the grip he’s caught on his sleeve. His fingers trace up a slim wrist, find Xavier’s own palm. It’s slick and warm from arousal, the heat of his own body.

“Just me.”

Xavier goes quiet and then makes a similar sort of noise to just a moment prior. Except — hungrier. Weak. His big body sways towards Benji, an arm slinging around his shoulders. Xavier tucks his face almost immediately down, knocking their foreheads together.

“In that case, I think it’s please don’t charge me with public indecency and more w-ooow you have such good timing.”

Benji holds onto his forearm while Xavier leans back into the corner, his feet bracketing Benji’s boots and barely keeping himself upright. They knock together, one of the only indicators Benji has of their proximity.

“You know people keep talking about the closet masturbator?”

Xavier freezes. His arm halts the lazy tug he’d taken back up. “They have?”

“No.” Benji huffs after a beat. “But you fuckin’ believed me, huh. Nah, Xavier. Just saw you duck in here last week.” He leans in until he finds the coarse material of Xavier’s shirt. He tugs at the fabric with his teeth, then readjusts and catches skin with the next bite. Xavier squeaks again, then moans.

“Oh. I—“

“Was doing this, huh?” Benji reaches between them to cover Xavier’s hand with his own. He squeezes.

Hard.

“Fuck.”

“Not quite. That what this is about, huh? You thinkin’ about it?”

“Yes.” Xavier admits. “I mean, no — it’s not what—“

“The sitrep, then?” Benji’s laugh is incredulously mean. “You get off going to boring ass meetings, Xavier — that’s fuckin’ pitiful.”

He can’t see Xavier’s angry blush, his pinched expression of contrite, prissy annoyance. He wishes he could. But he can only feel the little throb in his hands, the way Xavier shuffles and tries to get closer even as he sounds angry.

“No, I am not fucking jacking it to the meeting, you asshole. God. You’ve done a lot of shit to me, but that insult might be..like, it.”

Benji squeezes him again, drags the touch along with Xavier’s hand upwards, trying to get his rhythm back. “You not feeling fulfilled, Xavier? Gotta come look for it among this lot? Two weeks in a row you come take care of it alone. That’s what you were doing last week, yeah? Not snortin’ blow or fucking around. You were alone.”

Xavier swallows audibly. His weak thrashes, his attempts at getting away — they halt. He makes a soft noise, and then those attempts redouble. Benji holds him still throughout the squirming. Benji allows it for a moment longer before switching both hands to Xavier’s biceps and firmly pinning him to the wall.

He steps close enough that he knows the front of his shirt brushes up against very vulnerable skin. On cue, Xavier gasps and throws his head back with a resounding clang to the metal shelf behind him.

“Ah, fuck. You’re — you are awful close.” Xavier says nervously. He tries to move again. “I’m freaking out a little, here. I don’t like — it’s dark, this is a small —“

“Are you alone right now?”

He imagines Xavier’s big, sweet eyes plink-plink together.

“No.” The corporal breathes. He arches closer to Benji; his eyes haven’t adjusted to the light fully, but now he can make out Xavier’s towering silhouette before him.With his free hand, he reaches up to touch where Xavier’s mouth ought to be. Instead, they brush against a chin.

Benji adjusts and slips them inside, pressing and pulling down on Xavier’s tongue.

“Were you last week?”

It sounds vitriolic. Angry. But Xavier doesn’t seem to mind the rough interrogation.

“Yeah,” he admits. His own voice is shot through and rough with arousal. He sounds as though he’d been breathing hard right before Benji discovered him. He wonders how close the poor bastard is. How close he can get him, before he starts making more noises.

“You gonna be alone tonight?”

Here, Xavier hesitates. Benji can tell there are eyes searching for his, even in the dark.

“I don’t need to be.” Xavier finally settles on, the words hot around Benji’s fingers. He pulls them from Xavier’s mouth and curls a fist in his shirt.

“Then you won’t.” He says. With a hard yank, Benji pulls their faces together. Expectedly, they collide off-course. He feels his gums split in his mouth, the taste of copper as his lip connects with Xavier’s jaw.

From there, though, it’s not a difficult adjustment. Their mouths fit together, Xavier’s breathy noises intoxicating him from the inside out as he swallows them down with each kiss.

When Benji thrusts a hand into his hair, Xavier’s chest heaves out of sync.

“I’m going to —“

“No.”

Xavier’s mouth drops open against his cheek. He wails a little, clearly trying to keep his voice down. Benji dares anyone to come investigate those noises; he assumes that is what Xavier’s scared of, but he’d sooner kill than share those noises with another soul.

“Not until you come see me tonight.” Benji purrs against his throat. He bites down, front teeth digging in to a sharp collarbone, and Xavier hiccups a telling sob. “No pun intended.”

He makes it quick for Xavier. Or — it’s quick.

He’s barely got his hand around that pale cock before Xavier’s breath hitches. The noises he lets loose are uncharacteristically quiet, few and far between. Benji gets a strange, crushing disappointment in his chest before he realizes why.

When the orgasm passes, Xavier’s eyes flutter back from his skull and settle wetly on Benji. His hand strokes up and down Benji’s forearm, where a tendon is still taut from the firm grip he maintains. His breathing returns to normal, the heave of his chest all that remains of the particularly strong orgasm.

“Your hand felt too good,” Xavier whines this explanation, his tone sweet and sleepy and shy. Benji thinks back to the prior month, where he’d watch Xavier pummel a man to death. Until his teeth were stuck with blood, until the creature that lived in him shone out through his eyes. His stomach flips, but it’s an alien sensation he can’t compare to anything else — like the press of his thumb into that divoted scar.

Xavier is eager. He likes to play games when they’re fun and when they’re dangerous. It’s barely any work at all to get him to agree to the little wager Benji sets out, once they’ve both cum another time and have melded together sticky. Xavier agrees to his dare with an adorable, competitive snicker.

“That’ll be easy,” he says, crossing an X over the left side of his chest with a finger. “With that reward? Pft. Not even a challenge.”

But he doesn’t sound sure; Benji has been a first-hand witness to the ways that the corporal approaches sex: ready, willing, happy to be there and find attention lavished upon him. Even if however brief. Even despite Benji’s teasing of his appetite, his proclivities, his lack of will power when it came to getting himself off…Xavier simply smiles at him, head cocked and eyes glinting.

Can touch yourself ‘til we see each other again, but not finish. I’ll handle it for you, if you can —but I bet not.

“How long will you be gone” is only a question Xavier thinks to ask after he’s agreed to the terms of the dare. And when he sees the smug, victorious look on Benji’s face — well. He seems a little fearful, a little needy.

It’s a week Benji’s away. A mission he gets assigned to, rather than waiting duty back on base. He knows it’s only because their numbers have dropped so low. He knows he’s a liability out here, as likely to hurt an ally as a foe if the mood struck. He knows that’s why every soul up to the commander avoid him, try to keep him off rosters.

“Spooky fucker,” one of the bomb-unit boys mutters as he passes by. Benji is in a good mood. Instead of whirling with the knife tucked in his belt, opening up the other soldier’s throat, Benji simply smiles.

“Boo,” he says, widening his eyes. He has, as Nick would say, une récompense waiting. All he’s gotta do is behave.

Lately, Benji’s been real good at behaving.

Except when he returns to base, he’s faced with a bit of a problem. Tanaka finds him in the equipment space, storing his dusty pack for the next time they need a butcher on-field.

He knows immediately something is wrong.

“While you were all gone, there was a breach — not my spot, don’t fucking look at me like that. Someone tried to get to the commander, and Xavier—he’s asking for you.”

“Aw.” Benji pouts. “He needs a little home visit?”

As he goes to leave, Tanaka’s hand closes around his wrist. Benji could turn that touch immediately, break his fingers, break his wrist — maybe keep going up the arm. He coldly turns back to the other soldier, instead.

“Whatever the fuck you’re doing to him, it’s gotta stop.” Tanaka hisses. “I had to convince him to let somebody look at him. Got fucked up in that fight, protecting everybody. And he just kept saying you’d take care of him. That you’d do it.”

Benji allows himself to be shaken. His face remains neutral.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Tanaka growls. “It’s gotta end soon. Do you hear me, man? I will kill you.”

Benji smiles at him instead of responding. The big ones are all bark. The little ones go for a bite — then return for seconds. He

Benji finds him exactly where Tanaka told him he could be found; sat atop one of the exam stations in medical, close to Benji’s usual haunt. Xavier has an arm in a wrapped bandage, tattoos peeking out from the top of the blood-pinked gauze. There’s a knot developing on his temple, his lip has managed to split again, and a bruise develops like a blossom on his jaw.

Benji whistles as he enters the clinic. The corporal’s smiling before his eyes even rise fully from the ground.

Then it drops into a glare.

“You fucker. You didn’t say a week.”

“Had it handed to you, huh Wolffe?” Benji sing-songs, ignoring him. “Look more roughed up than usual. Problems focusing will do that.”

“I’m not having trouble focusing—“

Benji fits his tongue to the side of his cheek, gesturing lewdly in the air between them. He tops it off by frowning and miming flaccidity with his finger.

“Fuck you.” Xavier grumbles, cheeks heating.

“Ooh,” Benji cooes. “Proper grumpy, huh?”

After a perfunctory wash of his hands, he turns to the supply cabinet and retrieves a new roll of gauze and some other tools. The box of gloves he debates on — then tucks surreptitiously under his arm. “You know, you didn’t have to wait.”

Xavier’s cool, intelligent eyes follow him as he moves; its not the same wariness as Nick, or the hateful fear-touched ice of Tanaka. Specific to Xavier, specific to Xavier’s eyes on him.

“You asked.”

Benji drops his armful of goodies on the rolling tray beside the gurney and pulls it closer. He steps between Xavier’s knees. They widen slightly to offer space — Benji feels saliva pool in his mouth at how quick and habitual it seems.

You asked. The implication: I obeyed.

“I said.” Benji corrects evenly. “Seems like you just interpreted it as a request, hey?” His head tilts coyly so he can peer up at Xavier while still unwrapping everything. Surprise, surprise: ruddy splotches of color have flooded the corporal’s cheeks. “Or— or a command? Xavier. Nasty. You wanted that?”

Xavier scoots forward. His long legs tuck around the back of Benji’s thighs, ankles locked. He glares at Benji, regardless of the warm contact of their bodies or sneaky climb of a broad hand up Benji’s side.

“I wanted you,” Xavier says. The clarification drops a hot weight of arousal into Benji’s stomach, even if he knows that snide half-grin and fluttering lashes are purposeful.

Benji takes his jaw roughly, without warning. His fingers dig in to softly stubbled skin. This touch earns a gasp — and then the other hand Benji fits over his thigh earns another.

“Bullshit,” Benji purrs, bringing their faces together as if he’s going to grant a benevolent kiss. “You just wanted to cum. Sick fuckin’ dog. Couldn’t even wait a week, huh?” He shakes Xavier’s head, squeezing those adorable freckled cheeks before letting go. “Oughta be ashamed.”

Xavier’s face floods with more color, but those big excited eyes don’t stray from Benji. He’s too earnest when he speaks: “I’m not.”

Another flip of his stomach, alien in sensation only because of the context — intimate, truthful, soft. Benji already lets Xavier hold him, when he’s given the opportunity to linger after one of the explosive times they slip away together. Benji already lets him do so many things he shouldn’t; make enough allowances and something will go soft. Spoil. Not in the good sort of rotting way.

Benji ignores that gentle admission, the hand tucked beseechingly into his waistband to touch skin. He wipes sterile his supplies and is meticulous about setting them out, ready and available for whatever wounds Xavier’s been hiding. Maimed creature under the porch sort.

“Fuckin’ stupid for not letting anybody look at you.” Benji notes, gesturing to the half-hearted gauze wrapped around his arm. “You do that?”

Xavier glances down at it. “Yeah. Learned watching you.”

Benji snorts. “That so? Well you’ll be ready for the big leagues soon, right?” He starts a slow unwind of the wrapping, fingers electrified whenever they brush skin. “Nick’s the surgery guy. Bet he’ll let you sit in, watch ‘em fish some shrapnel out of guts— if that’s so interesting.”

His wrist is suddenly enclosed in a tight grip. When he peeks up at Xavier’s face, its stony and disgusted. “Stop fucking with me.”

“Stop showin’ up and making yourself a target,” Benji sing-songs back. When he gets at the wound along Xavier’s forearm, he pouts; it’s nearly all healed. The edges of the laceration — from a serrated blade, just a light enough swipe not to tear — aren’t even pink with inflammation.

“Boring.”

Xavier laughs at his yawn. “Man, can you be normal even for a second? You can just get me some Tylenol, an ice pack for my head maybe. Call it a day.”

Benji leans forward and spreads his hands on either side of Xavier’s hips. The taller man sits upright a little more, eyes widening. Every possible point of contact between them drifts closer, but Benji is careful about keeping them separate. Just close enough. Just almost there. Hasn’t that been the whole point?

“Would that make you feel better, corporal? Gettin’ taken care of?” He asks, voice dropped low enough Xavier needs to sway forward to hear each word. “Wanna bandaid for your booboos? Want me to kiss it better?”

Xavier lets out a shaky breath. “I want—”

The snap of a glove fills the room. It’s loud and unexpected enough a noise that Xavier jumps. His whole form twitches between Benji’s arms, shoulders pulling up to his ears before relaxing.

“Jumpy bastard.” Benji notes, a fond note unfolding alongside the mean tease. “How’d you even manage it, a fight? All scared and…” he glances down to Xavier’s lap. “On edge.”

“I’m very good at what I do.” Xavier mumbles defensively.

“Hm.” Benji tsks. That hiss between his teeth nearly covering the soft snap! the button on Xavier’s black trousers offers. “Me too.”

Before he’s even snuck a hand down that split fabric, knuckles grazing the zipper, Xavier falls back on his elbows. He nearly careens over the opposite side of the gurney, and Benji has to swallow a laugh at the shocked yelp that escapes him. The legs stuck around his waist tighten as Xavier adjusts for balance, shuffling closer. Benji shoves his shirt up his stomach to watch how it ripples with breath, abdomen taut with the long stretch of his body.

“Oh. Thought I was gettin’ medical attention.” Xavier finds his voice to snark. “Guess this isn’t as professional an establishment as I thought.”

Benji leans forward to drag teeth over his hipbone, tugging the fabric down until it bunches at the thighs. He’s unwilling to move further away to take them off entirely, but Xavier doesn’t seem to mind either; he kicks his long legs, finds them mostly trapped, and then whimpers pathetically.

“How often?”

This doesn’t receive a response right away: Benji’s pulling on the nitrile exam gloves. Each careful movement as his hands are covered is carefully monitored by Xavier. Green eyes darkened, lids heavy, lips parted.

“Are you going to jack me off with those.” He says intelligently.

Benji can’t help the amused snort. “I’m unprofessional?”

“It’s been a week.”

Even without prior knowledge, even if that had been an admission — Benji can tell. He can tell because when he wraps his hand around the half-hard cock between Xavier’s legs, they kick.

“Oh fuck—“ Xavier goes, in that tell-tale way. Benji snorts again, mean and judgmental, and tightens his fist around the base.

“Naw, mate. Really. That’s just embarrassing, isn’t it?” Despite this, Benji strokes once. Just once. But firmly enough Xavier throws his head back.

“Seven days!” He squeaks. His hand shoots up to wrap around Benji’s wrist, tugging at him pathetically. Trying to get more — trying to get enough.

“Benji —come on, man.”

“Dunno,” Benji hesitates. His free hand lifts to Xavier’s thigh. He digs fingernails in to the muscle. Hard, hard — until Xavier whines and tries to twist away from that grip. “How’d I know you kept your word?”

“I did,” the corporal promises weakly. He’s already close to begging; his head’s tossed back again. Pretty auburn hair frames in a loose sweaty curl around the shell of his ear. Benji fixates there for a moment, at the bruise near his temple. His fingernails dig into Xavier’s thigh more, other fist squeezing around Xavier’s rapidly filling erection.

“I promise. Not a — I didn’t — the whole time—”

“Hm.” Benji murmurs. He goes for thoughtful. He goes for benevolent. “You sayin’ you deserve it, Wolffe? You deserve one real good one? You been good, s’what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Xavier whines. He’s barely been touched, but when his chin drops to his chest Benji can see tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re not sayin’ it.”

The poor bastard’s face goes so red Benji imagines him exploding in a shower of viscera. He nods desperately, then swallows to find his voice.

“I’m —I’ve been good.”

“Again.” Benji starts a slow rhythm. “You’re what?”

“I’ve — I’m good.” Xavier whisper-whines, his eyes fluttering quickly as Benji’s wrist picks up speed. “Oh, fuck. M’good.”

One, two, three— at four pumps, Benji slows. At five, he stops entirely.

Xavier reacts. His whole body shudders, shoulderspulling back as he drops forward. He makes an angry, mournful sort of noise, heels tapping incessantly and mad behind Benji’s back.

The corporal is not know to be a patient man. Benji has heard stories — and witnessed, on more than one occasion — how he gets when that thread has gone thin. When it snaps. Properly frustrated, Xavier is lethal. Properly mad? Another story entirely. Lethal would be a blessing.

Benji nudges their foreheads together to find his eyes; they’re seething, burning. And yet he doesn’t move. He doesn’t shove Benji away. He takes a big breath, rubs his nose along Benji’s, lets out a hitching sound from his chest.

The tears start up properly.

“Please?” Xavier whines. When Benji doesn’t offer a response, simply observes, the meltdown begins. “Please — please. I was good. I did what you said. You can’t just — that’s cruel, you can’t. I waited. I didn’t — I just need—“

Need. Yeah. That’s what it is, the illumination behind the tears and bright green irises under the clinic’s harsh light. It’s need, behind the frustration and genuine anger and (humiliatingly, to Xavier) desperation.

Benji is, by some force too brutal and big and grotesque to name, dropped to his knees. He pulls Xavier to the end of the gurney, letting go of his thigh for only a moment to find the lever that lowers it. Xavier’s boots thump the ground. Now his lap is a decent height for Benji to press his cheek to skin he’d bruised with fingernails. He rubs his face there, breathing hard as he swipes his tongue over the purpling crescents. He keeps it out, saliva pooling once more, as he tugs Xavier with more purpose and finesse.

“I’ll blow you next time,” Benji says matter-of-factly. It’s not an offer. Not a promise. He’s going to. He will. No question, no command. “You can cum on me.”

Xavier’s mouth drops open. His eyes pop wide and then squeeze shut and then Benji can’t make out the rest of the expression that follows because his head goes slack on his neck, totally weightless. His bottom half lifts off the gurney entirely, hips punching up just a few times before he lets go — not just of the long-delayed uncoiling of an orgasm, but of a noise. Unlike the random private, it sinks into him; as if his chest is porous, permeable, waiting to be filled.

It’s not the only sound — Xavier’s slick in his hand, gets messier and downright filthy as he chases more of the touch. He’s not even fully hard when he comes. Benji wonders if it hurts like that. Hopes so. Xavier likes a little of the hurt.

Benji pulls away; he waits until Xavier glances back down at him to drag his tongue between his fingers, along the black material.

“Jesus?” Xavier pants. His hand lifts — but its the elbow keeping him propped and upright, so he starts to fall backwards. Benji gets an arm around his waist as he rises, stepping between Xavier’s knees again. He pulls the gloves off while Xavier recovers his breath. Those green eyes follow them in the arc towards the trash.

“All better?”

Xavier snaps to him. He looks — Benji doesn’t want to break him open, in that moment. He just wants to watch. His torso is slick with sweat, a decently messy splatter of cum across a pale stomach. Benji reaches out to touch it, spread his hand through it…and stops.

Always observant, the corporal notices this hesitation. His doped smile slips off to be replaced by a pinched brow.

“Was that too quick?” He asks, gathering himself up. He yanks his shirt down, shoulders rounding.

“Certainly wasn’t a long while, was it?” Benji teases. He jerks at the air again, wide motions of his elbow. “Weren’t long enough to gimme a cramp, so. Thanks for that, s’pose.”

Xavier’s expression doesn’t soften. Or change at all. Benji feels that thread thin; an awareness of the corporal’s mood has engrained in him, embedded like shrapnel beneath the skin. He might ask Nick to dig around, just in case it’s really there. Fuck.

“Do you even—“ Xavier croaks. He sounds pathetic. “I mean. I know…I know this isn’t normal. It’s…” he takes a shuddering breath. “It’s not good. I know that. I’m not fucking stupid. But do you even —”

Benji’s hands snap up to frame his face. The touch is anything but gentle; his palms fit there, anyway. They’re eye-level with the gurney lowered, with Xavier sat. He seems shy about the sudden intimacy. Or maybe the fact that his pants are still undone, that he’s still vulnerable and exposed in another fashion than this desperate request for clarity.

“I take care of you,” Benji asserts. “Me, alright.”

He drops one side of Xavier’s burning face to reach for the gauze, some antiseptic. One handed, wrapping a fresh protective layer around the healing gash on Xavier’s arm is a bit of a challenge, even for him. He’s not looking, either. He maintains that prickling eye contact, focus drooping to Xavier’s mouth for only a moment: when he draws in a sharp gasp as the gauze is pulled tight.

Benji is gentle about it otherwise, even if the fingers of the hand cupping Xavier’s cheek pinch in, dig crescents to match the ones on his thigh.

“You.” Xavier breathes when he’s done.

“Come see me tonight?”

The corporal nods dreamily. He looks fuzzier in the eyes than a moment before, when pleasure had spaced him out entirely. Because it’s a question, not a command. Come see me— do you even —

What, Benji wonders. Care? Dunno. But I’m satisfied.

#writing #bp #xw #bp x xw #evil au #ok. i have no explanation for this it has just been awhile since i touched this au and its disgusting im SORRY

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hellomynameisbisexual · 1 year

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“I’m not even sure bisexuality exists. I think it’s just a layover on the way to Gaytown,” Carrie Bradshaw famously said in the offensive, misinformed 1998 episode of Sex and the City in which she dates a bisexual man. These words are still painfully seared into my brain. How could a sex columnist, a character written predominantly by gay men, have such a limited view of queer identity? Nearly ten years later, a 2016 episode of HBO dramedy Insecure sees Molly (Yvonne Orji) finding out that the man she’s seeing, Jared, nonchalantly had a sexual encounter with another man. After exposing her biphobia to her friends, another character declares Jared to be gay. Ultimately, Molly and Carrie both decide, despite the chemistry and their attraction, that they could not get past their own compulsory monosexuality to continue dating a bisexual man. Why does television, a medium primed for long-form character development and storytelling, continuously fail at representing bisexual men?

Twenty-five years after that infamous Sex and the City scene, bisexuality (for the purposes of this piece, I am using bisexuality as a term that encompasses all people with the capacity to be attracted to more than one gender, including those who identify as bisexual, pansexual, fluid, queer, and more) on television has made significant strides—from young-adult programming like Euphoria, Riverdale, and Gossip Girl, to adult dramas like Game of Thrones, The Magicians, and obviously, The Bisexual. Bisexuality is no longer relegated to a very-special episode, and is slowly leaving the realm of bad, misinformed jokes. According to GLAAD’s 2021-2022 Where We Are on TV report, queer representation on television is at an all-time high. After two consecutive years of decreases, bisexual representation increased by one percent over last year: nine non-binary characters, 124 women, and sadly, only 50 men. Fifty may seem like a solid number at the outset, but consider the quality of these representations. Aside from a few stand-out examples, like Nick Nelson (Kit Connor) on Netflix’s much-loved Heartstopper, many are relegated to supporting and recurring characters, at best, and stuck in tropes, at worst.

Maria San Filippo is an associate professor at Emerson College whose research focuses on screen media’s intersections with gender and sexuality. In 2013, she published The B Word: Bisexuality in Contemporary Film and Television, a pathbreaking monograph on the state of bisexual representation in both mediums. “Bisexuality was only beginning to be central and recurring, rather than peripheral and episodically one-off or short-lived,” she said over email. “Bisexuality’s representational legibility has been expanded; it’s less easily deniable as ‘just a phase’ when bisexuality becomes an ongoing character trait.”

Broadly speaking, on-screen storytelling has struggled to construct bisexuality in ways that reach beyond the word landing at the butt of jokes or framed through the lens of disgust and abjection. Nowhere does it fail bisexuals more than television, a site of endless discursive possibilities. Television’s long-form narrative offers unique opportunities to watch sexuality unfold over time, but rather than exploring and showcasing every permutation of bisexuality, bi men on television are far and few between.

“Bi+ male representation has always been the biggest challenge,” San Filippo said. “Bisexuality threatens heteropatriarchy and phallic authority, and so must be hidden or, if acknowledged, desexualized and disparaged through mockery or else hypersexualized as in porn (and even then bisexuality is rebranded as ‘gay for pay’).” She said it’s not unlike the uncommon sight of male frontal nudity on screen, which she explores in her 2021 book, Provocauteurs and Provocations. “Dan Levy’s character David on Schitt’s Creek is one high-profile example of recurring, more nuanced male bi+ representation,” she said. “We need more.”

The phallic authority, as San Filippo calls it, is not as threatened when it comes to the representation of bisexual women characters, who were more than double as numerous in the 2021-2022 television season. Nate Shu, a bisexual comedian based in Boston who spoke with me over Zoom, suggests that feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey’s work on patriarchal ideologies in film still applies here. Mulvey’s seminal 1975 essay, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” uses a psychoanalytic lens to look at the way women have been depicted in film primarily for the pleasure of the male viewer. She coined this theory the male gaze.

“Lesbian and bisexual characters are more attainable when they’re female because there’s something for male viewers to hold on to,” he said. “A bisexual woman is still an attainable woman to a straight man, whereas a bisexual man is both a threat and an anomaly.”

These conventions are sewn into the fabric of on-screen storytelling, a part of the canon of cinema that queer storytellers are working hard to reform. But despite this hard work, bisexual stories are still too-often made palatable to viewers through a handful of storytelling tropes: the coming out story, reasserting the status quo of a relationship or identity, or hinting at a character’s dishonesty or shiftiness (it pains me to bring it up, but Frank Underwood on House of Cards is a great example here).

The CW’s 2015 musical-dramedy Crazy Ex-Girlfriend showcased one of the more fleshed-out bisexual men on television, Darryl Whitefeather, played by Peter Gardner. His unapologetic musical sequence on how he’s “Gettin’ Bi” was an audacious and refreshing moment for a middle-aged character embracing his sexuality—despite his entire storyline being framed around coming out. We tend to see these coming out narratives again and again, to the point where it begins to feel like viewer manipulation. The coming out scene will only lead to the catharsis of Heartbreaker-level tears if it feels earned through a character’s arc of self-suppression and pain. However, the gay blueprint has already been established, and thus the coming out story is relatable and palatable, rather than depicting a character already living their truth.

Shu, who identifies as bisexual and biracial for the sake of alliteration in his comedy (as opposed to pansexual, a term to which he more closely relates), asked me poignant questions: “What is queer representation? Having a character make an off-hand comment and it’s never acknowledged—that is a queer character, but it’s not a queer story.” His ideal bisexual representation allows characters to be authentic people living outside of constructed narratives that are more viewer-friendly like the coming out story. He could only name one example of an Asian bisexual character on television that he felt somewhat seen through—Magnus Bane, played by Harry Shum Jr. on the Freeform supernatural drama Shadowhunters. “It’s tough to get out of the boxes of what culture, film, and TV have defined for decades,” Shu said.

Marvel has been a site of critique around its inability to flesh out queer characters in an authentic way, awkwardly suggesting that all superheroes are heterosexual. The 2021 Disney+ series Loki made headlines for a 20-second scene where the titular character confirms his bisexuality after admitting he has been with princesses and princes in his past. This kind of casual bisexuality has become more commonplace in the streaming era, to the point of forgettability: Bill Pargrave on Killing Eve, playing Eve’s MI5 boss until he was eventually stabbed by murderess Villanelle, also identified as bisexual in a passing conversation. Other examples include Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace) on Halt and Catch Fire and the titular character (Tom Ellis) on Lucifer. Does the off-hand knowledge of a character’s sexual fluidity, without an in-depth exploration of his sexuality, qualify as queer representation? Perhaps a better question would be, does it make bisexual viewers feel seen and understood, and add to monosexual viewers’ understanding and empathy of bisexuality?

At the end of October 2022, Kit Connor came out as bisexual in a bitter tweet after months of being hounded and online bullied by Netflix Heartstopper fans, some of whom accused Connor of queerbaiting for playing a bisexual character. The fall-out made me wonder why any actor, let alone a bisexual actor who may still be processing or figuring out his sexuality, would want to play a bisexual character in the social media age. “I think some of you missed the point of the show. Bye,” his tweet read.

Not to center myself in the discourse, but I can’t help but wonder how a more thorough cultural understanding of bisexuality would impact my own dating life as a gay man, what the dating pool might look like if there was a more rigorous acceptance and visibility of bisexuality and fewer “discreet” men refusing to send you photos of their faces on dating apps with fear of being outed in their real life. The latest 2021 Census data coming out of the United Kingdom suggests there are currently nearly as many bisexual-identifying individuals as gay and lesbian survey respondents combined. These numbers feel hopeful, to me. Previous generations grew up dissatisfied by the range of representation on television, leading to iconic shows like Pose that shifted the course of television at the intersections of queerness and race. I can only imagine what the landscape will look like in 10, 20 years as the bisexual-identifying Gen Zs—the queerest generation yet—make their way into creative fields. We’ll have to watch and find out.

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buppypuppy · 3 months

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Finished up a little thing today. Developing some of the other houses in Oldwood, finally. The rest is beneath the cut if you'd like to give it a read.

For what they lack in a sense of style, much to the chagrin of certain serpents, they more than make up for in efficiency, strength, and notably intimidation. The hulking form of the arbiter of the house leading you along is certainly doing work to maintain that reputation.

Her massive spiraling horns are assuredly not just for show. It's doubtless that the various nicks and chips in them are from various duels, all of them won with sheer strength. No medals or trophies are needed to show her valor, as they are all carried with her, displayed proudly on a rack.

The scabbards for her immense cleavers clank together as she walks, her hooves clicking against the floor in time. An odd manner of cognitive dissonance is invoked with how notorious the House of the Iron Grate is for having a heavily-armored militia, in contrast with just how little armor the Arbiter of the House wears. The studded gloves and knee-length trousers with nothing else are an interesting choice, but she's quite famed to be indestructible, so truly things seem to be working well for her.

She turns her head to you as you walk with her, the thick wool obscuring her eyes, but her piercing gaze still chilling your blood even further.

"You must be sure you are strong. This house meets force with force. This means you must be forceful."

It is unclear if she intended to insult you, but nonetheless, her words ring in your mind. You must be forceful. To be forceful is an endeavor many strive for, but never truly manage to grasp. They have misguided notions of what force is, what it truly means, but they never can bear to strike their hammer down on the anvil of fate.

The people who are after you would not know how to be forceful. Your decision to align yourself with one of the Houses was one that took much time to mull over, but ultimately, the decision was fated to be. The House of the Iron Grate was the only House who would have you.

The Surgeon's sickening experiments were not something you wanted to be near. The insidious control of the Punisher of Love was too... Cowardly, for your taste. The Five Deaths are far too untrustworthy. The Tragic Poet's estate kept you away from it, the rumors surrounding its fluid nature disconcerting to say the least. And the Colored Capitols... You've heard the stories about the people who entered that accursed painting to never be seen again.

So, you took your fate with force. You will know what it means to be forceful.

The ram stops before the heavy iron door, placing her hooved hand upon it as she addresses you.

"You will not speak. Be silent. I speak with the grate first, as Arbiter of this house. The sentinels will supervise your induction, as well as I. The grate will speak to you. You will not respond to it. If you do, your induction will be voided. You do not want to discover the results of a voided induction."

You silently nod. You dare not even respond to that. You need this opportunity, you need the protection that a House membership grants, the skill that you will learn. You need a cause.

Watching you give the affirmative, the ram opens the door, leading you into the chamber of the Iron Grate.

You enter a small, low-roofed stone room. In the center of the floor, there is an iron grate above a hole in the ground. There are ladder rungs affixed into the side of the hole, descending down into it. The grate is intricate, the iron bars of it flowing around the circular frame.

In each corner of the room stands an armored figure, all carrying different weapons, with different suits of armor. One of them is immense, broad, standing with an enormous sword and shield. Another's is different, leather accents, but still equally armored, with a mammoth warhammer. The third, lighter, with more flexibility, a halberd taller than them in hand. The last, in robes, with plates affixed in various places. A sleek Iron staff sits in their grasp.

All of their visored gazes affix on you. You cannot see any of their eyes, but their gazes pierce you, boring into your soul with the same depth of the very hole before you. The chill that permeates your body is unlike any you've ever felt before.

The heavy door slams shut behind you. You know, logically, that it's still unlocked. If you had to, you could leave at any time. But you can't escape the feeling of being locked in. It pervades you, suffocates you, you're trapped in here with these armored sentinels, with the arbiter of this House, and with the founder of the House itself. And it's all on you for locking yourself in here with it.

You watch as the ram steps forward, standing atop the grate. She speaks aloud, her typically soft voice being amplified by the acoustics of this room, causing it to resound throughout your entire body.

"I bring, to you, a supplicant. Someone who wishes to know the force that exact. Someone who desires the strength we can give. Someone who will kneel to you, and will not disobey you, for this supplicant knows that all who are forced to descend will never return. To dare devote to you, requires a will of iron."

She steps forward, turning herself around to look at you, gesturing to the grate.

"Approach, iron-willed, to receive the blessing of the Iron Grate, to let your soul be washed in its cold breath, and to feel the bars of it and vow to never see what lies beneath."

You step forward, doing as you are told. You stand atop the Iron Grate, feeling the frigid draft of air rising out of it wash over your body. It is cold like you have never felt, burrowing underneath your skin, seeping into your bones, digging its claws into the center of your being.

The ram reaches forward, placing her hand atop your head. She presses it down, angling your gaze to be staring into the deep, unceasing abyss beneath the Iron Grate. You feel your stomach drop, the depth of it being utterly incalculable. You had heard the hushed tales of how traitors to the house had been hunted down ruthlessly, and dragged right back here, and forced to descend down the ladder, never to be seen by another soul.

"Cast every doubt you have down. Slip it through the gaps in the bars, let it fall, endlessly, down into the abyss beneath the Grate. Your doubt will never be seen again. What will remain is strength. Force. Do it."

You steel yourself. You tense your muscles, thinking of every doubt, every regret, every fear, every reason you came to this house in the first place, letting them build, coalesce, fill up inside you. Then, you release, the tension in your body draining. You fall to your knees, palms against the bars of the Grate, gripping onto them. The abyss below you is ever closer, now, almost trying to pull you through the bars, pull you down below.

But all that remains is strength. You have done what you have been told. As you gaze down into the abyss, you finally hear it. The Grate. It speaks to you.

But you do not hear it. You can tell it has spoken, you heard it speak, but it only existed in your mind, fleetingly. It is gone. It spoke the words to you, but its voice is not present, you cannot even begin to think of what it sounded like. All you remember is what it said.

"Drink of Iron, and it shall be you."

You turn your gaze up. The ram holds a small vial in her hands, the cork removed. The vial is full of a writhing, silvery liquid, squirming as if it were alive. She lowers herself to one knee, grabbing your face with her other hand. Her thumb slips into your mouth, pulling it open as she raises the vial to your lips.

You cannot stop her. You shan't, it is what the Iron Grate ordered of you, but you simply sit there, clinging to the bars of the grate as the liquid is poured into your mouth, the woman holding your jaw agape to be sure you imbibe every last drop.

The liquid tastes cold. Any actual taste it has is obscured by unceasing chill as it slithers its way down your throat, settling in the pit of your stomach, filling your body with a frigid shudder, before it vanishes, and you are left with the now tame chill of the Grate beneath you.

The ram rises, pulling her thumb out of your mouth as she offers that hand to you, helping you to your feet. Your knees wobble and bow, your constitution not having returned to you fully, but the ram has an air of appreciation to her now. It almost seems like she's proud of you.

"You are one of us. You are iron." She takes your hand in both of hers, giving a sharp nod.

"I am Heide. May you never know what lies beneath the Grate."

#God Damn The Sun #oldwood #the house of the iron grate (oldwood)#the iron grate (oldwood)#heide (oc)#my writing

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zapreportsblog · 9 months

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↱ opposites attract ↰

➘ summary : (y/n) is an avenger in training, she works closely with Steve rogers and Bucky Barnes because she too is a super solider, one of the newest types hydra has created. She can reach faster speeds, has stronger scenes and even powers. Unlike the two men she was grown in a lab and taught their ways from a young age but now that she’s under the avengers belt they’ll do all that they can to make sure she further grows up using her her abilities for the greater good; only problem with that is she’s no longer in their timeline much less their world. Tony’s newest invention sends her to another world known as pandora, now how ever will she survive on her own without her two super soldier guardians by her side. Will she make it on her own? Is she even truly alone in this mysterious world? And why is this blue boy constantly following her around?!

➘ a/n : that’s a mouthful I know but with great reason, I needed you guys to understand that what’s to come before I actually start writing this story

➘ prologue : the creations beginning and end

The Avengers gathered in the high-tech conference room of the Avengers Compound, their attention focused on the large holographic screen at the front. Director Nick Fury's stern image appeared, his eye patch a testament to his years of experience and dedication.

"Avengers," Fury's voice carried an air of gravity, "we've received intel indicating that Hydra has established a new pop-up base in a remote region of Eastern Europe. Our sources indicate that this base is linked to experiments involving advanced weaponry and genetic manipulation."

Natasha Romanoff, also known as Black Widow, leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the information. "Any specifics on their objectives?"

Fury nodded, and the holographic screen changed to display a series of images and documents. "Hydra seems to be developing a bioweapon capable of targeting specific individuals. We believe they are using advanced genetic manipulation techniques to create enhanced soldiers for their cause."

Steve Rogers, Captain America, frowned. "This sounds like a significant threat."

Fury's gaze hardened. "It is. We've managed to infiltrate their communications network, but we don't have much time. We need to strike now before they can finalize their experiments."

Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, glanced at the images on the screen, her brows furrowing. "How do they plan to deploy this bioweapon?"

Fury tapped a button, and a map of the pop-up base's location appeared. "Our satellite imagery shows that the base is situated near a major urban center. We believe Hydra intends to use the bioweapon in a populated area to cause chaos and sow fear."

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, clenched his metal fist. "We can't let that happen."

Fury's expression was grim. "Exactly. The safety of countless lives depends on your success. Our objective is to infiltrate the base, disable the experiments, and extract any valuable intel. However, we have reason to believe that the base is heavily guarded, and its defenses are no joke."

Thor, the God of Thunder, leaned back in his chair, his gaze contemplative. "What of their leadership?"

Fury's lips curled into a thin smile. "That's where things get interesting. We've learned that Baron von Strucker, a high-ranking Hydra operative, is overseeing the operations. Taking him down would significantly weaken their hold."

Vision, the android with a synthetic soul, raised an eyebrow. "Our strategy?"

Fury's image nodded. "You'll be split into two teams. One will focus on infiltrating the base and disabling the experiments, while the other will target Strucker. We'll provide you with tactical support and the latest technology."

Clint Barton, Hawkeye, spoke up. "And what's the timeline?"

Fury's expression was stern. "You leave in 48 hours. Prepare yourselves and coordinate with your respective teams. This mission is high-risk, but your success is crucial."

As the holographic screen faded, the Avengers exchanged determined glances. The stakes were high, but they were a team forged in the fires of adversity. With each member bringing their unique skills and unwavering resolve to the table, they knew that they would stop at nothing to ensure Hydra's plans were thwarted and the innocent lives were protected.

As the holographic screen faded, the Avengers remained seated, their expressions resolute and focused. The weight of the mission hung heavily in the air, but their determination burned brighter.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, broke the silence. "We've faced Hydra before, and we've taken down their operations. This won't be any different."

Tony Stark, Iron Man, leaned back in his chair, his trademark smirk playing on his lips. "Plus, I've been itching for some action. Time to test out the latest upgrades on the suit."

Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, nodded in agreement. "We'll need to coordinate carefully, gather as much intel as possible, and strike at the right moment."

Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, raised her hand, her fingers glowing faintly with energy. "I can use my powers to create distractions and disrupt their defenses."

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, clenched his jaw. "I'll be on point for the infiltration team. I've got experience with their tactics."

Vision, ever analytical, spoke calmly. "I can analyze the base's security systems and provide real-time updates to the teams."

Thor, the God of Thunder, swung his mighty hammer to his side. "Fear not, my friends. We shall bring the storm to their doorstep."

Clint Barton, Hawkeye, twirled an arrow between his fingers. "And I'll be picking off any targets that come our way."

As the Avengers discussed strategy and tactics, their camaraderie and shared purpose were palpable. Each member brought their unique skills and strengths to the table, and their bond as a team was unbreakable.

Director Fury's voice came over the intercom, breaking into their planning. "Get some rest, Avengers. You've got a big day ahead."

Over the next 48 hours, the Avengers prepared for the mission ahead. They underwent intense training sessions, reviewed blueprints of the base, and fine-tuned their equipment. They gathered intelligence and analyzed every detail, leaving nothing to chance.

The day of the mission arrived. The teams assembled in the hangar of the Avengers Compound, suited up and ready for action. Their expressions were resolute, their determination unwavering.

Fury's image appeared on a screen, addressing them one last time before they departed. "Remember, the world is counting on you. Good luck."

With a final nod, the teams split up and boarded their respective aircraft. The engines roared to life, and the Avengers took to the skies, bound for the remote region in Eastern Europe.

As they neared the pop-up base, their hearts raced with a mix of anticipation and adrenaline. The mission was dangerous, the odds stacked against them, but they were the Avengers, Earth's mightiest heroes, and they would stop at nothing to ensure Hydra's plans were crushed.

The battle ahead would test their mettle, challenge their skills, and demand their unwavering resolve. But together, as a united force, they were ready to face whatever Hydra threw their way.

The Avengers infiltrated the pop-up base with precision, their teamwork and skills in full display as they fought their way through Hydra's defenses. Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Wanda Maximoff moved in sync, taking down guards and disabling security systems with calculated efficiency.

As they advanced deeper into the base, their attention was drawn to a hidden stairway at the end of a dimly lit corridor. The faint sound of eerie whispers seemed to emanate from the depths below. Intrigued and cautious, the group exchanged glances before descending the stairs, their weapons at the ready.

The stairway led them to an underground chamber, its walls adorned with ancient sigils that pulsed with an otherworldly energy. Talismans hung from the ceiling, casting an eerie glow that illuminated the room. Blood stains marred the floor, leading their eyes to a heavy metal door at the far end.

Steve's brows furrowed, his heightened instincts sensing danger. "This doesn't feel right," he muttered, his voice low.

Natasha's trained eyes scanned the area, her senses alert. "Agreed. We need to be cautious."

Bucky's grip tightened on his weapon as he eyed the talismans warily. "These symbols... they're definitely tied to something supernatural."

Wanda's powers tingled with recognition, her connection to the mystical realm allowing her to sense the hidden forces at play. "There's magic here, ancient and potent."

As they approached the metal door, they noticed the deep grooves of blood-stained trails leading to it. The door itself appeared to be reinforced with heavy locks and bolts, a barrier that held secrets they could only imagine.

Natasha leaned in to inspect the blood stains, her jaw set. "Someone—or something—was dragged through here."

Steve's jaw clenched. "We need to find out what's behind that door. It could be connected to Hydra's experiments."

With a collective nod, Bucky took the lead, using his enhanced strength to push open the door. The hinges creaked ominously, revealing a room shrouded in shadows.

As they stepped inside, their senses were assaulted by a cold, oppressive atmosphere. In the center of the room, an intricate ritual circle had been drawn, its lines pulsating with a malevolent energy. Candles flickered along the edges, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Wanda's eyes widened as her powers reacted to the magical energy in the air. "This is dark magic, ancient and forbidden."

Natasha's gaze focused on a heavy, ornate table in the corner, upon which rested a blood-stained book. "That book... it might hold the key to what's been happening here."

Steve's expression hardened. "Let's secure that book and gather any evidence we can. We need to stop Hydra's plans."

As they moved to collect the book, their every movement seemed to disturb the unnatural stillness in the air. The atmosphere grew more oppressive, and the shadows seemed to writhe with an unsettling sentience.

Suddenly, a sinister voice echoed through the chamber, sending shivers down their spines. "Intruders, you trespass upon sacred ground."

They turned to face the source of the voice, their eyes narrowing as a figure stepped out of the shadows. Clad in tattered robes, the figure's eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and its presence radiated power beyond their comprehension.

As the Avengers faced this new threat, the air crackled with tension. The sigils on the walls seemed to pulse with renewed vigor, and the battle that loomed ahead promised to be unlike anything they had ever encountered.

The figure in the shadows proved to be a formidable adversary, their dark magic and otherworldly strength putting the Avengers on the defensive. Bucky, Steve, Wanda, and Natasha fought valiantly, their combined skills and teamwork allowing them to hold their own against the sinister force that opposed them.

As they clashed in the dimly lit chamber, the air crackled with energy. Bucky's metal arm clashed with the figure's conjured shadows, Steve's shield deflected bursts of dark magic, Wanda's crimson energy met the malevolent aura head-on, and Natasha's precision strikes tested the figure's agility.

Amidst the intense battle, Tony Stark's voice crackled through their comm devices. "Guys, I've got some information for you. We managed to dig up a profile on your opponent. It's not looking good."

Bucky grunted as he blocked a surge of dark energy, his eyes narrowing at the figure. "Spill it, Stark."

Tony's voice was grim. "The subject was created using a combination of dark and arcane magic, along with accidental magic events. They've got a body strong enough to contain what's described as the most powerful demon from the underworld. Subject designation is 666, but they've given her the human name (Y/N)."

The revelation hung heavy in the air as the Avengers continued their fight. The figure's sinister laughter echoed through the chamber, mingling with the clash of combat.

Wanda's eyes glowed with a fierce determination as she used her powers to create a barrier against an incoming onslaught. "If she's housing a demon, we need to stop her before it's unleashed."

Natasha's voice was determined as she landed a powerful kick. "Then let's end this."

Steve's shield shattered a burst of dark magic as he spoke over the comm. "Tony, find us a way to neutralize that demon. We can't let it be set loose."

Tony's response was swift. "Already on it. Just focus on taking down (Y/N)."

As the battle raged on, the Avengers pushed their limits, their determination unwavering. They knew that their opponents' dark power was unlike anything they had faced before, but they were the Earth's mightiest heroes for a reason. With each strike, each coordinated move, they fought not only for their own lives, but to prevent the demon within (Y/N) from wreaking havoc upon the world.

The chamber echoed with the clash of forces, shadows dancing across the walls as the fate of their mission hung in the balance. With Tony working on a solution and their combined strength, the Avengers were determined to emerge victorious and thwart Hydra's dark plans once and for all.

Exhausted but determined, the Avengers managed to land a series of precise blows on (Y/N), eventually knocking her unconscious. The chamber echoed with the sounds of their efforts, the eerie energy slowly dissipating as the battle came to an end.

Bucky knelt down beside (Y/N), his gaze fixed on her unconscious form. "We can't just leave her here," he said, his voice tinged with concern.

Natasha, standing nearby, crossed her arms. "Barnes, she almost killed us. We can't afford to show her mercy."

Steve stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. "Bucky has a point. If she's an experiment of Hydra's, leaving her here could come back to haunt us."

Wanda added her perspective, her voice calm yet determined. "We could take her with us, place her in a cell with the same sigils and talismans Hydra used. It seems to have contained her before."

Natasha's gaze hardened, her skepticism clear. "If this backfires and she escapes, don't come crying to me. I'm all for stopping Hydra, but dealing with an unstable, powerful individual like her is a whole other level."

As a team, the Avengers made the decision to bring (Y/N) with them. With caution and care, they bound her securely, ensuring that she would pose no immediate threat. They placed her in a specially designed containment unit, etching the same sigils and talismans onto the walls to mimic the binding magic that had been used in the chamber.

As they prepared to leave the base, Steve's voice carried a note of caution. "Let's make sure she's monitored at all times. We can't afford any surprises."

With their captured adversary secured, the Avengers retreated from the underground chamber, making their way back to the surface. Their expressions were a mix of weariness and determination, knowing that the battle might be over, but the larger conflict against Hydra's dark experiments still raged on.

As they emerged into the dim light of day, they carried the weight of their decisions, aware that they had taken a dangerous being into their custody. The road ahead was uncertain, and they would have to face the consequences of their actions. But as the Earth's mightiest heroes, they were committed to doing whatever it took to protect the world from the threats that sought to tear it apart.

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justkillingthyme · 2 months

Note

Tell me about the Noah Kahan Layton animatics 👁👁

Smirks. Oh boy get ready for an infodump.

Here’s the sketch (not all of the planned ones just the ones I had thought up on the spot) and the actual thoughts are under the cut and it’s going to be. Long

Not going to go into detail on the plans themselves unless I get asked to about a particular one it’ll just be my thoughts on why it fits. If I don’t have a song from him it’s either that I have an idea that half fits or don’t have it all fleshed out

Stick Season

Northern Attitude

I think Northern Attitude is a Des song

You build a boat, you build a life.

You lose your kids, you lose your wife

And

If you get too close

And I'm not how you hoped

Forgive my northern attitude

Oh, I was raised out in the cold

If the sun don't shine

'Til the summertime

Forgive my northern attitude

Oh, I was raised on little light

Literally him. Left alone in his house at a young age, built himself up. Got his shit together and settled down and had it all ripped away from him.

Come Over

Randall vibes (Stansbury era)

And my mouth was designed for my foot to fit in it

Oh, the words they went missin' when the stock market crashed

^angelas tears. He doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions, much less other people’s.

Someday I'm gonna be somebody people want

Randall on the expedition. His whole thing is that he wants to prove himself. Randall is very much an insecure needing reassurance but covering it up with reckless confidence kid.

New Perspective

Randall vibes but MG era

If I could fly I doubt I'd even do it

I'd probably get high and crash or something stupid

Ironic here. Talking w descole

Gave me your word and now I can't pronounce it

No thing's so sure that I can't learn to doubt it

And the chorus

Ooh, this town is for the record now

The intersection got a Target

And they're calling it downtown

You and all of your new perspective now

Wish I could shut it in a closet

And drag you back down

This is aimed at Henry and the development of Monte D’or. On how it’s so close to Stansbury and Henry profited from his death.

Orange juice

I actually have a page for this one! So good for you for sticking around till here

It’s old but encapsulates more of my idea for the animatic

Henry @ Randall post MM. in this particular one it’s more of a scenario where Randall has left Monte D’or after everything and is back for visiting occasionally.

Feels like I've been ready for you to come home

For so long

That I didn't think to ask you where you'd gone

Why'd you go?

And the verse

See the graves as you pass through, from our crash back in '02

Not one nick on your finger, you just asked me to hold you

Literally the ending of MM. flooded the city with sand.

But it made you a stranger and filled you with anger

Now I'm third in the lineup to your Lord and your Savior

Not sure if it’s visible in the picture but I have lord as Angela and savior as Hershel. He’s always been third place for Randall.

You said my heart has changed and my soul has changed

And my heart, and my heart

That my life has changed, that this town had changed

And you had not

That the world has changed, don't you find it strange

That you just went ahead and carried on?

And here Randall gets a little angry. Henry remains the same no matter how much time has passed. It’s something of a mixture of anger that Henry had moved on without him before but refuses to move on now that Randall has left of his own accord

And Henry responds

Are we all just crows to you now?

Are we all just pulling you down?

You didn't put those bones in the ground

That Randall was the one leaving them.

Strawberry Wine

Layclaire!!! Hershel about Claire after her death. Getting over it

I said, "Love is fast asleep, " on a dirt road

With your head on my shoulder

It’s about the little things. The things they used to do together. The moments that made love real.

Strawberry wine, and all the time we used to have

Those things I miss, but know are never comin' back

and for when he sees Claire pass him by

No thing defines a man like love that makes him soft

And sentimental like a stranger in the park

For a few moments, I see you

and for the chorus. Right person, wrong time. Wrong place. Maybe in a different world

If I was empty space, and you were a formless

Shape, we'd fit

But love leaves little runway, and every time we run

Straight over it

Growing Sideways

Hershel and his habit of self destruction and riding on tea and late night research so he doesn’t have to process any of his trauma. Also could go for Des here

I'm still angry at my parents for what their parents did to them

But it's a start

hello Leon Bronev

But I ignore things, and I move sideways

Until I forget what I felt in the first place

At the end of the day I know there are worse ways

To stay alive

'Cause everyone's growing and everyone's healthy

I'm terrified that I might never have met me

Oh, if my engine works perfect on empty

I guess I'll drive

Halloween

MM era ranlay, could also work post Stansbury. Could also do layclaire. Hershel pov

I’ll let the lyrics do the explaining. Here’s the chorus

But the wreckage of you, I no longer reside in

And the bridges have long since been burned

The ash of the home that I started the fire in

It starts to return to the Earth

I'm leavin' this town and I'm changin' my address

I know that you'll come if you want

It's not Halloween, but the ghost you're dressed up as

Sure knows how to haunt, yeah, she knows how to haunt

and the verse

It's an ode to the hole that I found myself stuck in

The song for the grave that I dug

There's a murder of crows in the low light off Boston

And I see your face in each one

I'm losin' myself in the tiniest objects

I'm seein' my life on a screen

I'm hearin' your voice in a strange foreign language

If only I learned how to speak

Hershel blaming himself and being unable to move on

Still

Layclaire <3

Last lyric of verse and then the chorus

Stare up at a starless sky and you say

It’s like I’m still here with you

I don't, I don't, I don't wanna say goodbye

Literally the ending cutscene.

The View Between Villages

Hershel post MM. going home after THAT whole experience. Also could work with visiting Stansbury during college/later

Feel the rush of my blood

I'm seventeen again

I am not scared of death

I've got dreams again

and the last verse

Passed Alger Brook Road, I'm over the bridge

A minute from home but I feel so far from it

The death of my dog, the stretch of my skin

It's all washin' over me, I'm angry again

The things that I lost here, the people I knew

They got me surrounded for a mile or two

The car's in reverse, I'm grippin' the wheel

I'm back between villages and everything's still

Paul Revere

MM. just Hershel in MM.

It's typical, I fear

Folks just disappear

And when they ask me who I am

I'll say I'm not from around here

Dude. I could go on and on about this song because I have something planned for each lyric. It fits so well.

No Complaints

Hershel recovering post attack. Could also set it post UF

I saw the end, it looks just like the middle

Got a paper and pen and a page with no space

End is Claire’s death, middle could work for Randall or Claire’s first death. Paper and pen. Man literally journals.

In love with being noticed and afraid of being seen

But I can finally eat and I can fall asleep

It's fine, fine, fine

I think you guys see me vision. Vaguely gestures at Bill Hawks.

You’re Gonna Go Far

Henry and Angela seeing Randall out of Monte D’or.

Making quiet calculations where the fault lies

Heyyy

So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart

Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are

We ain't angry at you, love

You're the greatest thing we've lost

Alt ending line is we’ll be waiting for you love.

I’m a firm believer that Randall doesn’t stay in Monte D’or post MM

#sorry guys this is only stick season 😭😭😭#and not even every song #only four albums to go 🤞#sketch includes multiple albums tho #tagging all the sketch characters tho #noah kahan #hershel layton #desmond sycamore #jean descole #randall ascot #angela ledore #henry ledore #clive dove #masked gentleman #call me descole the way my handwriting is shit #thketches #thposts #thasks

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