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emeraldiis · 3 years

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Falling for a God

A/N: Forgot to properly post/format this fic, so here ya go ya filthy animals (ok but i wrote it so I’m filthier)

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Summary: “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”You have a huge crush on Loki, there's lots of sexual tension, y'all fuck. That's the plot.

“Nat,” you whine. “I feel like you’re not even listening.” You prance to the front of her, spinning around to walk backwards.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Wow, are you sure you aren’t pyschic?” She keeps up her brisk pace, and you nearly trip over yourself trying to keep up.

“That’s so rude!” You exclaim, but can’t hold back a giggle. Despite her cold demeanor, you know that Nat is just messing with you. Shooting a quick glance backwards, you decide that your path is clear, and return your gaze to your friend. “You’ll tell me if I’m about to run into something, right?”

With a wry grin, Natasha gives you a thumbs up. You beam at her. “Anyway,” you continue. “I started watching this new TV show last night, and it is so, totally awesome. There’s this guy, and he has these badass powers, and he’s fighting this girl, and she has-”

Thump.

A small oof escapes from your mouth as your back collides with something solid. You pitch forward in surprise, and yelp as you try to stabilize yourself before you fall. Large, warm hands grab your waist, tightening around you to keep you from toppling over. You sigh in relief as your frantic heart slows to a normal rhythm. “Wow, thanks,” you say, and spin around to reveal the identity of your saviour.

Piercing blue eyes meet yours, and your breath catches in your throat. “Careful, pet,” Loki murmurs softly, a sly grin spreading across his lips. His hands slide off of your waist, making contact with the sliver of skin between your shorts and your top on the way. An involuntary shiver creeps up your spine, and you bite your lip.

The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the ever-perceptive trickster, and his eyes flash with surprise. “Are my hands really that cold?” Loki teases. “Perhaps you could help me warm them up.” His tone is playful, but there’s something deeper underneath his banter that makes you think he’s actually flirting.

You can tell that your cheeks are red, and you choose not to respond to Loki’s question in fear of making an even bigger fool of yourself. A stammered apology tumbles from your lips, and you look back towards Natasha with a look of betrayal. She grins and shrugs. “I forgot to warn you. Oops.” Your mouth drops open. That scheming little devil. She knows about your crush on Loki, and she still allows you to make a fool out of yourself?

Your interactions with Loki were sparse, to say the least. Aside from a few casual conversations in a group, you had barely even talked to him. Still, he captivated you from the very first day he arrived at the compound. He was exactly your type; tall, dark, and brooding. Aside from Thor, most everyone gave Loki a wide berth, hesitant to forget the battle for New York. You, however, didn’t see a villain. You saw pain behind those blue eyes, and could empathize with Loki’s behavior. You knew all too well that it hurt to live in someone’s shadow, and sometimes acting out was a cry for help. Granted, Loki’s outbursts were far more drastic than yours had ever been, but it was more or less the same on a base level. And, the fact that he constantly had a witty remark on the tip of his tongue never ceased to entertain you. The man liked to hear himself talk, and damn, so did you.

It takes you a second to realize that you’ve been staring. You clear your throat awkwardly and look to the floor, eager to hide your discomfort. “Um, thank you for catching me,” you manage. When you look back up, Loki is wearing an odd expression. His pretty eyes are narrowed, searching your face. The scrutiny only embarasses you further. “Well, see you around!” WIth that, you dart around Loki and scurry off. Natasha follows you, snickering softly.

When you reach the common area, you plop yourself down on the couch and groan, throwing an arm over your face. Natasha sits down beside you. “Smooth,” she says, drawing out the word obnoxiously.

You remove your arm from over your eyes and give Natasha a withering look. “So not funny.”

Nat positively cackles at that. “Oh, come on,” she says. “He’d be an idiot to not at least have a thing for you, I mean, you’re smoking! ” She looks you up and down. “Nice rack, too.”

A giggle bursts from your lips. “Nat. Oh, my god. Stop objectifying me.”

Shaking her head, Natasha replies, “Me, objectify? I would never.”

That earns her an eye roll from you. “Sure. Anyway, can we please change the subject? I’m sick of talking about my embarrassing Loki crush.”

“What does ‘crush’ mean?”

You freeze. Now that was a distinct voice. “Thor,” you choke out. “When did you get here?”

Thor walks up behind the couch and swings himself over the back, making the poor piece of furniture creak in protest. He settles next to you, effectively sandwiching you between him and Natasha. “Just long enough to hear you discussing my brother. Now, will you please enlighten me on this strange Midgardian term?”

Before you can shut him down, Nat pipes up from the other end of the sofa. “It means she likes him. Romantically. Sexually. ”

The temptation to throw yourself onto the floor wailing is high. Instead, you opt to beg for your life. Still embarrassing, but slightly more productive than throwing a tantrum. “Nat!” You screech. You turn to Thor with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t say anything to him.”

Thor furrows his eyebrows. “What an odd expression. You’d think that the word “crush’ would be associated with something negative.” He places a big hand on your thigh. “If what Lady Natahsa says is true, then why would you not tell my brother? He is quite vain, you know. I’m sure he would be delighted to know that a beautiful woman is attracted to him!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. These Asgardians will be the death of you. “It’s not that simple, Thor. What if he rejects me? I’d never be able to show my face around him again!”

There’s a pause, and then Thor asks you in a much gentler tone, “It seems as though you care for Loki a great deal more than you are letting on. Are you really afraid of embarrassment, or is it the heartbreak you fear?”

You’re glad that your hands are covering your face, because the way the color drains out of it at Thor’s question would have given you away. “No,” you mumble through your fingers. But he’s right, you do care for Loki more than you’d ever admit. His image ran through your head at night when you were trying to sleep, and his voice was what came to mind when your fingers were between your legs and you were pretending they were-

You rub at your eyes, then look up at Thor in desperation. “Please, if you really care about me as a friend, you’ll keep this secret.” You shoot a look at Natasha. “You, too. I may not be able to take Thor in a fight, but I could kick your ass.” You know you sound like a pathetic teenager, but you’re past the point of caring. You were perfectly happy admiring Loki from afar, and didn’t want to get your hopes up just to be met with shame.

Natasha scoffs. “As if.” Before she can continue. Thor holds up his hand.

“Lady Natasha, I believe we should stay out of this. I have done a great deal of meddling in my brother’s life, and I’ve learned that even the best intentions can cause disaster when Loki is involved.

“Thank you, Thor,” you say gratefully, relief evident in your voice. With a tired sigh, you hoist yourself up from the couch and turn to face your friends. “Well, I think I’ve had enough excitement for today. I’m going to hibernate, see you next spring.”

Natasha giggles and blows you a kiss goodbye while Thor scrunches up his face in confusion at your joke. Oh, well. Maybe he’d understand Midgardian humor one day.

Thunder rages outside your window while you toss and turn. You roll over to glance at your clock, and scowl when it flashes “3AM.” Giving up on the prospect of sleep, you opt for creeping to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your bare feet pad down the carpet, and you shiver slightly at the cold air of the hall. Goosebumps rise on your bare legs and you start to regret your decision not to put on pants.

To get to the kitchen, you have to walk through the common area, and for a moment you linger just outside the entryway. There’s a soft glow coming from the corner of the room, and you mentally groan, hoping it’s one of the female inhabitants of the compound. You weren’t too excited at the idea of walking past one of the guys in just a sleep shirt and underwear. Still, your mission for food is not one you’re willing to give up on. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the hallway and into the room. And nearly pass out.

Across the room, perched in one of the loveseats, is Loki. He’s sitting with his legs curled underneath him, thumbing through a book. You consider darting back into the safety of the hall, but you’re too late. Loki has already noticed you, and is now staring far too intently for your liking. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you tug on the hem of your shirt, trying to pull it further down your legs. “Sorry to disturb you,” you whisper, afraid to break the deafening silence. Loki raises an eyebrow at you, then turns back to his book. You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed when his gaze leaves you.

Not wanting to linger in the entryway any longer, you make your way across the room, keeping your eyes down. As you pass Loki, a loud clap of thunder booms outside, and already being on edge, you yelp. Startled from the deafening sound in an otherwise quiet room, you stagger, falling backwards onto the loveseat. Right next to Loki. The sofa is small, and in your splayed out position, you’re almost half on top of the god.

Loki flinches away, and you immediately begin to apologize. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I guess I just lost my footing. Did I hurt you?” As you talk, you push yourself off of Loki and cower into the other side of the loveseat. Some more rational part of your brain urges you to get up, give him some more space, but you don’t listen. As embarrassed as you are, you’re not quite ready to give up this closeness to the object of your affection.

With a huff, Loki straightens himself and gives you a cool look. “You did not hurt me, mortal. I was simply surprised.” Then, having composed himself, he smirks and sets his book on the end table beside him. “I suppose it is only natural to have weak knees in the presence of a god.”

The comment lightens the mood, and you find yourself relaxing next to him. “You’re right, Thor’s thunder does make me a tad unsteady.”

At that, Loki stiffens, obviously having not expected you to return his teasing. For a brief moment, you feel proud. Then, something changes in his expression, and he scoots closer to you. His hand finds your bare thigh, and the contact sends butterflies through your stomach. Loki senses your restlessness and gives you a predatory grin. “Is that so? Are you telling me that this,” he squeezes your thigh, and you gasp. “Doesn’t make you feel...faint?” His voice is low, and he almost purrs the last few words.

You fight hard to keep your breathing even, not wanting to give away just how flustered you are. The heavy weight of his hand feels heavenly, and you can feel your panties grow damp. God, you hope he can’t smell it.

This predatory tone is so much different than the playful teasing that you usually receive from Loki. You’ve never seen his blue eyes so dark, and the unfamiliarity of it all tightens your stomach.

Taking your silence as a challenge, Loki presses himself even closer to you. His fingers creep up your leg, closer to your underwear. “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”

Fuck. A full body shiver skates across your skin, and despite your best efforts, a small moan breaks free from your throat. Loki’s hand feels like a brand on your thigh, sending waves of heat up your body. The warmth pools between your legs, and you can’t help but shift a bit. Knowing that your panties are the only barrier between your soaking heat and the sofa, you arch your hips ever so slightly to keep from soiling the cushion.

Of course, your small movements don’t go unnoticed. Loki’s eyes are hooded as they rake across your bare legs, and you can hear his breathing get a bit heavier. He looks up at you, pupils dilated. “Oh, pet, look at you. Barely even touched, and already-”

He’s cut off by the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall, headed in your direction. Loki curses softly and reluctantly draws his hand away, then moves as far away as the small sofa allows. Your skin aches at the loss of contact.

The interrupting stranger’s footsteps approach the entrance to the common room, then carry on past. You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, thankful that you wouldn’t have to explain anything. Something tells you that, while there’s nothing going on now, sitting with Loki in the middle of the night might raise a few eyebrows.

You and Loki are alone again, but the moment has passed. Whatever spell that had overcome the two of you is gone, and all that’s left is a quiet room and a dim light. “I apologize, I believe I have overstepped,” Loki says, and for the first time, he sounds...unsure. His voice has lost that arrogant confidence that it normally carries, and he sounds like a child that has just been caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You bite your lip and risk a glance at Loki. He’s still pressed against the opposite arm of the loveseat, and is avoiding your eyes. Without the atmosphere of desire from before, now you just feel...awkward. Sighing softly, you rise to your feet and make your way to the hallway. You pause briefly in the entryway, and breathe out a “goodnight, Loki.” You don’t wait for a response, instead turning and trudging back towards your room.

As you flop back down in bed, you replay the night’s events over in your mind. It almost feels like a dream, and you’re having trouble believing that Loki, the God of Mischief, had actually come on to you. It didn’t seem plausible. You’re just a plain mortal, nothing special, no powers. Sure, your combat skills could rival Natasha’s, but besides that, you can’t find anything about yourself that would attract a god.

Eventually, you decide that maybe Loki was just horny, and you were in the right place at the right time. You did walk out without pants on, after all. No matter the reasoning, you know not to expect a repeat occurrence, given how regretful he had seemed afterwards. Tears brim in your eyes as the reality of the situation hits you; Loki regrets touching you. It seems that your crush was one-sided, and even though you weren’t surprised, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Things are tense around the compound. You creep around corners, terrified of accidentally finding yourself in the same room as Loki. And it seems that Loki is taking the same precautions, because you haven’t even seen a glimpse of him since that night. The ache in your heart from his rejection still keeps you up at night, and you still find yourself pining over him like a lovesick idiot.

Ever the observer, Natasha catches on quickly. “Are you really still embarrassed about bumping into Loki?” She asks after cornering you in the kitchen. “You’re not acting like yourself, and it is beyond obvious something is bothering you.”

You groan at her around a mouthful of a granola bar. “Are you really still thinking about it?” You counter.

Nat rolls her eyes. “Please, it’s hard to pretend it didn’t happen when you’re playing this stupid cat and mouse game. I see you check every room for him, I can’t believe you even care that much. He barely even touched you!”

A piece of your snack shoots down your throat with your gasp. You double over, wheezing and coughing. Natasha slaps a hand on your back, sighing. When you finally catch your breath, you glare at Nat. “Yeah, maybe that’s the issue.”

You immediately regret your words as a fire lights itself in Natasha’s eyes. “Want me to help?”

“Nat, hold on. No thanks-”

“Shush, trust me!” To your dismay, Natasha is already on her way out of the kitchen when she finishes hushing you. You whimper out a half-baked protest, but your friend is long gone by the time the words leave your mouth. Fuck, you’re so screwed.

LIfe was very quickly becoming a stressful game of hide and seek. You’d resorted to spending most of the day in your room, hoping to avoid Loki, and more importantly, Natasha. You’re not sure what she has planned, but it can’t be anything good. As weeks pass by with no incident, however, you begin to drop your guard. Maybe she’s taking pity on you.

It’s around noon when you get the text. It’s an all caps message from Nat, pleading with you to at least hear her out before saying no.

That’s a terrifying text. I’m listening.

Nat: I may have bragged my way into a drinking contest with Thor, and I need a teammate to make it fair.

You want to try and outdrink Thor????

Nat: I want US to outdrink him. I convinced him that it’d be more balanced if it was 2 to 1.

You owe me.

Nat: :)

It was a terrible idea, but maybe a nice night of getting hammered is just what you need to break you out of your funk. Despite your initial reluctance, you find yourself getting excited. You hadn’t really relaxed in ages, this would be a good thing.

As the hours pass, you start to get nervous. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten properly drunk, and you seriously doubt you’ll be able to keep up with even Natasha. Still, a promise is a promise, and you have far too much pride to chicken out now.

The clock reaches nine o’clock, and you sigh. Showtime. Before leaving your suite, you set several glasses of water and a bottle of Advil on your nightstand. If you’re going to fuck over your future self, you might as well try to ease her pain. You take a deep breath and spare a glance over at the mirror against your bedroom wall. You had opted for something comfy, but cute; an emerald green dress that stopped just above your mid-thigh, and fell off of one shoulder effortlessly.

Okay, so maybe you had wanted to get a tiny bit dressed up. You’re sure Nat will tease you for it, but sometimes a girl just wants to feel pretty.

A bit breathless from those pre-competition nerves--yes, a drinking contest was that serious--you make your way to the kitchen. As you round the corner, you stop dead in your tracks. Sitting at the bar Tony had insisted on installing, is Nat and Thor, of course. But next to them, perched delicately on one of the stools, is Loki. He wears a look of disdain, as if this entire competition is beneath him. You hope he can’t tell how badly you want to be beneath him.

Natasha gives you a wicked grin as Thor waves you over, his smile far more innocent-looking than Nat’s, though you’re sure he had a part in this. Cursing your terrible friends under your breath, and yourself for falling for it, you trudge over. Naturally, the only stool left is the one on the end, directly next to Loki. You gingerly hoist yourself up and slide onto the seat.

You stubbornly keep your eyes on the counter, not daring to even glance up at Loki. It’s obvious from the way he’s angling himself away from you and towards his brother that he’s regretting that night, and doesn’t want to be near you. You don’t blame him, humans must seem like animals compared to gods. The reality is that you were a mistake to him, and you just needed to accept that and move past.

Breaking the awkward silence, Thor produces a jug of what looks like beer from god knows where. He grins and gestures to it grandly. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off. “Hold up! I thought this was two against one? Loki being here makes it unfair.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at you. ��Yeah, I may have bent the truth to get you to come out. It’s teams of two, but we have a handicap. Our drinks and shots count as twice the actual amount, and they’ll be drinking Asgardian mead. So,” She smirks. “No more complaints, let’s do this shit.”

You swallow nervously at the mention of shots. You could hold your liquor fairly well, but you and shots had...history. Nat knew how touchy you got when you were drunk, and how much of an oversharer you tended to be. Though you have to admit that her plan is almost flawless, you’re still unimpressed with her shenanigans. She’s pretty much set you up to embarrass yourself.

You twiddle your thumbs in your seat as Natasha grabs a bottle of Svedka from behind the bar and begins to pour the beginning drinks. Following her lead, Thor pops open his jug and splits it between two large glasses, then passes one to Loki, who sighs in apparent boredom. He shoots you an unreadable look, then grabs one of the shot glasses that Natasha filled and slides it your way.

With a mumbled “thanks,’ you gingerly take the glass, and look at Nat and Thor. Thor raises his glass. “May the better warriors win!” He announces, then tips back his glass. You roll your eyes at the word choice, but bring the shot glass to your lips and throw your head back. The liquor goes down rough, but you manage to keep your poker face and grit your teeth against any retches.

“The lady can drink!” Thor bellows, wiping at his face.

You shrug, wanting the spotlight off of you. “Um, I went to college?”

Before Thor can question you, Natasha cuts in. “Hello? I took it just as well, where’s my applause?”

“Natasha, you are not a lady,” Loki deadpans. Nat glares and pours herself another shot in response, throwing back the second one just as easily as she had the first. She then points at you. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Despite everything, Loki was still Loki, and he still had your heart. It seems that the tension between you and Loki dissolves after you laugh at his quip, and he relaxes his stiff posture.

You sigh in relief and reach for the bottle to refill your own glass. This time, it goes down easier. That is, until the burns travels past your stomach, right down to between your legs. You squirm in place at the unexpected burst of arousal. Still, you should have been ready for it. Alcohol has always gotten you a little worked up. It was your mistake to believe you could fight it.

Despite the setback, you keep up with your teammate as the night goes on. Shot after shot, broken up by the easy conversation that emerges as the liquor continues to flow.

You’re not sure when the competition was forgotten, but you soon find yourself splayed on the couch next to Loki, laughing hysterically at some story he’s just finished telling about Thor in his youth. You look over at him, hazily trying to center your double vision to properly admire the god. His cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, and he looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him.

Loki glances over, catching you staring, but you’re far too intoxicated to be embarrassed. Instead, you hold your gaze, waiting for a reaction. Loki smirks, then eyes his brother with annoyance.

“Brother,” he says, voice a lazy drawl. “I believe we’ve won this contest, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor cocks his head, then widens his eyes in understanding. “Oh, certainly! In fact, I think it would be necessary for me to walk you back to your quarters, Natasha.”

Natasha begins to protest, but it dies on her lips as her gaze flickers between you and Loki. “What a gentleman,” she purrs, only swaying slightly when she rises from her seat. “Lead the way.” Taking his outstretched hand, Natasha stumbles down the hall with Thor, giggling excitedly.

Now that it’s just the two of you, you expect things to get awkward, but find that you’re still just as comfortable. “Well, I guess I have to bow to the drinking champ,” you slur, sitting up to give a half hearted bow.

Loki throws his head back and laughs. “You,” he manages between snorts, “are far more fun to be around than most others on this planet.”

You scoff and wave your hand dismissively. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I bowed to you.” Chewing on your lip, you let your eyes drift back over to Loki. In your drunken haze, he just looks so...comfy. Before you realize what you’re doing, you slide over to lean up against him. Loki’s surprisingly warm, and you sigh contentedly, letting your mind wander back to how his hand felt running up your thigh.

The arousal from earlier that you had forgotten about rears its head, turning your sigh into a shaky exhale that is not at all subtle. The air feels thick, just like it had on that one stormy night, and you press yourself closer to Loki, unable to resist how good his body feels against yours.

Loki freezes for a moment, then seems to force himself to relax into you. His arm snakes around you until he’s holding you comfortably against his side. For one brief moment, you start to wonder if this is a good idea, given how things had ended in the past, but the intoxicated part of your brain tells the sober part to go fuck herself, and then you’re speaking without thinking. “Do you want to walk me to bed?”

Oh, shit. You can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. A wave of sobering panic hits you, and you untangle yourself from Loki and shoot up from the couch. Before you can flee, however, a pale hand grabs hold of your arm, stopping you in place.

Loki gets up, then moves his grip from your wrist to your hand. “I think that is a lovely idea. Allow me?” With the hand that isn’t holding yours, he gestures toward the hall. Well, that was unexpected. You try not to giggle in child-like excitement, and instead nod hurriedly.

Your heart speeds up at the feel of his hand in yours, and you start off down the hall, letting Loki pull you towards your suite. Caught up in trying to navigate the titling floor, you don’t notice that you’re being led the wrong way until the two of you come to a stop at a door that definitely does not belong to you. You look up at Loki in confusion. “This isn’t my room.”

“I know,” Loki growls, then opens the door and whirls you both inside. When you’ve recovered from the swift movement, you manage to pull away from Loki’s grip.

“What-what’s going on?” You say, attempting to sound stern. Loki stalks towards you. Instinctively, you back up, until you’re pressed against the wall with Loki boxing you in.

Loki presses his hands to the wall on either side of your head and sneers at you. “What’s going on?” He mocks. “I’ve craved your body under mine since long before our little nighttime meeting, and I have run out of patience for games.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, grazing you with his teeth. Just like before, his playfulness has given way to a domineering aura, but you’re not complaining one bit.

You barely suppress a full body shiver. “But,” you protest weakly. “I, I thought you regretted it. I mean, you never said anything about it, so I figured...oh…” you trail off into a soft moan as Loki roughly licks up the side of your neck, growling.

“And when would I have gotten the chance?” Loki pulls away from his assault on your skin to look you in the eyes. “You have been avoiding me for nearly a month.” Those blue eyes are staring daggers at you, and you realize that there’s hurt behind all that frustration.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s right, but the eye contact from his smoldering stare is making you forget how to speak. Fumbling with your words, you cast your gaze downwards. “Yeah, I guess I have. But with what you said after we were interrupted....I thought you were uncomfortable with what happened.”

A dark chuckle spills from Loki’s lips. “The only discomfort you have caused me is the nights I have spent spilling over my own hand because I could not have you. ”

You gasp softly as Loki’s words send a wave of heat through your overheated body. Loki takes that as encouragement, and presses himself closer until his lips are grazing yours. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he mumbles, eyes hooded.

Your response is to surge forward, hands flying to the back of his head as you roughly pull him in to kiss you. You both groan at the contact. The kiss is anything but gentle; your fingers are tangled in Loki’s hair, tugging harshly, and you can feel his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. It was far better than you could have imagined, and the dizzying pleasure of it all has you feeling drunker and more sober at the same time.

Before long, the room spins as Loki lifts you and hoists your legs around his waist. He kisses you breathless as he walks slowly down the hall towards what you can only assume is his bedroom. There’s a giddy part inside of you that squeals with excitement at being carried like that, but it’s quickly overshadowed by lust as you and Loki reach his bedroom. He tosses you onto his king sized bed like a doll, then kneels on the floor and yanks your ankles until your bottom is almost hanging off the bed.

Loki slides your dress up and nuzzles the inside of your thigh. “I could smell your arousal the entire night,” he says, nearly purring. “May I taste?”

You sit up on your elbows and stare down at him, face flushed with mild embarrassment at his face so close to your soaked panties. Dumbly, you nod, words failing you. Loki growls his appreciation and hikes up your dress, taking a brief moment to admire the soft fabric. “You look absolutely ravishing in green, I’ve wanted to tear this off of you since the moment I laid eyes on it.” And then he’s sliding your panties down your legs and plunging his tongue into your heat.

A ragged gasp tears its way from your throat and you throw your head back. You feel the grin form on Loki’s lips against your skin, and a fresh gush of arousal flows down your thighs. Loki eats pussy like it’s an art form he’s been perfecting for ages. His lips tug at your pussy, worshipping every fold like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You open your mouth to make some joke about his silvertongue, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper as Loki drags his teeth lightly across your clit.

It isn’t long before the pleasure reaches its peak.You fight hard to keep your legs from clamping around Loki’s head, but you can’t help it when you crest over the edge of orgasm. Your muscles lock up, your back arches, and you scream. White hot euphoria explodes from your core, spreading through your body like venom. Loki’s tongue works you through it, slowing to wide, long strokes as you begin to come down.

You’ve barely recovered when Loki rises from his knees and crawls up your body, coming to a stop when his face is inches from yours. His eyes are hooded, and his glistening lips are parted to allow frantic, heated pants to escape. “Pet,” he hisses, leaning down to nuzzle into your shoulder. “You taste sweeter than the fruits of Asgard.” He bites at your collarbone, making you shudder in your post-orgasmic haze.

Still out of it, you sluggishly fumble at Loki’s belt. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” you mumble and lick your lips. Loki bats your hand away, shushing you.

“Darling, there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I need to feel you.” He grabs your shoulders and drags you up to the pillows, so that you’re lying comfortably on your back with him hovering above you.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of ‘later.’ So this wasn’t just a one-night stand? You don’t have time to process that, however, as Loki barely gives you a moment to breathe. He sits back on his knees, straddling your waist, and with a wave of his hand, you’re both stark naked. Your hands twitch, wanting to cover yourself. Being naked in front of an attractive man has always intimidated you, but the fact that Loki was a god made it worse. As if sensing your sudden shyness, Loki leans in to kiss at lick at your breasts, and brings his hands up to pin your wrists to the bed. You sigh in pleasure, insecurity fading with every hot swipe of his tongue, not even wanting to struggle against his hold.

Loki lowers himself to grind against you. His hard cock slides against your dripping folds as his narrow hips press into yours. Both of you shiver, and you arch your hips to bring him closer. Loki growls against your skin and sits up. He lets go of your wrists, roughly grabs your waist and angles it to meet his. “Ready, pet? I can’t wait, I need to have you.” he breathes, eyes locked on yours.

Like a deer in the headlights, you’re frozen, anticipation coiling tightly under your skin. Slowly, you nod. Loki wastes no time. He smirks, then slides himself into you, the stretch burning in the loveliest way. Your heated groan mingles with his, and when Loki’s hips come to rest against yours, he falls against your chest, panting. You appreciate the time he gives you to adjust; Loki’s cock is thick, and longer than anything you’ve ever taken, and you can feel it throbbing desperately within you. Now that he’s released your hands, you bring them up to thread through his soft, black hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, nearly purring.

“Tell me when, love,” Loki grits out, fighting to keep his voice steady. The shakiness in his usually smooth tone is arousing to no end, and you can feel yourself clench around him in approval. Loki’s hips twitch at the fluttering of your walls, and though you’re more than ready, you decide to torture him a bit longer.

You bring your legs up to wrap around Loki’s waist, pulling him closer. He shivers, but keeps his composure, remaining almost statue still. His concern for your comfort makes your heart swell, but you want to see him lose control. “You’re so big,” you whimper out, the alcohol in your system quelling the embarrassment you’d usually feel when talking dirty. You press your face into Loki’s neck, grazing your teeth along the pale skin there.

With a deep growl of barely kept composure, Loki rises up to rest on his elbows, desperate eyes searching yours. It seems that being the God of Lies gave Loki the ability to see through your cruel game, and his expression turns dark, though the neediness is still blatant. You shift nervously as he stares you down, already regretting your mischievousness. “Feeling playful, are we?” Loki asks.

Your mouth goes dry at being caught and your core tightens around him again, earning you a flutter of his eyelids. “I…” you trail off, eyes drifting to Loki’s parted lips. Watching you gaze, Loki grins at you.

“Oh, pet. I think you may be confused. You are mine to toy with, not the other way around.” With that, Loki leans down to crush his lips into yours. His tongue forces its way into your mouth and you whine around it. While his tongue’s distracting you, Loki takes his chance to begin pounding into you at a ruthless pace, and you break away from the kiss to throw your head back and shriek out a moan.

You feel utterly wrecked, stomach clenching and nerves alight with pleasure as Loki continues his assault on your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut, so his teeth nipping at your jaw come as a surprise, sending a whole new shockwave of sensation down your neck.

“You feel so fucking good, pet,” Loki moans, his voice quickly losing its characteristic steadyness. He sighs out something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper, and brings one of his hands down to toy with your clit. Your legs tighten around him involuntarily. “A-ah, fuck,” Loki grits out, increasing his pace.

The pleasure is overwhelming, and the unhuman speed at which Loki’s pounding into you leaves you no time to catch your breath. Moans and whines erupt from your mouth in a constant stream, and Loki keeps his mouth hovering above yours to drink them in. “I wanna cum,” you whimper as Loki’s assault on your senses continues.

“Then cum, pet,” Loki groans, hips stuttering. “ Cum for your god.”

You keen, writhing and chasing your high. As you climb up to your orgasm, you are met with a startling realization that Loki has already ruined you for anyone else. No human man could match the fire that he’s set upon your nerves, the blinding pleasure that mounts with every thrust and kiss. With that settling into your mind, you finally reach your second peak of the night.

Your eyes try to flutter shut, tears brimming at the corners as you wail Loki’s name again and again. Through the haze of your climax, you notice Loki’s muscles begin to tense as he nears his orgasm as well, and you force your eyes to stay open in order to watch him come apart.

Watching Loki cum is almost like a second climax. He speeds up impossibly, mouth hanging open and eyes barely able to stay focused on you. “You’re mine,” he growls out. Choked moans fall from his lips as he nears the edge, and you rake your nails down his back to encourage him.

“Cum in me, please, I need it, make me yours” you ramble breathlessly.

“Oh, fuck, I-I’m so close,” Loki manages, voice breaking. You continue to coo pleas and encouragements at him, and the way his eyes roll back at your wrecked voice gives you an intoxicating rush of pride. Finally, with a whimpering moan, Loki stills, cock pulsing within you and hips twitching as he pumps you full of his cum.

Loki slumps against you, still moving in aborted little thrusts, as if he can’t quite stop fucking you just yet. The weight of him on top of you is heavy, but not unwelcome, and you take the time to bask in the euphoria of having just slept with the god you’d pined after for so long.

“That was…” you start, words failing you.

“Divine,” Loki finishes for you. He slides his cock out of your pussy, and with it comes a gush of warm cum that you’re sure will stain the sheets. He rolls off of you, then guides you onto your side so that he can pull you up against him.

You weren’t expecting Loki to be the ‘cuddling after sex,’ type, so having him spoon you was surprising, to say the least. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, and you find yourself wanting to fall asleep like that; comfortable in his bed and safe in his strong arms.

Still, there’s a nagging question that won’t let you fully relax. Not wanting to expect too much, you brace yourself for the worst and open your mouth to speak. “Loki...what does this mean for us?”

Loki tenses behind you, and your heart breaks at the assumed rejection as he begins to pull away. “Are you...are you not mine? I thought this was-I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. Forgive me.”

This time, your heart breaks for a different reason. Loki sounds so hurt, so unsure of everything, and you can hear a scared little boy behind that velvet voice. “No!” You nearly shout, turning around to pull him back to you. “I want to be yours, I promise,” you say as you tug Loki back into your arms, running a soothing hand down his back. “I just wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted.”

The relief in Loki is visible as he relaxes into you. “Love, I am yours as much as you are mine, do not doubt that.”

The pet name brings a smile to your lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you reply happily. Heart full, you roll back over so that Loki can snuggle into you again, and finally let your drowsiness overtake you. You catch a faint, ‘I love you,’ just before you drift off to sleep, and though it could just be your mind playing tricks on you, you know that you love him, too.

#loki x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #smut #fanfiction #the loki show

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mamichigo · 5 years

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[Fic] stupor [asanoya]

@harbingerspeach: “could I PLEASE get an asanoya sickfic?”

Characters: Asahi, Nishinoya, background Karasuno Rating: G Word count: 1,936 Tags: Sickfic, Fluff, Established Relationship Summary: Asahi sits practice out due to a cold.

AO3 link

Asahi didn't mean to get to practice late. Really, he didn't.

But, well, there was a lot of convincing to do when the nurse didn't seem inclined to let him leave, at least not while his fever was still burning quite high. Even more so when Asahi had a persuasive power of zero on a normal day, worse yet with an unconvinced nurse staring down at him, eyes pointedly following the sway of his body. Asahi was sure that, if she had her way, Asahi would be strapped down to the bed, instead of walking to the gym.

He had to promise not to do any actual training no less than five times before she let him go.

Asahi could already imagine Coach's scolding, and Daichi's unforgiving scowl, if only because Asahi had forgotten to notify that he got a cold, or even because he had gotten one in the first place. He sighed, adjusting the mask on his face, fussing over it as he hovered at the entrance. He was absolutely not stalling, really, he was just making sure there was no chance he'd contaminate every single one of his teammates. No reason to make anyone else miserable as well.

Maybe it was his punishment for not just going in and getting over with it that, a minute later, his name rang on the court, squeaking shoes all coming to a halt at the same time a small body charged at him.

Oh, that's bad, Asahi absentmindedly thought, but had no brain power to rationalize that he should get out of the way. His limbs were too heavy for that to begin with.

Instead, as Nishinoya leaped straight into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist with unsurprising strength, all Asahi could do was open his arms wide to receive him. Then, a moment later, press his palm to the back of Nishinoya's head as his body collapsed like a particularly pathetic sack of potatoes.

His back hit the ground with a loud smack, knocking against his lungs and ripping a wheezy, high pitched sound from him. Asahi could feel his cold get at least ten times worse with each pained breath.

"Asahi-san?!" Nishinoya yelled, right in his face. "You sound like a dying animal, what's wrong?"

Asahi tried to conjure up a reply, but an even louder exhale of air was as all he got. Nishinoya's hovering got an even more worried aura to it.

"If you can understand me, blink your left eye. If not, blink with the right," Nishinoya instructed, gazing seriously into his eyes.

Asahi, still struggling to tilt his own brain back into the right position, blinked at him very slowly, with both eyes.

"Oh my god, he's dying," was Nishinoya's response as he sprung to his feet and ran calling out to Daichi.

As for Asahi himself, he was more inclined to just let the floor and the earth consume him, so he was fine lying right there.

Not that his plan would ever come to be, as it was interrupted by the arrival of his team. They walked closer until they made a circle around him and, from this angle, they looked more like shadows than actual people. Suddenly Asahi felt like he was about to be sacrificed in a religious ritual.

"I told you, he's already turning into a vegetable," Nishinoya said, pointing at him. "He's not even moving!"

Tanaka patted his shoulder in consolation while Nishinoya sniffled loudly. The team shuffled on their feet, unsure of what to do (some more than others--Tsukishima, for example, didn't seem particularly inclined to do anything to begin with).

"First of all, we should help him sit up first," Suga wisely advised. Everyone nodded in unison.

"And stop circling him like some weird gang, all of you," Daichi said next, prompting everyone to take several steps back.

Asahi wasn't in enough of a stupor not to realize that a hand being offered to him meant he should put some effort into not just lying on the floor, so he gratefully accepted the help, rising to his feet so he could wobble to the nearest wall. Nishinoya kept a hand on his back as he swayed all the way there.

"You look terrible," Kageyama commented as Asahi sat down, back to the wall.

"Kageyama!" Hinata chided.

"Well, he isn't wrong," Suga said next, raising his eyebrows at Asahi, though his voice was gentler than the usual one he'd use for picking at Asahi. But only slightly. "What happened to you?"

"Yeah, you seemed alright yesterday!" Nishinoya piped up from where he was half leaning against the wall.

"I guess it's just one of those cold that--" Asahi started, but had to stop when the scratchiness of his throat made him cough. He winced at the mucus that got stuck somewhere low in his throat. "Creeps up on you. I had to go to the nurse's office, sorry I didn't warn you guys earlier."

Coach, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up: "You sure you shouldn't be heading home?"

Asahi shook his head. "There's no one at home this time of the day." He scratched at his cheek. "I thought I'd watch practice, then head back to the nurse's office."

Coach hummed. "I don't see why not," he said. "It's better than leaving you unsupervised. At least this way I can make sure you won't do anything stupid while you're sick."

"Please, have more faith in me…" Asahi replied, chuckling.

"Well, you can stay, just don't strain yourself or spread your cold to anyone else, got it?"

Asahi tapped the mask he was wearing, indicating that had been his plan all along.

"Alright, everyone else get to work!"

"Wait, Coach!" Nishinoya exclaimed, raising a hand as he did so. "Can I stay with Asahi-san, so I can keep an eye on him?"

"Well…." Coach glanced between the two of them, unsure.

"I'll train twice, no, ten times harder tomorrow to compensate!" Nishinoya declared, preening a little at Hinata's and Tanaka's chorus of "Noya-san, so cool!"

Coach didn't appear as moved by it, and he kept looking on with uncertainty. Asahi didn't want them to be worrying about his wellbeing, so he tried to convey that with a look, but only succeeded in making his eyes sting and water.

"Oh, what the hell, why not," Coach finally decided. "It's probably for the best anyways."

"Alright!"

After a command from Coach, then Daichi, the team began sprinting away to do their exercises, most showing Asahi encouragement by giving a thumbs up or clapping whatever part of him they could reach first. Kageyama in particular bowed deeply as he said, "Get well soon" in a very polite tone, then shuffled away with an embarrassed face as Hinata teased him for it.

"You didn't need to stay back with me," Asahi quietly commented, knowing Nishinoya was listening. "You shouldn't miss practice for my sake."

"Well, I did it because I wanted to, so you can't stop me," Nishinoya promptly replied, settling down beside Asahi.

"I don't think I'd ever be able to stop you in the first place."

Nishinoya grinned at him, and Asahi did the same, though it was cut short by a new bout of coughing. Asahi sniffled through his clogged nose.

"I have to say, this kinda sucks," Asahi said.

"Just kinda?"

"It really sucks," he amended.

"Yeah, you totally look like hell." Nishinoya gave him an once-over. "Do your eyes hurt?"

Asahi made a face of surprise. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"They're super red, it wasn't exactly hard to guess. The good news is that I know just the thing to help," Nishinoya said, managing to sound very ominous. He also wriggled his fingers, for some reason. "Come here."

Asahi stared at the fingers with skepticism. "You don't make me feel safe with this."

"It's alright, so just come here!"

Asahi sighed, but shuffled closer all the same, turning so his body faced Nishinoya. When he reached a hand for Asahi's face, he closed his eyes on instinct, startling a bit when fingertips touched the back of his head.

"Keep your eyes like that for a moment," Nishinoya instructed.

"What for?" Asahi asked, voice wavering with fear.

No answer came, and before he could second-guess and lean out of the grip, Nishinoya pressed his thumbs to Asahi's eyelids, gentle enough not to dig into his eyes. Then, he moved the thumbs in circular motions, doing a quite peculiar massage. While the sensation was a little weird at first, it did a great job at soothing the stinging in his eyes, and even helped with some of the headache drilling at his brain.

Asahi felt himself slump, relaxing into the touch, not worrying what their teammates thought of the scene if they were seeing it (at least not for now). He was certain he could fall asleep like this, but Nishinoya chose the moment Asahi started nodding off to stop.

"Don't go falling asleep like that," Nishinoya said, snickering. "So, how was it?"

Asahi, feeling even groggier than before, though this time in a far more pleasant fashion, blinked blearily at him. It took him perhaps several seconds too long to realize the reason he couldn't see well was because his eyes had welled up with tears, thanks to the little massage.

He then remembered he was asked a question, and nodded. "It was really soothing, the pain actually feels a lot better. Thank you."

Nishinoya puffed up his chest."You can count on me for anything, on or off the court!" Then, a lot quieter but still audible: "As your libero and your boyfriend, I've got your back."

Their relationship was considerably recent (they had been dating for a little over three weeks now), and the reminder of it still managed to make Asahi's stomach do embarrassing leaps in response.

"I know you do," he replied, as it was the simple truth.

Nishinoya seemed satisfied to leave it at that, and they both fell into silence as they brought their attention back to what was going on the court. Everyone was hard at work, while Asahi and Nishinoya watched, listening to their spirited shouts and the squeak of their shoes.

He knew he was supposed to pain attention, so at least he'd learn something from watching his teammates, but Asahi quickly found out that keeping his eyes open was an impossible quest at the moment. He held out for as long as he could, but sooner rather than later Asahi was lulled into a light doze, half listening to the sounds of practice going on around him.

He felt somewhat distantly as his head hit a solid barrier, but was simply glad to have something to lean on, keeping himself there without a second thought on it.

For an undefined amount of time, Asahi stayed in that position, with no changes heard or felt. Then, there was something at his temple, a little rough in texture but gentle in its touch. Asahi willed himself awake, turning to see Nishinoya's face close to his.

"What are you doing?" Asahi asked, brushing a finger where the kiss had been pressed to his head.

"Checking your temperature," Nishinoya deadpanned.

"Daichi is gonna scold us, Nishinoya."

"He doesn't mind."

Asahi glanced to where Daichi was standing with Suga, their backs very pointedly turned to them.

"Somehow, I don't believe you."

"Don't sweat the details." Nishinoya patted at his head, remembering to weaken it as to not worsen Asahi's muddled brain. "Sick guys should just go to sleep."

Asahi hummed and did just that.

#azumane asahi #nishinoya yuu #asanoya #haikyuu #hq!!#requests #my writing

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heyyy-hey-babyyy · 5 years

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Nobody Stops For Strangers

Hey all! In honor of Spooky Scary month (I.e. Halloween) I wanted to do some Supernatural one-shots ala horror movie plots, and since I’m currently watching The Hitcher remake, first up is The Hitcher!

But also, please note that I changed the plot a bit, because some of it would not make sense if the main character was Dean Winchester. Just saying...Also this isn't the whole movie, because I wanted to end with some fluff. Do you want a part II? Let me know!

Summary: On the way to a hunt, Dean and Y/N run into a stranger on the side of the road. They learn the hard way why nobody stops for strangers.

Spoilers for The Hitcher (2007) below

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: horror thematic elements, swearing, a little fluff at the end because I think it was needed... A little angst at the end as well

Word count: 2,160

It was pouring outside as the Impala roared down the deserted road.

You were staring out the passenger side window into the blackness, watching the water slip down the fogged glass, as you thought about how long you guys had been driving for. Three, four hours? It was near impossible to see outside, but Dean insisted on driving further, not wanting to spend prime hunting hours in the car. Or that was his excuse at least.

You guys were on your way to Houston on the scent of a pack of werewolves Sam dug up while researching. You offered to tag him out so that he could rest awhile and he gladly accepted— And you couldn’t help but notice the slight grin on Dean’s face when you offered to go with, and the bounce in his step when he packed up the Impala. You always had a mini crush on the hunter, but never thought the feelings would be reciprocated. Maybe he cared about you more than he let on?

The thought made you smile and you glanced to the left at the hunter as he hummed wordlessly to a song that was clearly in his own head, because the radio was off. His face was calm and he looked almost carefree. You studied his features silently, wanting to memorize how serene he looked in this moment. He stopped and saw you looking at him, even though you whipped your head back toward the window when he moved his head, embarrassed that he caught you.

“What?” He mused, keeping one eye on the road while looking at you questionably. “Do I have something on my face?” His eyes squinted at the corners in a confused expression and you couldn’t help but smile.

“No. Nothing,” you smirked, shrugging at him and returning back to draw lines on the window in the fog.

“Those are gonna leave marks you know.” He said with a chuckle, raising his eyes at you in a faux-warning while laying one arm across the bench seat, tightening his grip on the steering wheel with his other. His hand brushed across your shoulder making you shiver, and you leaned closer to him. He watched you draw a tiny heart in the corner of the window, coloring it in slowly and carefully, just to spite him, winking at his upturned face. He held your gaze for a few more seconds and you saw a flash of light from the corner of your eye making you jump.

“Look out!” You cried, as Dean threw both hands back on the steering wheel, expertly avoiding the man standing in the rain in the middle of the road, the thumb on his right hand pointing South. The Impala’s breaks groaned and seized, the tires slipping on the wet cement, sending the car spinning in a circle before jerking to a stop.

There was a brief moment where there was a blinding ringing in your head, but then the only sound you heard was the pounding of the rain on the window and your ragged breathing. Your head had bounced against the door frame when the car went into the turn and you could feel warm blood trickle down the side of your face and down your chin. The car had spun so you were face to face with the shadowed stranger who hadn’t moved, the headlights illuminating his finger, which continued to point South, and mouth turned up in an eery smile.

“Y/N,” Dean said roughly, pulling your face toward him, so he could see the cut closer.

“Here,” he continued, shrugging out of his flannel shirt, and handing it to you. “Hold this to your head.” He reached behind the front seat to the floor and groaned when he didn’t find the first-aid kit he was looking for.

“Dean, we have to make sure he’s okay.” You stated quietly, realizing suddenly how tired you felt, your eyelids beginning to droop. He shook his head roughly, looking back at you as you began to slump against the cool window, messing up your heart from earlier.

“You might have a concussion, sweetheart, we have to get out of here.” The Impala had stalled as it went into the turn and Dean pumped hard on the breaks, trying to get her started. The engine sputtered and moaned as he cranked on the key in the ignition.

“Come on, Baby,” he murmured to himself, keeping an eye on the stranger, who still hadn’t moved.

“Come on!” Finally, the car roared to life and Dean swung the wheel pushing the car to head back South toward the nearest town.

“We can’t just leave him, Dean.” You questioned as the Impala gained traction on the wet ground.

“Someone else will stop.” He grunted, eyes forward and serious, focused on the mission in front of him. You shook your head. Nobody stops for strangers.

You glanced back as the car flew forward. The man raised one hand slowly toward the sky and moved it back and forth almost as if to say he would see us later.

The sight made you shiver, and Dean placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you toward him.

“Don’t fall asleep, okay?” You nodded as he watched you carefully, his hand worriedly moving firm circles in your back.

“There’s a town up here about five miles and we’ll get you checked out.” He stated more to himself than anything. Your head had stopped bleeding, and you weren't as dizzy, as the gas station came into view ahead of the car. You always hated how gas stations looked at night, the bright lights reflecting across the wet parking lot. You shivered again and curled into Dean’s side, his arm tightening around your shoulders as he steered us toward the building.

Dean put the Impala in park and switched on the overhead light, pulling your face toward him again. You groaned and pulled away from him, the light hurting your eyes. You squeezed them shut and huffed out a breath.

“Stop.” He warned, pulling you gentler this time to look at the cut down the side of your head, and into your eyes. You passed all of his tests and he kissed you gently on the forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer, before exiting the car to find some bandaids in the rundown gas station. You watched him walk through the front door and turn to the left, before disappearing behind the stacks of snack foods. You figured after all of the commotion, Dean would be too wired to sleep and that he would want to keep driving, so dragging yourself and his flannel into the back seat, you decided to lay there for the rest of the trip. It wasn't until you heard a door close, and two voices that you lifted your head silently from the back seat.

“Look man,” Dean was saying, and you could see how tense he was from the way he was clenching his jaw, the muscles working hard to keep his features in check. You couldn't see the other man clearly, but he was staring forward and sitting comfortably in the front seat, like he had been there the whole time. He looked young, about Dean’s age, and he was dressed casually in a long jacket and collared shirt.

“We would have stopped, but my friend was hurt. I needed to make sure that she was okay.” Dean trailed off, glancing back in the rearview mirror.

“Then the least you could do is give me a ride to the motel?” The man asked, a note of curiosity in his voice. He sounded like a normal man and you weren’t sure how ‘at the ready’ you were supposed to be, but you knew that you didn't know this man, and you and Dean did leave him out in the rain after almost running him down. Dean seemed to feel the same way, never unclenching his jaw as the man waited calmly for his answer.

“Look,” Dean began again, glancing back at me.

Suddenly, the man jerked around, throwing his arms around the bench seat and grabbing you roughly by the wrists, yanking you toward him. He held you close, a muscled arm snaking around your neck making it hard to breath. You didn't have much time to react, but a stray tear drifted down your cheek as you gulped in air, panicked eyes searching Dean’s face. The man thumbed the tear silently, making you cringe back from his touch. Dean turned toward you and the man, his hands in the air. The man withdrew a large knife from his pocket and flicked it open, holding it casually to the tender skin below your eye. You yelped as he drew blood, and Dean growled angrily.

“Enough!” He yelled, speaking directly to the mystery man. “Do. not. hurt her.” He finished through clenched teeth. You felt the knife dig a bit deeper, and tears streamed down your face. You realized you were scared, and that only helped fuel your anger and emotional response to the situation.

“So,” the man started almost cheerfully, the tone of his voice high pitched and eager.

“Being that we are at a bit of an impasse, perhaps we could all drive to the hotel and continue this conversation?” He finished his sentence with a “Hmm?” and pressed the knife further into your cheek bone, drawing a line of blood. You whimpered quietly, and Dean looked at you, weighing the options, before revving Baby to life and backing out of his parking space.

The hotel was a few miles up the road and the stranger didn't speak the whole time, but continued to hold on to you aggressively. You were sure to having bruising around your neck, and the cut on your cheek continued to bleed, though he removed the knife from pressing down on it. Dean glanced at me quickly, and pushed his foot down on the accelerator speeding up. The man continued to look forward, not noticing how much speed we were gathering, when suddenly Dean slammed on the breaks and the man, with you held tightly in his arms, flew forward, his head hitting the dashboard with a crunch, you crumpling across the bench seat.

Springing to action, you gripped the handle to the passenger side door with your other hand and yanked it open shoving the man out of the car, while the Impala screamed forward on the wet pavement. You saw the man bounce a few times across the ground before laying still. Dean glanced behind him, and slammed the car into reverse backing up, while drawing his gun.

“Dean!” You screamed, hunched over the bench seat, as he rushed from the car toward where the man had landed roughly, leaving his door open wide. You lifted your head slowly, looking around for him anxiously, before Dean returned seconds later, anger lacing his voice.

“Fucker’s gone.” He stated, staring forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel hard. You were finding it hard to breath as you sat back against the back seat, wiping angrily at tears and the blood on your face. Dean glanced at you before putting Baby in drive and rushing her forward away from where the man had disappeared. You fell asleep cuddling Dean’s flannel to you, sobs racking your body.

A few hours later, Dean stopped at a motel about an hour from Houston, pulling the car into the parking lot. You had stopped crying, and fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of the strangers hands at your neck, but when you heard the engine die, you shot up out of the seat, and Dean was out of the car in a second, helping you out. He opened the motel room door, and ushered you in, his hand lightly on your back. You didn’t care what you were doing here, just laid yourself on the bed, curling into a ball. Dean muttered something about calling Sam and went outside, closing the door behind him with a click.

In the silence, your mind drifted to the calm demeanor of the man as he held you roughly. You had fought countless monsters, and had never felt the fear you did in that moment, with a normal person attacking you for seemingly no reason. It was as if everything else in the world became meaningless in the hours after escaping the man. You and the Winchesters could kill as many monsters as you wanted, but what did it matter when the people you were trying to save slowly became the monsters?

The thought brought on fresh tears and when Dean came back into the room, letting you know that Sam was on his way and we had a few hours to rest, you were sobbing uncontrollably, your face buried in the comforter.

Dean crawled silently into the bed and pulled you into his arms, soothing you gently as you cried.

Part II is up!

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green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

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War of Attrition: Chapter 11

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. You continue to search through old SSR files for the information you lead, growing more attached to the people in the base than you’re sure is healthy. It’s only a matter of time until you find what you need, but will it be what you wanted? Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of torture, blood, death Word Count: ~6,327 A/N: I’m sorry

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

There was a long pause, then, “Understood, Misses Barnes. We’ll prioritize non-lethal weaponry and use normal guns only if everything else fails.”

You crossed your arms and glared down at the speaker. “I suggest you don’t fail, then.”

Fitz grinned tentatively you and Mack gave you an appraising stare. When Coulson spoke up again, his voice gentler than before. “We’ll try our best, Misses Barnes.”

After all the commotion had died down and the call with Coulson’s team ended, you went back down into Vault B. Sitting idly never worked for you, not when you were waiting on something important. You realized the antsy feeling in your gut was a familiar one. It reminded you of all the times you stayed back from a fight with Steve, Bucky, and the guys to run communications and logistics. Every second of it sucked, never knowing if they’d all come back in one piece or not.

Movement in the doorway caught your eye.

Fitz stood there, body half-covered by the wall. “They, uh... They’re back and-”

“Gill?” you asked tersely.

“Alive,” Fitz confirmed.

Tension you’d been accumulating since the call went out an hour or so ago finally left your body and you released a long, relieved sigh. “Good. That’s good.”

“We- We don’t know if- if he’ll be-”

“Brainwashed when he wakes up?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest. Fitz nodded slowly. “The best way to keep your people safe is to secure him until you’re sure of his mental state. Until you find away to get the brainwashing out of his head you’ll have to be careful, for your sakes as well as his own. Just... don’t treat him like an animal or some sort of subhuman. He deserves better than that. He’s the victim.”

“Like you?” Fitz asked quietly and earnestly, gaze calculating even if his brain wasn’t working at the same level it used to.

You let out a long sigh. “I’m not innocent, Fitz. I’m not talking about the things Hydra made me do, either. I created weapons. Designed them to be just a little more deadly than the opponents, just a bit more efficient to construct. I could have created a weapon from the designs in my head at Azzano that could have ended the war in a week, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Fitz asked quietly, picking at some of the peeling paint on the door jamb.

You scowled. “For the same reason I think Hiroshima and Nagasaki were mistakes. Catastrophic loss of human life? The murder of civilians? I hate that the world somehow managed to accept that. Weapons that destructive don’t discriminate. Even if they did, who should decide who lives and who dies? So, you only kill all the enemy soldiers. What about the ones who joined up just to protect their family? The ones that joined because they had nowhere else to go? Nothing else they could do? The ones that cried every night while they thought about the people they killed and the friends and loved ones they lost? Should we create an algorithm like Zola and Hydra? No thank you. No, I wouldn’t be party to something so heinous. Didn’t stop me from creating guns with Stark that would get thousands of people killed, though, and reaping the profits.”

You lost yourself in your thoughts for a minute and looked up. You were halfway to apologizing when you realized he probably understood better than anyone else in this base what it was like to lose yourself in your own head.

You sighed. “But that kid? The genius who has trouble making friends and looks up to you? He made a few shitty decisions, sure, but he didn’t deserve to have his brain scrambled. If he hasn’t already, he’s going to eventually remember that he killed a lot of SHIELD agents in The Fall. He’s going to be seriously messed up, so I hope you have a damn good therapist on your staff. Or twelve.”

Fitz mulled that all over a minute, his gaze slightly unfocused. “Have you... have you had any- any luck?” he asked finally, eyes sliding back to you.

You grimaced and motion to the sizeable pile to your right. Four boxes. All thoroughly searched, no likely leads. “No, not yet. There’s a lot here, though, that never made it to the digital era. Things Hydra never knew about because it all stayed buried down here.”

“Is- is it dangerous that... that you’re-”

“Looking at all of this?” you asked, single eyebrow raised. He nodded quickly and you blew out a small sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure. My memory is good but not perfect, especially not after all the deep fry treatments courtesy of the KGB and Hydra. I’d never give any of this information over willingly but...” your voice trailed off and you bit your lip, not wanting to say anymore.

“But they have- have the- the-” he made a frustrated noise, “-backups. In your brain,” he gritted out.

You gave him a long, sad stare in lieu of answering directly. You didn’t want to admit that there were backups to your brainwashing to SHIELD. Didn’t want that information to exist anywhere, not even in Fitz’s brilliant little head. “There’s a reason why I try not to fight Hydra in person. It’s too risky,” you said, as close as you’d get to admitting the truth.

You could tell from the look in Fitz’s eyes, though, that he understood.

You stayed away from Gill’s room when they brought him in. Apparently he’d come out of the brainwashing slowly without someone from Hydra there to command him. They even strapped him up to some crazy lie detector chair to make sure he was completely free of compulsion. He’d be monitored closely but they treated him like a person, which was all you could ask.

When Coulson had asked for your input on what they should do with him, you’d simply leveled him with a flat stare and asked, “Perhaps you should ask him what he wants instead? Last I checked you deemed him capable of free speech. I’d still veto any suicidal or homicidal trains of thought, though,” you said dryly.

The more time you spent on the base, the closer you got to Fitz. Even Mack warmed up to you a bit, though you caught him staring at you closely more than a few times. May ghosted you like a shadow whenever she wasn’t on mission. Morse, a very tall and imposing but personable blond, seemed to take watch whenever May wasn’t there (you hoped the woman was sleeping. You weren’t sure if May ever slept, but you felt like she needed it with the amount of shit Coulson’s team put her through). You got along with Simmons like a house on fire once she realized you weren’t going to kill her on sight. Her and Fitz were having issues at the moment so you spent time with them separately, quietly watching the way they looked at each other from across the room when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t until a few weeks after your first day on sight that you finally found a lead.

After the fall of Schmidt and Zola, most of Hydra’s assets had gone to the next most senior man in the organization. When Peggy seized the facility with Morita and Dugan all those years ago they’d taken everything on the base, a veritable plethora of occult and science goodies that made your skin crawl to read about. The SSR had taken all the files on the base along with any other evidence such as video reels and pictures and anything that wasn’t downright dangerous. Those files, added to the SSR ones, painted a very gruesome, well-documented picture.

Werner Reinhardt stared up at you in sepia, his beady gaze cold and calculating even through 70 years worth of photo deterioration. His name rang with a sort of familiarity in the back of your mind and it took you a second to realize why. The snake of a man had been mentioned in reports back in the 40′s. Peggy’s team had been after him while you and the guys chased down Schmidt and Zola.

Among the list of data in the files were mentions of a biological sample. It was timestamped before the Winter Soldier mission in Japan but after the fall from the train. The timeline was right. The files made mentions of it every few pages.

BSAM003: Extracted from BSAM002 and stored for further study.

BSAM003: Cells tested against variety of conditions. Results inconclusive.

BSAM003: Samples show cell regeneration similar to BSAM001. Further careful study recommended: Dwindling quantities of BSAM003 remains.

BSAM003: Unrefined reproduction of the enhancements of BSAM002 achieved from tests run on BSAM003. BSAM001 enhancements unreplicable. Original sample consumed by final tests. Cloned samples of BSAM003 lack the original’s genetic modifiers. Cloned BSAM003 tissue disposed of. BSAM002 possibly necessary for successful genetic mutation. Unrefined serum sample to be coded as IS-003 in further reports. Obergruppenführer Reinhardt notified of progress.

You turned over the last page and stared at the small pocket in the back. It was tied up with string and, if the other files were anything to go by, there were going to be some horrendous photos stuffed in there. The Hydra scientists were almost gleeful in the task of thoroughly cataloguing their experiments.

You untied the stiff, time-eaten string that kept the pocket secure and slid the photos out. You nearly blacked out when you saw the first one.

It was you. It didn’t show your face, but it was you. A picture of you on a cold metal table. Your legs were missing below the knee and every gash and scar on the body in the picture were ones you knew intimately. You knew that if the photographers had flipped you over there would have been a single long gash from your right shoulder to your left hip. If they zoomed in on your right hand there’d be a small circular spot from when you got a nasty infected bug bite as a kid.

What horrified you the most was that your stomach had been sliced open in the picture. It was a clean medical cut, not like the other jagged ones from the fall. One of the scientists was holding up a little sign, “BSAM002.”

The next photos were of “BSAM003.”

You set the photos down.

You wanted to stop looking, but you couldn’t.

It was tiny. Maybe four inches (ten centimeters) long. The scale showed it weighed no more than an ounce (28 grams). It was misshapen but unmistakably-

Unmistakably human.

A racking sob ripped through your throat.

Biological Sample: American003. To be stored for further study, was the note scribbled in German on the sign in the picture.

Zola, for all his duplicity and evil, had been telling you the truth.

You cried. You cried until you eyes were red and puffy and your tear ducts ran dry. You cried until your throat was so raw it hurt to swallow. You cried until your cheeks and nose were red from how many times you’d wiped at them.

After what could have minutes, hours, the entire evening, you moved beyond the gentle shaking of your shoulders. You finally had your answer. An answer that would eat away at your soul for as long as you lived.

The only problem was that it raised another question. What did they do with the serum they created? You hadn’t seen any mention of IS-003 in any of the pictures or in any other files yet. You couldn’t rest until you knew what had become of it. It was quite possibly the only thing that remained of your baby. You wouldn’t tolerate the possibility of it being in Hydra’s possession.

You were so engrossed in searching through the files for any mention of BSAM003 or IS-003 that you didn’t realize, at first, that you had company.

Mack, Hunter, Simmons, and May stood in the doorway. Hunter, Mack, and Simmons were all frozen, but May was looking at you with... pity? Was she capable of feeling pity? You’d spent over two weeks around the woman and you still weren’t sure.

Mack was the first one to step forward, his bulky frame somehow squeezing between May and Hunter. “What’s up, Footloose?” he asked softly, stopping just a few feet away from you. You supposed you had to look like hell if he was talking to you like that. You didn’t miss the way May and Hunter’s hands slid to their guns, ready for you to blow up or have a mental break.

You couldn't speak yet. Your throat was worn raw. Instead, you slid a single photo across the desk towards him, your lips mashed into a straight line. If you started crying again you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop any time soon.

Mack picked it up, took one look at it, and swore under his breath. Wordlessly, you shoved the photo of you- cut open on the table- to him. He didn’t even pick that one up. He took one glance at it and looked away.

He placed the first photo down and your eyes followed it. It was like you weren’t in the room, not really. Your mind was retreating in on itself in an attempt to preserve what little sanity you’d manage to scrounge up over the last few months.

You didn’t see Mack come around the desk. You didn’t even register his presence until his huge arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly to his huge chest. He didn’t say anything, but then, what could he? “I’m sorry Nazis cut your dead body open, stole your unborn child, then brought you back to life like some sort of Frakenstein’s monster”? “I’m sorry the US government let them”?

You could just barely see over his huge shoulder. May had walked forward with Simmons and they were staring at the photos splayed out over the desk. May’s face was tight, shock and fury showing only in the way her eyes wrinkled just so. Simmon’s face was much easier to read. You vaguely registered her muttered horror, talking about the inhumanity of it all from a scientist’s point of view. Hunter was glancing over both of their shoulders. He turned white as a sheet and pointed to you.

“I’m getting you a beer, mate,” he said, already turning on his heel to scuttle out of the room.

“Whiskey. Or vodka,” you croaked after him.

Mack loosened his grip enough so that he could look down at you. “You want to go back to your car? Or into one of our guest rooms? The non-prison kind, that is. I can have Fitz get one set up for you. Or you can hang out in the lab with him. We need to... Well, we need to search the files and you’re more than welcome to take this one with you but-”

You shook your head slowly. Your head was still swimming from the sudden roller coaster of emotions followed by crying out 80% of your body’s moisture. “No, I can’t stop looking yet. They- They made something out of- of the tissues and- and I need to find out what they did with it.”

Hunter returned promptly with a huge bottle of vodka. It was the cheap stuff, but you didn’t care. You took the shot glass from his outstretched hand and knocked back four shots in one go. You didn’t even flinch even though it burned like hot coals down your sore throat.

“Woah! Hey hey hey, I know this is shitty but-” Hunter began, but you cut him off.

“I don’t get drunk easily. I have a bastardized version of the super soldier serum. Doesn’t do much in the way of increasing strength, but it keeps me young and in peak normal human condition with little upkeep on my part. It’s nice until I want to drink away my problems and I have to down an entire aisle of a liquor store to do it,” you croaked, throat now burning from the vodka and the crying.

“You’re supposed to save important information like that then sweep us all under the rug in a drinking contest,” Hunter jabbed good-naturedly, not quite able to pull a smile on his face.

You gave him a weak half-smile that was more of a grimace. “Who or what are you looking for? If it’s around the mid or late 40′s there’s a chance I’ve read about it. Might get you out of my hair faster if I can point you in the right direction,” you said with just a hair too much fondness for them to take it as an insult.

They shared a quick look then shrugged. If they were letting you into their secret information vault they might as well get some use out of it, it seemed.

Simmons gave you a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re after information on an artifact one of our enemies is attempting to utilize. The only issue is that we don’t know a lot about it. It was seized from a Hydra facility in Austria in 1945 by Agent Margaret Carter and a small, elite task force. Not a lot of mentions of the Red Skull, but quite a few of one of his lieutenants, Werner Reinhardt.”

You stared at her for a long moment, convinced your ears had just played tricks on you. “Did... you say Werner Reinhardt?” you breathed.

Simmons frowned. “Yes? Why, have you heard of him?”

You slumped back into your chair, a short laugh leaving your lips. “Today just keeps getting better and better...” you muttered, confusing the other four people in the room. You let out a huge sigh and grabbed the vodka bottle by its short neck and down about a fourth of it. Simmons was wincing, Mack’s eyebrows were up as high as they could go, and Hunter was caught between looking impressed and scared. May had a single brow raised, though you couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking.

“Yeah, I knew ‘im. Not personally, of course. He wouldn’t have lived through that encounter, even without all...” you motioned to your legs and hands, “this. Me and the guys stuck to Zola and Schmidt. They were the biggest targets. Once we got them, the rest would crumble. Or, at least, that was the idea. You can see how well that all worked,” you said bitterly. “Reinhardt was one of Schmidt’s commanders. High up, to be taken down if the opportunity presented itself, but not someone we went out of our way for, not with Zola and Schmidt still on the board. Peggy and her SSR team were in charge of keeping track of people at his level. I read about him in quite a few status reports. Like Schmidt, he was obsessed with the occult. Artifacts of power. Overcoming the limitations of mortality, of humanity. All that crap. Left quite a gruesome trail in his wake, but Peggy’s people managed to keep him more or less on the run.” You took a breath, a mockery of a smile tilting up the corner of your lips. “What made me laugh, though, is that I’m interested in him, too. Already went through his files and everything.” You pulled said file from the box and flipped it open, sharing its contents with the rest of the class. “Complete bio, psych eval, and even a picture of the slimy bastard.”

The four of them crowded around the table, but it was Simmons who spoke first. “Wait, no...” she murmured, gazing at the picture in confusion.

“Yeah, name’s right beneath it,” Hunter said, flicking the picture with the back of his middle finger.

“No,” Simmons insisted. “That’s Daniel Whitehall.”

“What, you mean it looks like him?” Mack asked.

“No, I mean it’s the same man! I’ve stared Whitehall in the face,” she argued.

“You’re joking,” Hunter said, staring at Simmons in confusion.

“Can’t be. He’d be old as hell now,” Mack argued.

You coughed not-so-subtly into your hand and Mack glanced at you, then tilted his head. “Alright, point taken. I just find the chances of another one of you century-old young people existing to be slim.”

“I would have agreed with you before ‘alien’ became a word we use daily,” Simmons countered. She turned her gaze on May, who was staring stoically at the folder. “May, I know I’m right.”

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s still as young and evil as I remember him, but somehow I am,” you mused.

She huffed and pulled out her tablet and began tapping away at its surface.

“Bobbi was dead on,” Simmons said, flicking through the files. “He did have a personal connection to Red Skull.”

You groaned and held up a hand. “Jesus, stop calling him that. His name was Johann Schmidt. He was an evil bastard with a fucked up face, but I’m sick and tired of this whole Voldemort vs. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bullshit.”

The four of them looked at you in surprise. “You’ve read Harry Potter?” Hunter asked, file forgotten in his hands for the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “Listened to the audio book. Don’t have time to read when I spend all day writing code or working with my hands.”

“Huh,” Hunter huffed, returning his attention to the task at hand. “What is this guy, Asgardian?”

“It’s like he stopped the clock,” Simmons said quietly.

“Or turned it back,” May said, turning the tablet around so they could see the picture on the screen. It was a photo of Reinhardt, old and wrinkled, looking at them from underneath bushy overgrown eyebrows.

“Where’s that photo from?” Hunter asked, staring at the photo in surprise.

May gave them all a dubious look. “An old SHIELD prison called The Rat.”

“Lovely name,” you remarked dryly.

“How long was he kept there?” Mack asked, staring down at the tablet in May’s hands.

“For life,” she whispered, confusion clear on her face as she looked at the rest of them.

When you knocked on the door to Coulson’s office a few days later, he glanced up at you then back at the screen on the wall across from him, as though he’d been expecting you. “Come in, please, Misses Barnes.”

You stepped inside and were unsurprised when May followed you in. He was the director of SHIELD after all. The last time a Director was put in a Winter Soldier’s path he’d ended up bleeding out from three slugs to the chest (not that that had actually ended up killing him, the stubborn bastard).

You supposed it was better than having your limbs impaled and your entrails ripped out, though. Secretaries always got the short end of the stick, it seemed.

“I’m not going to ask to go with your team,” you stated. You couldn’t go and fight Whitehall. Not when there was even the remotest possibility that he knew the words.

“Good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you join us,” he said not unkindly.

“I know you’re after Reinhardt-Whitehall for different reasons than me. Something about aliens?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

Coulson smiled that secret smile of his and nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Different aliens than the ones that invaded New York a few years back?” you wondered, frowning.

“Different aliens,” Coulson confirmed with a nod.

You sighed heavily. “I really miss the days when the weirdest things in the world were blue laser guns, Stark’s floating car, and Steve,” you griped.

“And when you were never a brainwashed assassin,” Coulson added.

“And when I was never a brainwashed assassin,” you agreed passionately.

“I assume you came here for a reason, though. Other than to reminisce about the 1940′s?” he prompted gently.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to reminisce about the 1940′s? I built about a third of the things in this office myself. Or, at the very least, I designed them,” you said with a smirk.

“Depends, can you fix an original walkie-talkie wristwatch?”

“I s’pose that depends on how bad you broke it,” you countered.

“I set it to explode so I and Agent Skye wouldn’t die trapped in my office on The Bus,” he said, completely straight-faced.

“I’m sure it’ll buff right out,” you said just as dryly. Coulson smiled at that and the two of you stood there for a moment while you gathered your thoughts. “I’m sure May or one of your other agents has informed you of what I found.” You pressed on before he could say something that would either do nothing or dredge up all the emotions you’d buried for the time being. “I want to know when you take him out or bring him in. I highly suggest you put a bullet in his head, along with the waste of space you have trapped in a cage in Vault D, but it’s ultimately your decision. I just need him out of the way so I can gain access to all of his information without risking running into him.”

Coulson eyed you as he leaned back in his chair. “Because you’re worried he can re-trigger your brainwashing.”

You paused for a moment, staring the man down. “I respect you, Coulson. I’m going to say this once, in the nicest voice I can: Do not try and bring me in.”

Coulson smiled at you. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I know that car of yours packs more firepower than the quinjet and the bus combined.”

“Did Mack ever get under its hood?” you asked curiously.

Coulson’s grin widened a bit at that. “No, he could never get it open. It zapped him every time he tried. Not enough to hurt him permanently, of course. Just enough to sting.”

“I set it to taze mode. Figured you wouldn’t be too happy with me if your employee shocked himself to death trying to get into the Batmobile.”

“You call it the Batmobile?” Coulson asked, eyebrow raised.

You shrugged. “Who doesn’t love Batman?”

“You’re best friends with Captain America!” Coulson argued.

You shrugged lazily. “Was best friends. I’m not exactly returning his calls right now. Besides, the three of us rode motorcycles everywhere. Could you imagine trying to drive a car through a forest in Germany? Nightmare, that would have been. So I named it after the most well-known high-tech car I could think of. Batman reruns were on in the background, so... Batmobile.”

Coulson looked incredulously over your shoulder at May, who raised a single perfectly manicured eyebrow, refusing to take a side in this argument. He sobered after a second, though, and fixed his attention back on you. “If I refuse do we still get the information you promised us?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. The SSR files had shown you everything you’d asked for. Now it was a matter of finding out what happened to IS-003 and your crusade could finally end. You’d pick up another cross, though. Probably start wiping Hydra off the map, but closure was so close you could almost taste it. “Any information I have on Hydra is yours. If you agree, anything I learn after this will go straight to you, too. That includes information Reinhardt-Whitehall has squirreled away. If I find anything to... to reverse their brainwashing, you’ll be the second to know.”

“Second?” Coulson asked, confused.

You gave him a small smile. “Mister Barnes,” you said simply.

Coulson nodded at that. “Understood. We have a deal, Misses Barnes,” he said, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

You raised an eyebrow at it, then pointed to your own golden-wired hand. “You sure that’s such a good idea, Coulson?” you asked sardonically. “Built in joy-buzzer... that can kill an elephant.”

Instead of answering he continued to hold his hand out for you to take, looking at you expectantly.

You groaned and took his hand in yours. “You’re stupid. That was monumentally stupid,” you complained, even as you shook his hand then dropped it.

“I agree,” May said behind you, though you were thankful her anger was directed at Coulson and not you.

“Some advice?” you said, regarding him from your spot in front of his desk.

“Shoot.” He winced. “Poor choice of words. Go ahead, please.”

“Delete any record of me being here. Burn my lanyard the moment I drive through that front door. Purge the video recordings. Make sure none of your agents mention me. We both know Hydra’s still out there. We know what I mean to them. For the sake of me and your people, pretend I was never here.”

Coulson nodded. “Already taking care of it.”

You nodded. “And...” you took a deep breath. “If you need me, you know where to find me. If I move, I’ll be sure to get a message to you somehow.” He gave you a single nod of acknowledgement. “Now, I... I have something important to do. Thank you for your time and cooperation, Coulson,” you said, pulling a nondescript USB from your back pocket. You placed it on top of the papers on his desk and headed to the door, stopping before you passed May. “Oh, by the way, I’m taking some of the pictures with me. I left copies for your files, but I’m commandeering the originals.”

“I understand. Stay safe, Misses Barnes,” he said quietly. If you weren’t mistaken, there was a note of concern in his voice. Whether it was for you or the people around you was unclear.

You gave May a nod which she returned and you nearly smiled. That was the May equivalent of another person’s exuberant, loud goodbye.

When you made it to the garage Fitz and Mack were waiting by your car. Word traveled fast on the base, it seemed.

“Hey, Mack. Fitz. You got that transceiver patch down under six minutes yet?” you asked the blond by way of greeting.

They both turned to look at you. The blond shifted nervously. “Seven minutes thirty-two seconds,” he said anxiously.

You sent him a bracing smile. “You’ll get it. If I can fix highly-advanced cybernetic limbs without having any conscious idea of what I’m doing, you can patch a transceiver from muscle memory.”

“You can really do that?” Mack asked, eyeing your nano-skin covered legs.

You nodded. “I helped design them originally. Hydra tricked me into it. I always was better at designing things than their engineers. I made them so it’s an intuitive design for me. Even when I couldn’t remember my own name or what year it was, I could repair them. I’ve fixed Bucky’s arm and my leg more times than I can count... mostly because I can’t remember everything,” you said, taking a stab at darker humor. It earned you weak smiles, but you’d take it. “Point is, you can handle it. Coulson wouldn’t put you on it unless he believed you could.”

Fitz nodded. “I- I think I can do it.”

“Oi! Where do you think you’re getting off to without saying goodbye?” said a familiar voice from somewhere around the door that led deeper into the base.

You turned to see Hunter walking with a purpose towards the three of you, brown paper bag clutched tightly in hand. A quick backscatter scan revealed it to be a bottle of booze. Vodka, if you weren’t mistaken.

“Vodka. The good kind this time?” you asked with a smirk.

“What’s the point of getting the good, expensive stuff if it takes three bottles for you to even get a buzz going? Might as well just buy it in bulk, cheap,” Hunter groused.

“I like the taste,” you said, taking the bag from him with a grateful smile.

Hunter made a disgusted face. “You really did live in Russia for most of your life, didn’t you?”

You pulled the bottle half out of the bag and gave it an appreciative once over, then shot Hunter a wink. “Da.” It was the good stuff.

“Before you go, can I get a peek under the hood?” Mack asked, his eyes sliding over the Batmobile longingly.

“Sure,” you agreed easily. Mack hardly believed his luck. The three of them followed you to the front of the car and you placed your hand on the hood, smiling as it easily popped open at your touch. It was designed to open only to your specific hand print scan coupled with a specific electrical current.

All three of them took two huge steps back when they spotted the huge turret-defense guns sitting idly just under the hood. They shot a variation of the Stark’s repulsor blasts.

Mack stared at them for a second, then, “The engine’s in the back, isn’t it?”

You gave him a mockingly apologetic smile. “The engine’s in the back,” you confirmed.

“That’s cold,” Mack said as you closed the hood. He looked a little bit like a kicked puppy. A huge, muscular puppy. It almost reminded you of Steve.

“That’s the brand,” you sing-songed as you walked over to the driver’s side.

You were taken by surprise when Fitz wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. It was slightly less of a surprise when Mack joined him. You had to nearly bite back a laugh when Mack reeled Hunter in with one of his big hands.

“No, I don’t do- Gah- Why are- Fine, aaaand we’re hugging now,” Hunter mumbled obstinately, his face close to yours, an amused smile dancing on his lips when he realized he wasn’t getting out of the group hug.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, earnest smile on your lips.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ abou’,” Fitz muttered.

But you were sure he did. They were treating you like a person. A human being with feelings. And emotions.

“Yeah, jus’ don’t tell your husband about this, alrigh’? I fancy myself a tough man but I don’t want to be on Mister Barnes’ shit list,” Hunter half-griped, half pleaded.

You smiled as the group hug broke apart. “I dunno. I think he’d like you. All of you.” You suddenly had the urge to hang around longer, but they had a mission soon and you... you had a mission of your own.

“Alfred, run a system check. Eliminate foreign devices.”

“At once, madam,” came a synthesized British voice from the car.

There was a quiet zapping sound and a piece of metal flew a few feet into the air then landed on the ground with a smack.

“One such device found. It has been removed with prejudice,” your AI, Alfred, informed you.

You turned to smile at Mack, who shrugged helplessly, sheepish smile on his face. “Director’s orders. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

You smiled at the three of them as the wing doors swung upwards. All three of them ducked in unison to get a peek inside as you slid in. Hunter let out a low whistle, Mack nodded his head in appreciation, and Fitz’s eyes were darting around, trying to take in as much as possible. His jaw was hanging ever so slightly slack.

The doors lowered back down slowly but you were already rolling down the window. You pointed to Mack and beckoned him forward. He gave you a confused stare but acquiesced and leaned down so his head was right next to yours.

You leaned forward until your mouth was right next to his ear and your voice was so quiet you knew no one else would be able to hear.

“You should tell them about the other SHIELD. If I’m being completely honest, I’ve dug pretty deep into any possible dirty laundry on both sides. I know how Hydra works. You’re both squeaky clean. If you’re not careful you’ll end up fighting each other and not the real enemy. And, no, I didn’t tell anyone else about this.”

When you leaned back Mack’s face was hard as stone, not that you’d been expecting anything different.

“Take care, Mack,” you said, flipping your car into gear. “You too Fitz, Hunter. Tell Simmons, Skye, Triplett and Bobbi goodbye for me, alright?” you said, throwing them a brilliant smile over Mack’s shoulder. Mack straightened after a second, eyeing you like he had the first week you’d been on the base.

The big door at the other end of the huge hangar area opened and you sped off towards it, hair flying in the breeze before you rolled up your window and sped out of the SHIELD facility, not glancing back.

Beside you on the passenger sat a folder full of pictures and intel. On the front were seven characters.

BSAM003.

You sighed and focused on the road, avoiding any and all cop cars that Alfred warned you about.

“Get me Bucky’s location, Alfred,” you said, heart heavy now that you’d left the base. The people there had been a small reprieve for the near-solitude you suffered.

“At once, Misses Barnes,” Alfred’s voice said through the speakers. A moment later his voice rang out, loud and clear. “Mister Barnes is currently residing in Puerto Rico.”

“Huh. I was expecting Bulgaria or something. How fast can I buy a boat that can accommodate the Batmobile?” you asked the AI, already getting on the closest freeway headed southeast towards the coast.

“It has been done, Misses Barnes,” Alfred informed you. I’ve changed your route so you’ll arrive in Miami at the marina where your new boat awaits. Estimated time of arrival: Four hours.”

“You’re a peach, Alfred,” you said, already gunning the engine to speed down the freeway.

“Always a pleasure to assist you, ma’am,” the AI said quietly.

You smiled and patted the dash affectionately. “Let’s go see the lord of the house, shall we?”

“I can hardly contain my excitement,” was Alfred’s dry, almost sarcastic response. Maybe you should have lightened up on the snark when you created him.

Next Chapter

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tetsucchin · 6 years

Text

Of Annoyances and Pillow Thoughts

Summary: A study of Kise in the moonlight, much to Kasamatsu’s frustration and embarrassment.

Rating: G for goodnight sleep tight

Word Count: 1400+

A/N: Happy KiKasa Day, guys!! So here’s another KnB OTP of mine that I haven’t written before! I wanted to celebrate their day somehow, so I decided on a little fluff from an OTP prompt I found. I hope I wrote these dorks well and that you enjoy them~

AO3

“I’m going to get all the rebounds at practice tomorrow!”

“I was really hoping there’d be some girls at this inn…”

“Guys, if you don’t stop—”

“Shut up and go to sleep!”

Kasamatsu sat up from his futon and flung a pillow across the room. From the sound of the answering grunt, it was right on target with Hayakawa. Not that he really cared which of them it hit.

Training camps were always like this for them. It was amazing that any of them could even move after practice, let alone jump around and want to play games and talk into late hours of the night. He supposed it was useful to have a team so full of energy, so at the very least they could keep up with games and drills.

But not when it was time for bed and they had to be up ungodly early for more hell training.

Kasamatsu grumbled and settled back on his futon, punching at his pillow to make it more comfortable. “I can’t believe Kise is the quiet one right now.”

He looked to the futon beside him, only a foot away. Kise would normally be chatting with everyone else, voice cutting through all the others about anything and everything. But instead, he was tapping away on his phone, brows scrunched together in focus normally reserved for his nightly skincare routine.

Kasamatsu blinked. “…What are you doing?”

Kise turned to him with a smile, almost annoyingly bright. “I was just texting Kurokocchi! I was telling him how our practice went!”

In one swoop, he smacked his pillow into Kise’s back.

“Don’t tell our opponents what we’re doing!”

With a pout, Kise tossed the pillow back at him. “Senpai, you’re so stingy.”

Kasamatsu supposed it showed how tired he was that he just snatched his pillow back and buried his face into it with a sigh.

It took longer than it should have for all of them to settle down. Even with Kasamatsu’s threats and Kobori’s insistence, they all talked and prattled away. It was only when a basketball flew across the room and Kasamatsu swore to make good on his promises that they all climbed under blankets and heavy fatigue.

Minutes ticked by. Possibly hours. And even though his teammates around him did nothing more than the occasional snore or sleepy grunt, Kasamatsu couldn’t sleep. Maybe he was too tired, or too anxious about the Winter Cup. Whatever it was, it left his eyes heavy and his mind racing.

He rolled onto his side with a low sigh. Only to come close to a face full of blond hair and broad shoulders.

Pulling away with a scowl, Kasamatsu tried to scoot to the edge of his own futon to make some space. It figured that even in his sleep Kise would try to invade his personal space. He sighed and stared hard at the back of Kise’s head.

Kise was irritating.

That was probably a blunt way of putting it, but it didn’t make it less of the truth. He was loud, and dramatic, and intrusive. He didn’t like to admit when he was wrong and instead pouted about it, like a little kid. He always had girls hanging off of him, even though he’d repeatedly said he didn’t like any of them.

One of the worst was that he cried easily. Kasamatsu didn’t like to put too much thought into it, but every time those gold eyes would well with tears, there’d be a painful twist in his own stomach. He’d decided early on that someone like Kise wasn’t meant to cry.

But even Kasamatsu had to admit, he’d gotten to be much more tolerable since he joined the team.

Where he was once arrogant and self-serving, he was now more humble and selfless. He still wanted to win more than anything, but that’s what the whole team wanted. He did what he could for them, becoming almost like a different person when he had a basketball in hand. Pushing himself to the brink of what he was capable so many times, and then pushing past even that.

And that was another thing. It wasn’t exactly Kise’s fault, but he was irritating in how he made Kasamatsu worry too. Ever since that match against Touou, when he’d winced and went down on the court, he’d been worried. He never wanted to see a teammate like that again.

Regardless of how hard he pushed his body, Kise kept going. Usually, Kasamatsu thought it was beyond reckless. But at the same time, it oddly enough set him at ease, which made him realize something important.

Kise was dependable.

When the clock was counting down, and the odds were stacked against them, he believed in Kise. He had faith that Kise could pull through most any situation. He was constantly growing and learning, at rates that shocked even Kasamatsu’s expectations. Kise had never let him down, even if they had lost.

Out of all the Generation of Miracles, he was glad it was Kise that came to Kaijou.

As much as he complained, he got along with Kise somehow. He couldn’t even begin to imagine having to deal with someone like Aomine or Midorima on his team. In comparison to skipping practice and a bad attitude, to weird objects and special treatment, he supposed Kise wasn’t that bad to handle. Even if he didn’t want to go to karaoke more than anyone should.

Honestly, Kise had a lot of good traits too. There was never an empty silence with Kise around, which was something Kasamatsu never knew he wouldn’t mind. When it came to the team, Kise was more and more thoughtful with them. And then on days where it felt like everything was gloomy and pointless, Kise was like sunshine cutting through rainclouds.

Kasamatsu frowned. Maybe…he’d been too rough on Kise. Freshman should respect their upperclassmen, just like he’d said when they first met and he’d stand by that. But Kise had been trying, for both him and the team.

He made a mental note to try and be gentler, and apologize for his rough behavior.

Kise rolled over towards him. Kasamatsu froze as they came nearly face to face. He was so close that Kasamatsu could feel his soft breaths on his lips. Being so near, he had no choice but to stare at Kise’s face. Which made him swallow hard and his cheeks flushed hot.

Kise was…pretty.

He knew that. Hell, everyone knew that. With soft hair, muscled build, and that model face, it was honestly hard to miss. No matter how unfair it felt to other people, Kasamatsu figured some people were just born to be prettier than others.

But in the creeping moonlight, shadows casted across the floors in dark blues, it really felt completely unfair.

Everything—from his lashes, to his nose, to even his chin—was flawless. Skincare routines and hair care products aside, Kise was still beautiful in things he couldn’t control. Like how his hair was somehow the exact color of the sun on summer day. Or like how his eyes were something Kasamatsu had never seen before, a mix between melting honey and raw gold dust. Kise was just as pretty standing in his uniform as he was on the cover of a magazine.

He didn’t really know what it meant, but Kasamatsu thought he was pretty when he was covered in sweat and dunking for the final point too.

“Senpai…”

Kasamatsu froze as Kise shifted. His face burned an even darker red, as his mind raced for reasons why they would be so close to each other. Stomach churning with butterflies and pulse pounding, he waited for Kise to open his eyes and accuse him.

Then an arm smacked across his face. Followed quickly by a leg to his stomach.

“Senpai, I have a photoshoot…” Kise mumbled happily, like he hadn’t just brutally sprawled across Kasamatsu.

He felt a violent throbbing in his temple. He didn’t mean to. He really didn’t.

But then he was shoving Kise and smacking him with his pillow again, screeching into the night.

“Kise, get back on your side!”

With how the room stirred, he knew it was going to be awhile before any of them got back to sleep. But as Kasamatsu finally drifted off later, the team snoring and settled around him, he had one last thought. One that put a quiet smile on his face.

More than anything, Kise was their ace.

And he was proud to stand beside him.

#Kuroko no Basuke #kikasa #my writings #I'm broadening my horizons #I haven't forgotten kgkr #no worries there #I have a bunch of wip's for them that I plan on finishing in the upcoming months

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sassyshoulderangel319 · 7 years

Text

Basically I Just Really Want a Sanders Sides Novel...

Sanders Sides—A Novel

By: Yours Truly (unless @thatsthat24 wants to adopt the rest…? *wink wink*)

Chapter 1—Thomas

I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. And as you’ve probably figured out by now, I don’t swear a lot. So you know I’m being serious. I never wanted this to happen. But it did. So now I had to deal with it.

Logan was on all fours, holding his head and cringing.

Patton was blinking rapidly, looking around with his eyebrows lowered.

Both of their glasses now actually had lenses in them.

Roman was smoothing out his hair and his sash.

Virgil just sat on the stairs and watched.

“What… what just happened?” Patton asked curiously.

Roman rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“We split off from Thomas and became separate physical entities, of course!” Logan supplied, straightening his glasses and necktie.

“Wait so we’re really here?” Patton breathed, looking around the familiar apartment in awe.

“Duh,” Roman retorted.

I ran my hands through my hair—which was still purple even though Logan’s wasn’t for some reason—and sighed heavily. “This is a disaster,” I decided. “This is a complete disaster.”

Virgil snorted. “You said it, boss,” he remarked sarcastically.

It was Logan’s turn to be uncharacteristically confused. “Alright, but how exactly did this happen?”

I shrugged. “I dunno,” I replied. “I had a headache so I got some water and burrowed down to watch some Steven Universe or Stranger Things when the pain got really bad. It built and built to a tremendous amount of pressure and then it just… burst. When I looked up, you were all… here. But the pain is gone, so that’s good.”

Virgil gave me a confused look. “How are you in any way optimistic about this situation?” he demanded. “The four of us literally just burst out of your head into reality. There is no way this is a good thing!”

“But…” Logan began to protest. “We are all just visualized, mentally-projected aspects of Thomas’ single personality. We should not be able to be here in actual physical form. This doesn’t make any scientific sense whatsoever!”

“Cool your jets, Teach,” Virgil snapped. “Yeah this is bad but be grateful it’s not the end of the world.”

“Normally it’d be you, Mr. Sour Patch, being worried about this being the end of the world and Mr. Smarty-Britches over there assuring you—and by extension Thomas—that everything is going to be fine,” Roman pointed out, looking between Logan and Virgil with an interested expression on his face.

Patton wasn’t paying attention to them. He’d realized that the central column in the middle of the five of us that kept us separate was no longer there and had latched onto me in a tight hug that I was returning absentmindedly.

There was a brief moment of silence…

And then Virgil, Logan, and Roman all started talking at once. Patton perked up at the noise and promptly joined the conversation—if it could be called that.

I only caught snippets of what they were saying while I tried to rein them all in.

“Honestly I can’t see how this could get any worse—”

“—find some way to put us all back inside Thomas’ head—”

“—wonderful opportunity to explore the world!”

“–really exciting, but I’m a little confused…”

“ENOUGH!” I shouted, not being able to take the endless onslaught of my own voice from four different directions. The Sides went deathly quiet, four sets of my own eyes turning to look at me—which was more than a little unnerving. “Okay, just like in the videos, you need to take turns when you’re talking. Because millions of people may not be watching and silently judging—” Virgil clicked his tongue, acknowledging it was his fault I always wondered if my viewers were silently judging my videos. I shot him a silencing glare. “—but I’m still here and if you don’t all speak one at a time, that headache is going to come back.”

The four Sides all looked around at each other, and I had a vague memory of Roman mentioning the “others.” I knew I’d been planning on introducing other Sides at some undecided future date, but I hadn’t planned much out of that particular idea up until that point. I wondered for a moment if that was why they were all looking at each other. Like the headache coming back would make those potential others appear the way these guys did.

Oh man, I hoped not. I could barely handle the Big Four on my own and they’d only been in reality/existence for a couple minutes.

“Alright,” Roman began, taking the lead. “So what do we do?”

“Aaannnything we darn-well please!” Patton exclaimed excitedly.

“Whoa there, Patton,” Virgil chastised, gentler than he’d be with the others. “We can’t just go around doing whatever we want. The four of us aren’t… whole people. We’re not as complex as a normal human. Plus, Thomas is something of a public figure. Four extra people that suddenly look just like him, right down to the giant freckle behind his ear, would definitely be noticed.”

“BUT,” Roman interrupted, cutting Virgil off from whatever he was about to say next, “this does mean we could make the most amazing Sanders Sides video ever! We could all cross over into each other’s spaces, or even be in the same frame the entire time and it would be EPIC!”

“Pump the brakes, Princey,” I warned. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Patton’s expression dropped. “Awww! Why not? That could be nifty!”

“It sounds like a headache,” Logan muttered. Patton didn’t hear him, thank heavens.

“Because, Pat,” I began, “if the Fanders somehow realized that it wasn’t some super-well-done split-screen effect, I’m pretty sure everything would fall apart and some people would certainly go ballistic.”

“Where’s Ballistic?” Patton inquired.

Logan face-palmed and grumbled something under his breath that I didn’t catch, but Virgil gave him a slightly startled expression.

“Wouldn’t’ve expected that out of you, Teach,” Virgil commented sharply.

“What’d he say?” I asked suspiciously.

“Y’know, honestly, I don’t think you want to know,” Virgil muttered darkly, adjusting the shoulders of his hoodie and sitting on the stairs where he usually stood for videos.

Or rather, where I usually stood to portray him as a character for videos.

“He means people would go crazy,” Logan explained to Patton impatiently.

“Ohhhhh that makes more sense…” Patton mused quietly.

“Serious-talk time!” Roman exclaimed loudly. “Really, what are we going to do?”

“The smart thing would be to figure out how we got out of Thomas’ head and then figure out a way to get back into Thomas’ head,” Logan replied self-importantly, once again straightening his glasses.

“You’re so smart,” Patton whispered, his hands covering his mouth.

Exasperated with the whole situation, I was really tempted to just face-plant my couch, call Joan, tell them about what was going on, and then let the Sides do their own thing. Logan could go teach at a university. Patton would adopt about a hundred dogs—and/or children. Roman would probably want to audition for a part at DisneyWorld or something. Virgil… I wasn’t entirely sure what he’d want to do with his new autonomous freedom. Maybe he’d just continue to sulk in corners and keep me up at night with strange questions like, “what lurks in the shadows when I go running at night” and so on.

“You know, that’s probably a safe idea,” Virgil agreed.

“Playing it safe isn’t adventurous!” Roman burst out before shaking his head and straightening his sash. “Sorry. Had to get that out there. Moving on—let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.” He cleared his throat. “Much as I hate to agree with the Nutty Professor and Sir Gloomy the First,” he continued, “that, actually, seems like our best option. I much prefer being part of a whole, rather than a whole myself who is missing pieces.”

“Look at my sons all agreeing with each other…” Patton murmured to me with a proud smile.

“They’re not… Never mind. Okay,” I muttered. “Whatever.” Was it even worth it? When I was in charge of the script, I had a lot more patience for these guys because I was delivering all the performances and they weren’t real. When they were actually in my living room, I couldn’t help but be irritated. They were a lot harder to handle when there was no editing magic involved.

“Right!” Roman barked brightly. “Let’s get down to business!” He paused for only a moment before continuing in song, “To defeat—the Huns!” He raised his samarai sword. “We have a quest to put ourselves back into Thomas’ head and set things right! It’s world-saving time!”

Virgil cocked an eyebrow. “I doubt our presence in the real world will result in the Apocalypse, Drama Queen,” he grumbled.

“I am a Prince, thank you very much!” Roman countered sharply.

“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” I muttered into my hand.

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides Novel #Thomas Sanders #thatsthat24 #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #hopefully when they're all talking at once you can tell which one is saying what #I don't think I was very good at Patton...#Sanders Sides—A Novel #A Sanders Sides Novel

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