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eoieopda · 2 years

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darksided (myg)

Min Yoongi adored you. He'd simply never hurt you - unless you asked.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: One-Shot - SMUT (You must be 18+ to ride this ride.) Sequel to foresight, but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Word Count: 4.4K Content: established relationship au; soft bf yoongi turned mean!dom!yoongi at the request of sub!reader; p in v penetration; unprotected sex/creampie (be safe, y'all); oral sex (m receiving); brief face-fucking; v fingering; squirting; a lil degradation and spit kink, as a treat; harsh language; after-care; also cavity-inducing fluff A/N: This was nine (9) pages in Word - my longest smut ever, all because this man-bun era has got me FUCKED up. Barely proofread (sorry ily). Check out my other fics here. Listen to the playlist here. 12/11/22 A/N: The sequel, blindsided, is finally here! check it out when you're done here :)

“When I signal you, that’s when you press the button, okay?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared down at his recording equipment – a galaxy in its own right, lit up like a Christmas tree. He may as well have asked you to defuse a bomb, except you couldn’t even identify the bomb. “There are approximately three thousand buttons in front of me right now,” you whined.

He was exhausted and you knew it – you could feel it – but his patience with you was, as always, limitless. His fondness for you still shone through his eyes, overpowering the dark circles looming below, as if he hadn’t made a mistake in inviting you into his office. Then there was his laugh, surprising enough to smack you but so soft that it cradled you. “It’s the only one that says ‘record,’ jagiya.”

A quick survey of the landscape before you indicated that this was a criminal oversimplification. There was a minimum of four options fitting his description, and all of them looked both breakable and expensive. You blinked down at the sound board, then back up at him, dumbfounded. “I think you made a mistake letting me in here.”

Again, with the laugh – knocking you prone, nudging you closer to an early grave. Somehow, out of all of time and space, you got to exist in the same lifetime that he did. How lucky you were to have him, and his wind chime laugh all to yourself.

You were lovesick and it was chronic.

“Look down at your left hand – no, baby, don’t move it – that knob above your middle finger?” He was standing on tiptoe inside the booth, gesturing as if he was landing a plane. Your eyes darted up to follow the path of his fingers, then back down to the board. “Go diagonally up from that knob for two rows. Do you -”

Overcome with a sense of unearned pride, you pressed down on the button, beaming. You certainly had not been signaled, but nonetheless, your efforts were rewarded. Importantly, that reward was now recorded for prosperity. Your favorite mixtape, the soundtrack of your racing heart, a lullaby: “I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

His wide smile, like his tone, was sweet enough to cause a cavity. You were folded up like a pretzel in his chair, but somehow, your knees still seemed to wobble.

You were lovesick and it was terminal.

“Should I shut it off now until you’re ready to start?” You asked with cheeks glowing pink.

He shook his head, still grinning. “I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though – when I signal you.” He stated the last bit of his sentence slowly, shooting you a pointed look and then a wink.

You were once lovesick and now you are dead.

Finger hovering over the ‘play’ button, you watched him wide-eyed, anxious to avoid another mishap. His faith in you may have been unshakeable, but yours wasn’t – and this third mixtape was his magnum opus. You’d rather explode into a cloud of dust than mess up the tireless work he’d put into it so far.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. Without looking, he raised his hand and pointed silently to you. Within seconds, your mind was blown.

Min Yoongi contained multitudes. Despite your years together, it never ceased to amaze you how your beloved introvert – who said more with actions than anyone could communicate with words – could transform the way he did. Moments ago, his voice was a blanket, fresh out of the dryer, but now? Now, his presence electrified you. There was an unapologetic confidence – callousness, even - that you only saw when he rapped.

Even his body language changed, like he’d evolved right before your eyes. You couldn’t look away because there was nothing else worth looking at – just him, top to bottom. The way he held his head, lips nearly touching the microphone, highlighted the deadly curve of his jaw. Carved from marble, luminescent and sharp. The strain of his neck, vibration visible in the column of his throat as he growled out his bars. Then down, down, down to his hands. His rings caught the light from above him, refracting slivers of white as his fingers moved with the beat.

Oh, how you wanted them wrapped around your throat.

Seeing him like this had you spellbound – feral, if you were being honest. As you watched, bottom lip clamped hard between your teeth, a heatwave crashed over you; it burned you from the inside out. Sometimes, you dreamt about this version of him. Your Yoongi adored you. He showered you with affection, respect, and praise. He’d never dream of hurting you.

But would he, if you asked?

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him finish the take.

“Aegiya?” There was a hint of concern in his voice that told you he’d called out to you more than once already.

You swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. “Yes?”

He slid his wireless headphones down until they rested around his neck. The bright red band leaned against his cheekbone as he tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Are you alright? You looked like you were in a trance.”

He wasn’t wrong. You were hypnotized, and it was entirely his fault.

When you merely hummed in response – too distracted by his features to form a coherent sentence – he opened the door to the booth and stepped out. He pulled the headphones off completely and set them down on the counter before walking straight to you.

You were vibrating. Could he feel it?

The trembling only intensified when he reached you. Looking down at you, he ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

“Tell me.” He said, as if that brief touch informed him of the maelstrom spinning circles in your brain. “Something’s got you dizzy.”

Psychic.

Suddenly, you were shy. This man knew and loved every single aspect of you, and still you felt embarrassed. If you begged him to fuck you – not just make love to you – would he laugh at you? Even worse, would he be offended? You didn’t want him to think that what you had wasn’t already perfect because it was.

His eyes scanned your face, narrowing just slightly as he tried to read your mind. The two of you were silent for what felt like hours before you saw it – his pupils dilating, offset by the spark of silent understanding. The corner of his mouth twitched when he cracked the secret code. The hand caressing your cheek lowered slowly until it came to rest on your throat, thumb harshly directing your jaw – and your gaze - upwards.

“Is it me, baby?” He teased with a voice like velvet, cocking his head to the side with a smirk that left you stupid. “Have I got you dizzy?”

Involuntarily, you whimpered. So stunned by his stare that you were speechless. Melting into a puddle. Dripping.

He exhaled sharply through his nose – a cruel, quiet laugh - and his eyes darkened further. “I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.”

Once again, you shifted in your seat. You were suddenly so painfully aware of every nerve in your body, each one tingling like a live wire. Even your thighs clenched, trying desperately to apply pressure where you needed it most. You craved him so badly that it ached.

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me,” was your answer, though it sounded more like a question. “I - I know that you -”

His hand shifted quickly from underneath your jaw. He now had your cheeks pinned between his thumb and middle finger, squeezing hard to cut off your sentence before you could finish it. There was a microscopic pause as his eyes searched yours for permission. You blinked and nodded to the fullest extent you could within his grasp.

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.”

Muffled by his hand, your weak moan was barely audible, but he could feel the way your breathing quickened. The rise and fall of your eager chest. The way your nipples, yet untouched, made themselves known through the fabric of the t-shirt you’d stolen from him. Draped in him but smelling like you.

Blackcurrant, orange blossoms, vanilla.

He leaned down, mouth now hovering beside your ear. The heat of his breath on your neck was maddening, but it was the way his lips brushed against your ear that proved fatal. When he spoke, it echoed in every one of your bones. A whisper heavy enough to bruise. “Get up.”

You followed the lead of his hand over your mouth and rose to your feet. Sharply, he redirected your gaze to the seat you’d just left. It was inexplicable how something so faint could be so blatant. That nearly imperceptible spot, snitching on you; showing him how your body begged for him.

“Such a messy girl, ruining my chair like that.” He tutted. “I should punish you, shouldn’t I? Should I ruin you, baby?”

Held so still, your knees still trembled. Without his hand gripping your cheeks, you would’ve crumpled at his feet. Before you could do so yourself, he forced you downward. After all, your knees couldn’t buckle if they were digging into the hardwood.

He released his grasp and used that same hand to push his hair away from his eyes. Your heart raced as if you were sprinting, and yet you were frozen in place. You didn’t know where to begin because you wanted everything.

Your indecision prompted him to roll his eyes. “Do I have to do everything for you? Say it. What do you want?”

“T-to touch you. Please,” you begged, “I want to feel you in my throat.”

He beckoned you silently with a curl of his finger. You sat up further on your knees and reached out tentatively for the drawstring tied at the waistband of his joggers.

“Stop.” He ordered, and you did. Looking down at your wide eyes, his smirk deepened. Your hands fidgeted uselessly in your lap as he began untying the drawstring himself – his slow pace was torturous. You'd have ripped them off his body if given the chance. “Open your mouth”

Again, you did as you were told.

It took everything you had not to drool when he lowered the waistband of his joggers just enough for his cock to spring out. Already throbbing, beige tip glistening with pre-cum in the half-light. He took himself in his hand and began to pump himself as he took a step towards your waiting mouth.

"Stick out your tongue."

Now, you couldn’t help it – and when he saw the string of saliva spilling from the tip of your tongue, he growled.

“Fuck,” He breathed, sliding the fingers of his free hand into your hair and tugging. “Look at how badly you want to be used - you're begging without saying a word.”

You couldn’t speak, but your eyes were screaming at him. Please.

Teasingly, he tapped the tip of his cock against your tongue, hissing as he felt the wet heat of your mouth. But when you went to close your lips around him, he pulled your hair – and you – away.

“Spit on it – slowly. Keep your eyes on me.”

You felt a twinge between your thighs as he delivered his orders. You’d undoubtedly soaked through your little sleep shorts already, but his tone just then made a mess of you. You squirmed as you kneeled, feeling the rivulets of slick begin to trail down the innermost part of your thighs. And he hadn’t even touched you yet.

Looking up at him from under the curtain of your lashes, you saw the wicked fascination flicker in his eyes. The way his breath hitched as he watched your spit fall from the ledge of your lips until it connected with his shaft. In your peripheral vision, you could see his cock twitch at the contact.

“Now open.” Finally.

A low moan broke from the depths of his chest as he slid into your mouth, and you couldn’t recall a more beautiful sound. As you pushed yourself further onto him, you hallowed your cheeks, following the vein running along the underside of his length with your tongue.

You stared up at him through wet eyes. So full, you pleaded with yourself not to gag, to breathe steadily through your nose. Tip pushing past your soft palate, he grunted as he bottomed out. Without softening his gaze, he watched for your reaction – always so concerned, even when he was pretending not to be. To his surprise, you swallowed, allowing the tightness of your throat to squeeze him.

“You’re fucking filthy.” He muttered with his eyes screwing shut. His jaw fell open when you slid off him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock once you reached it. His eyes followed suit, blown out pupils fixated on the spit dribbling down your chin; darkening at the obscene sound of him sliding through the suction you'd so masterfully generated.

Pulling your hand from your lap, you reached out slowly for his balls. As your fingers massaged him, his grip on your hair got tighter. Almost imperceptibly, he began to roll his hips against your mouth.

His panting was interlaced with curses as he fucked himself into your warmth. “Fit so fucking perfectly in your throat,” He grunted, “Like you were made to be my toy.”

It startled you when he suddenly removed himself from you. Thoughtlessly, you whined – and then, immediately, you froze. Eyes darting back up to him, the anticipation of consequences prevented you from closing your mouth fully. You waited there on your knees, trembling, while your mascara pooled uselessly in the wells beneath your eyes.

“Somebody feels entitled,” He scoffed as he glowered down at you. “You better be careful what you wish for.”

Before you could process the speed of his movements, his arms hooked under yours and pulled you from the ground. Your legs ached, but as he loomed over you, you followed his unspoken order, backing yourself into a corner. With your shoulder blades pressed flush against the wall, he stepped forward and used his knee to push your legs apart.

For a moment, it seemed like his façade was cast aside. He raised his hand slowly to caress your cheek, swirling soft circles into your flushed skin with his thumb. Out of habit, your eyes drifted shut and you leaned further into his touch. And when he leaned in, just as slowly, your slightly parted lips waited for a kiss that never came.

“You’re just begging to be filled, aren’t you?” He asked in a whisper so sharp it stung. “Not loved but fucked.”

You nodded shyly. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, “Please.”

His lips still lingered closely enough to touch yours, to send shockwaves shooting down your spine, but he continued to withhold his affection. This was the first time – ever – that Yoongi had turned down an opportunity to kiss you. Until now, he didn't seem capable of doing so.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me. Please -” You keened as his hand began to drift from your cheek, down your neck. In the blink of an eye, every word you knew disappeared from your vocabulary. The tip of his index finger trailed down over the fabric of your stolen shirt, between the valley of your breasts, and came to rest at the hem.

He pinched the seam between his fingers and tugged. “Part of me wants to tear this off you,” He mused with his head tilting to one side. His eyes remained locked on yours; the amusement in them was clear, even in the darkness. “But most of me wants to see you fucked out and stupid - in my shirt.”

Your legs threatened to give out yet again. He was devastatingly handsome under normal circumstances, but this newly unearthed cockiness was ruinous. You bit down hard on your lip as he raised your shirt enough to access the waistband of your shorts. With his help, you shimmied them down until they dropped quietly at your feet. Quickly and clumsily, you stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Yoongi’s hand rose again to your face. His middle and ring finger were extended; the others curled down towards his palm. You didn’t need to be asked to open your mouth – it was the only response your eager mind could conjure. His fingers were cool against your tongue as you closed your mouth around them. And when he was satisfied with the lubrication you’d provided, he slid his fingers out from your hollowed cheeks with a lewd pop.

“How badly do you want to come all over my fingers?”

It’s a wonder there wasn’t a puddle beneath you, considering how those words made you gush. “I need it,” You pleaded with fluttering eyelids and bated breath, “Please touch me.”

You whimpered and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers dive into the pool between your thighs. Every nerve lit up like a switchboard as he slipped through your soft folds. He scoffed at how wet you were – so soaked that it was audible in each millimeter of his movement.

Simultaneous to his middle finger penetrating you, your head rolled back until it rested against the wall. Your mouth fell open, but you were too entranced to do much more than breathe as you acclimated to his presence inside you. He started slowly, curling his finger upwards as he pushed further inwards. Even at this pace, the otherwise dead air was filled with the sound of your sodden cunt.

“You’re dripping already?" He let the tip of his finger rest against the spongy spot behind your pubic bone; the pressure was incredible, but he stayed torturously still. “And yet you’re so - tight.” Achingly slow, the pad of his finger spiraled against your g-spot. “I’ll have to stretch you out before I can bury my cock in you.”

As his ring finger plunged inside of you, you cried out, head slumping forward against his shoulder. Sensing that you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up for much longer, Yoongi grabbed the back of your right thigh with his left hand and pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. With this new angle, his fingers ventured even deeper until they bottomed out at the knuckle. He didn’t give you much time to adjust to the new sensation.

As he fucked his fingers into you at a feverish pace, he continued his mind-numbing assault on your g-spot. Over and over, he toyed with you; thrusting, stretching, scissoring, and teasing as your arousal trickled into the palm of his hand. There was an intoxicating – unbearable – warmth burning in the pit of your abdomen. A sensation so all-consuming that your eyes rolled back in your head.

Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and begging for more as your helpless heart raced. “Oh my god,” You wailed, “Holy shit – Please, I’m - Yoongi!”

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Never in your life had you fallen apart like that – shaking and speaking in tongues. Having sensed the swell of pressure, Yoongi knew exactly where this road headed; and he could tell that you were fighting it. “Don't hold back from me,” He growled.

And then the dam broke.

A wicked grin danced across his face as the wave of pleasure crashed onto the floor below you. “Fuck. Look at this.” He pointed downward and your bleary gaze followed. Remnants of your orgasm had splashed onto his joggers as well as the hardwood. “Nobody could ever make you come like I can. Say it.”

The words bubbled out of your chest, half-way between a sob and a moan. “Nobody can make me come like you.”

You were a shivering, spilling mess; and your ears were still ringing from how intensely your every muscle had clenched. Before your knee could buckle, you were abruptly swept up into his arms. With one arm wrapped tightly around your back, his free hand slid over the surface of his desk, sending various papers and cords rocketing towards the floor.

Once the space was cleared, he set you down and laid you out onto the cool surface. You were exhausted and thankful to be horizontal; though you knew he wasn’t yet finished with you.

After all, he intended on ruining you.

Through half-lidded eyes, you gazed up at him. The hair he’d so neatly tied into a bun at the top of his head had mutinied; inky tendrils were now splayed out haphazardly in different directions. You were fuck-drunk, but you swore the overhead light behind him encircled his head like a halo. It was all so unholy - the way he stood before the altar of your exposed core, with his face angelic and his throbbing cock in hand.

The hand not pumping his cock slid over your bent knee. It took tremendous effort, but you lifted your arm to place your hand on top of his. One tiny squeeze – a brief, loving check-in – received an echo. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the fleeting moment of tenderness was gone. With each of your legs now trapped in his hold, he pulled you towards the very edge of the table.

Once he was satisfied with your closeness, his focus switched to his access. He simply wasn’t content to leave your legs bent up at either side of him; so, he rested the backs of your legs against his shoulders and leaned forward until you’d nearly folded in half.

He didn’t need to use his hand to center himself prior to entering you. His body understood the proportions of yours automatically; like you were puzzle pieces created to fit perfectly together. Though his intention may have been to penetrate you slowly, centimeter by centimeter, your slick was overwhelming. The usual ache you felt upon acclimating to his size was drastically reduced; and he bottomed out quickly, cursing.

The fullness you felt was euphoric, and it left you mewling hopelessly under the weight of his body. He was buried deep, throbbing as your walls constricted around his width. It shocked your system when he slid out almost completely only to drive himself back into you.

“Like a fucking vice grip,” Yoongi hissed as he picked up his already brutal pace. Every curve, every vein dragged maddeningly along your walls as he fucked you. “Do you hear how wet you are? Shit – your pussy is begging for me.”

The only thing louder than the squelch of your cunt was skin hitting skin; close behind was the way your name spilled from his lips in a flurry of expletives. You, on the other hand, were nearly incoherent. With every thrust, he knocked another thought loose until eventually, you had nothing left. Relentlessly, his cock grinded against your g-spot, leaving you too mesmerized to recall your own name.

There was a sheen of sweat above his knitted brows; and his bottom lip was now trapped between his gritted teeth. He was close and you knew it. The depth of his thrusts didn’t falter, but his steady pace was getting harder for him to maintain. You felt the rubber band inside you beginning to fray - on the brink of snapping and shooting you into orbit like a sling-shot.

“Baby,” The soft, shaky voice caught his attention. He opened his eyes and focused hard on you – your flushed cheeks, and trembling lips. As he surveyed you, his resolve began to evaporate; his expression softened immediately. There he was: your Yoongi. “You’re gonna make me come again.”

As your walls clenched tight around him, the edges of your vision began to blur. You watched his face as he came shortly after you, studying how delicately his eyelashes fluttered as the warmth of his release filled you. In that moment, it was the two of you, toppling in slow-motion off the edge of the universe. Irrevocably in love - heaving chests, shuddered moans, names whispered in the place of prayers.

He shifted his arms to allow your quivering legs to fall from his shoulders. When the hands on either side of your head could no longer hold up his weight, he collapsed onto you. With his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, you could feel his breathing begin to slow as his cock softened inside you.

You were nearly delirious when you felt his lips buzz against your skin. You were too far gone to understand what he was too exhausted to communicate. “Hmm?” You hummed, wordlessly asking him to repeat himself.

He groaned with the effort of pulling himself away from your embrace. He only traveled far enough to glance over at you. “I said, I think several of my past lives just flashed before my eyes,” He stated matter-of-factly. Within seconds, his eyes crinkled up at the corners and his grin grew. That soft chuckle wasn’t far behind.

“I don’t know where I am.” You admitted with a sheepish laugh. After a moment, you amended that thought, “I don’t know who I am.”

Yoongi placed a gentle kiss below your ear – the only part of you he could reach without sitting up fully. “I have no idea. How did you get in my house?” As you rolled your eyes, he bumped the tip of his nose against your jaw, too tired to tease you much more than that. “But now that we’re both completely spent, I’d like to go back to being soft with you – for now.”

He tried to wink at you, but both of his lead-lined lids closed in unison. You hummed thoughtfully as you ran lazy fingers through his hair, like the decision required serious deliberation. You paused, then giggled. “Permission granted, my love. You may proceed.”

He was quiet for several moments before he stood bolt upright. Startled, you propped yourself up on your elbow and looked to him. He turned towards the booth and then back to you.

His eyes were wide as a blush swept over his cheeks. "Aegiya, did you forget to stop the recording?"

Sequel (posted 12/11/22).

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dem-obscure-imagines · 4 months

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You're So Timeless | Vol. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year.

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. Part 2 linked HERE and also at the end of the post.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female

The End

Time.

It was a fickle thing. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. A mere twelve months earlier, you had been living a different life. The only life you had been responsible for was your own. And your plants, but…they never seemed to last that long under your care. Now, everything was different.

It was the day before your birthday. Your twenty-fifth birthday, which, in the world you lived in, meant that tomorrow, a name would appear on your wrist, the name of your soulmate. It had been stressing you out all day, the weight of tomorrow and everything it meant.

It was late, and you were exhausted from a day of overthinking. The longer you stayed up, the longer you delayed the inevitable reveal, and thinking about it too much made you nervous, so you just decided to get to sleep sooner than later.

It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

Tags: @cap-lu20

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers soulmate au #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #marvel #mcu #avengers

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luxudus · 5 months

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The Six Lords of Ko-ve-dor, and an introduction to my friend's project Star Odyssey

One last art piece to end the year on a high note. It's an entry @jennywolfgal's sophont in her sci-fi / spec-evo / worldbuilding project Star odyssey. A far future where humanity and a few other advanced species help to found a Galactic Coalition of Worlds spanning half the galaxy. Everyone go follow her and check out her project!

I genuinley consider this atm my magnum opus in every aspect, Linework, Texturing, Coloring, Composition, and ESPECIALLY rendering.

The Commonality of Ko-ve-dor is an alliance between multiple sophont species evolving side by side on the same planet. All working together towards the prosperity for all denizens of the known galaxy.

Planet Ko-ve-dor, also known as Kepler-442 B, is a super earth in a 3 planet star system all orbiting a K-Type main sequence star known as O-uosa. Ko-Ve-Dor’s higher mass, larger magnetosphere, denser atmosphere, 3 moons, larger continents and O-uosa’s longer lifespan make Ko-ve-dor a superhabitable world. Capable of hosting more biodiversity than our own earth for a far longer time.

Plantlife on Ko-Ve-Dor is just as complex as it’s animal life and it shows. Most terrestrial flora possess a segmented exoskeleton that vary in shape and size akin to an insect. Most forms of plantlife exhibit both radial and bilateral symmetry in their overall body plan. Some species of Ko-ve-dor plantlife can even take in their surroundings with special segments that act as one big sensory organ. And aside from some greenish phytoplankton, most flora on this world take on a red pigmentation to make the most out of its star’s dimmer light.

Not only is Ko-ve-dor more biodiverse than earth. But it’s greater abundance of life and more surface area means there's far more consumable biomass too. Allowing it’s animal life to reach greater heights and the option for greater brainpower. This paired with evolution’s trend towards more socialization. Means that sapient life has developed not once, or twice. But six times, all within a similar enough time frame for them to all interact with one another. As each sophont species is a good representative of Ko-ve-dor’s kingdom of life. We will be skipping over the planet’s animal life to discuss their biology. The Dor-Eø are the largest of the six sophonts and represent the planet’s many soft-bodied invertebrates. They take on a body plan very similar to earth’s flatworms. And being filter-feeders, they fill a niche not too different from whales. Their large carpet-like fins are actually enlarged partially external gills to aid in respiration. And they manipulate their environment with their two mitten shaped mandibles and opposable tusk thumbs. They live in tight-knit nomadic pods where they ride the waves in search of plankton. They hunt said plankton like dolphins, continuously switching roles to either shepard the plankton and strike the condensed schools. And as they achieved sapience they’ve built nets to catch more plankton and dorsal fin flags to distinguish which pod they’re apart of. The Dor-Ssri’ii represent a sapient species of aquatic, radially symmetrical fish analogs. They possess twelve eyes, with three on each side, a four sided jaw, and eight fins, four anterior fins and four posterior fins. Their intricate color palette helps them blend in with the yellow and red reefs. They live in borderline eusocial schools where they manipulate their environment through their mouth like a tuskfish

The Ko-Ka’Kta are terrestrial relatives of the Dor-Ssri’cai, these are a sapient species of para-reptilian pack hunters native to the deserts and shrublands of Ko-ve-dor. They retain their radial symmetry and are quite basal compared to their relatives. Their forearms have atrophied into small rudders used by females to attract mates and live in matriarchal packs. And they manipulate their environment with four highly specialized tongues. Their lack of claws or fangs pushed them to crafting an array of weapons to hunt. That and their hierarchical pack structure paved way for sapience The Ko-A’atur represent the most derived group of Ko-ve-dor’s Vertebrates. Descending from a group that forgone their radial symmetry and became secondarily bilateral. Their heads hyper-elongated to the point where it’s now two separate body parts all together. Their lips have pulled back and became large flaps to cool off and express emotions. Of all the sophonts they live the least socially, They forage and occasionally hunt in groups of 3-5 individuals. But the social bonds formed are so tight and complex that it managed to bring them up to sapience. Onto life in the sky. The Ve-Huik are one of two representatives of Ko-ve-dor’s aerial invertebrates. They are a species of hexapodal invertebrate flyers protected by a sturdy exoskeleton. They fill a niche similar to parrots, capable of crushing nuts and fruits with their large mandibles that clench together like a fist. They live in small flocks and communicate by short whistles and hums. And they manipulate their environment with their remarkably dexterous six legs.

And lastly the Ve-Z’qi, a Is a seafaring relative to the Ve-huik, they are a sapient species of flying arthropod analogs native to the many coastlines of Dorveko. They live in nomadic flocks, hopping from island to island. They hunt their aquatic prey by looking for disturbances in the water before diving in to catch their target Their history is one defined by sheer first contact and a long road to equality. The Dor-Eø and the Ve-Z'qi,a were the pioneers of exploration due in part of their nomadic lifestyles giving them a global range to freely explore. Slowly each species would suddenly learn the existence of their contemporaries and how to work with them. Their society is egalitarian and very xenophilic, each species is born with full citizenship and everyone regardless of origin and identity are treated truly equally. yet their government is surprisingly autocratic. Each planet is ruled by a handfull of philosopher kings and queens who come from all walks of life. And are chosen by the state based on their view of life and understanding of the humanities. All to improve the lives of their people. They are also very welcoming towards outsiders, and have made themselves a beacon of liberty and safety for the galaxy's downtrodded. With so many different sapient minds at work in a society that promotes harmony and teamwork. The Ko-ve-dor Commonality has advanced rapidly, being able to become a spacefaring civilization a thousand years before mankind. Their architecture and spaceships are large and bulbous, containing vast aquariums and spacious domes to accommodate all the different lifestyles. And have become one of the Galactic Coalition of Worlds' most important members. Depicted here is a human diplomat posing with a friend group eager to take a photo with an unfamiliar face.

I'm happy i managed to get this out before 2024, though there still maybe work to be done, mainly to expand on their worldbuilding, and i hope everyone else has a happy new year!

#my art #artist on tumblr #art #speculative biology #worldbuilding #alien species #speculative zoology #xenobiology #Jennywolfgal's Star-Odyssey

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 10 months

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These Nimona headcanons are dedicated to the people who keep asking me how I come up with them (short answer: I have no fucking clue)

While Ambrosius is the one to keep the house clean Bal is the only reason their schedules are even somewhat put together

This man has multiple calendars one physical calendar in their living room

A digital one for just him that’s dedicated to things that he knows the duo would be bored by

And a digital calendar for the trio themselves which is his pride and fucking joy

His baby a digital miracle and what he genuinely considers to be his magnum opus

Because Ambrosius and Nimona are the hardest people to organize schedules with

Every conversation with them would go something like this “Hey what are you doing next week” “Oh I’m going to work” “Okay do you know what time you have to head in” *shrugs* “Do you know if you have days off” *shrugs again* “do you even know what days you’re going in” *shrugs one last time*

And then Bal would have to walk away because he was really to commit a crime

No one knows how he actually got their schedules

Nimona doesn’t know how Bal scheduled plans for them when he didn’t have their friend's contact info

It scares Ambrosius how Bal’s able to fit is incredibly hectic days in nice neat color coordinated boxes

The duo doesn’t ask questions and they don’t fuck with the schedule

They just follow it cause it’s always right

Which is kind of horrifying

There is one chore in the house that not even the resident clean freak (my baby golden boy) likes

And that’s washing the dishes

Not a singular person in that house will ever do the dishes without complaining even a little bit

They always take turns and it’s always a lose-lose situation

Because even though there’s this feeling of “dodged that bullet today” they’re also a little guilty because they know the person doing it hates it just as much

They bought dish gloves because that slightly helped the problem

But those things tear like it’s no one’s business which is the fucking worst

One time Bal walked into the kitchen to see Ambrosius crying over the dishes

He asked what’s wrong and all he had to say was “glove”

And Bal knew what he meant because Ambrosius swears that having wet rubber rub up against your skin is almost as bad as touching the bare dishes

Every time Ambrosius or Bal have to leave for more than a couple of days the other will joke that they're a single father

Anytime someone checks in on them they’ll say something like “The life of a single parent is hard but fulfilling”

This basically just translates to them missing their spouse so could someone please bring them back as soon as possible

Nimona always jokes they’re a child of divorce when the boys make that joke

The jokes range from “Being a child of divorce is so stressful” to “Good riddance I never liked him anyway”

Mind you those remarks come after Nimona hung off their legs as they walked out the door

One time when Bal went on a solo trip Nimona asked Ambrosius to go to the park with him

He didn’t question it just packed up the car and drove them to the nearest park

And he swears he only took his eyes off Nimona for a minute and when he turned back around he saw a group of sad-looking kids and adults crowding around a kid

And he instantly knew where he went

He watched in horror as Nimona pointed up to the sky and said “Dad!” a mom asked with a sad voice “Is your dad a pilot sweety?” to which Nimona responded with “No but Papa says he’s in the sky somewhere which is why he never visits”

He just scooped her up apologizing while making a run for the car

A lot of parents were very concerned about why the kingdom’s golden boy just snatched a random child they’d never seen before and will never see again

And they genuinely debate on calling the knights while Ambrosius fireman carries this cackling child away

They do and Ambrosius has to have a very awkward conversation with his old coworkers

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #If someone ask why they dont use the dishwasher I'll know they're white #Asian people don't believe in dishwashers #And if I do use the dishwasher it's after I've already washed the dishes #you call it impractical #I call it clean

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light-yaers · 1 year

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Take Care: Chapter Six

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: this is my magnum opus. please don’t hate me.

Word count: 8.5k

Chapter Six

As much as you tried to be normal about it all, it was impossible for you not to innately freak out. You slept on yours and Roy’s confrontation for the remainder of the weekend, and when Monday rolled around, you thought about pulling a sickie and not going into work.

Maybe it was just you, but when you felt embarrassed about something of your own doing, you didn’t want to see anyone. Especially not the person who’d seen you embarrass yourself the entire fucking time, in the form of Roy fucking Kent. It was exposing, and made you feel overly vulnerable, on top of still being internally pissed off that he’d gone into this knowing that he was never interested in reading what you’d written. All of it mixed up into a cake that only made you feel sick, so you did the most rational thing that any embarrassed person would do– isolated yourself.

You stayed in your office all week, with the door closed. When you left each day, you made sure you were the last to leave, double checking the corridors for stray players, coaches and Roy himself. In the mornings, you walked a different route to work, one that didn’t follow the main roads around yours and Roy’s part of Richmond. You didn’t want to be walking along and see his Jeep round a corner, only to have to stand there like a twat and catch his eye through the windshield.

“Does a simple misunderstanding really need to get to this level of discomfort?” Rebecca said, over one of your rare but appreciated lunches. She’d lightened up even more after the Everton game, which was a nice side effect.

You crunched down on a mouthful of salad, chewing sullenly. You’d been on edge for days. “I don’t know,” you let out. “Probably not. But I still can’t make myself get over it. I feel fucking awful, I mean— he just said yes to get me off his back, didn’t he?”

Rebecca shrugged. “No one can know with Kent. I don’t think he did it for that reason, though. You said the interview went well?”

“Well, I thought it did, I don’t bloody know. Either way, I’m not submitting the article now.”

Rebecca looked at you with raised eyebrows. “It’s up to you, I know, but if it were up to me, I’d still submit the damn thing.”

“Yeah, well it’s not.” You stuffed another forkful of salad in your gob. You’d heard the same thing from your mother a few days prior, and were debating telling Keeley the next time you saw her, but nothing would sway you with this.

You’d messed up, and you felt mortified that you’d made Roy open up when he wasn’t even interested in reading what you had to say. You were in a position where you were definitely going to take his side into account, even if it meant a standstill for you.

Rebecca’s face softened. She leant closer to you on the sofa, and placed a gentle hand on your arm. “So, you pissed off a footballer. He’ll get over it, and by God, what you’ve written cannot be as bad as any tabloid drivel that’s been written about him before. It’ll be fine in time, you just need to stop beating yourself up about this, alright?”

You sighed through your nose, swallowing the food in your mouth painfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I still can’t make myself face him just yet, though.”

“Why?” Rebecca asked, and the way she was looking at you made you want to open up.

Oh, because I have an immense crush on him that I can’t shake, and I cannot stand the thought that I’ve annoyed him in any capacity.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but it was an obvious lie. Rebecca widened her gaze further, noticing something there. You let out a pent up breath. “It’s my problem. I’ll sort it soon, but I just— I don’t want to crowd him more, especially after last week. I’m being fucking stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid to want to make someone feel comfortable. That’s a good trait to have,” she said, squeezing your arm. “Just don’t let it ruin you further when it doesn’t need to.” She smiled at you softly, and you smiled back. “What happened to the girl that chased Roy down for those player profiles in the first week, hm?” she added, trying to lighten the mood. It only made you feel worse, weirdly enough.

“I got to know him,” you said, trying to keep the hurt off your face. “Properly, I mean. I got to know him properly.”

Rebecca’s face perked up with alarming speed. “Oh?” she asked, assumptively.

You waved her off immediately. “Not like that,” you said, but it was clear that both of you knew you were fibbing. Rebecca’s smile only grew. “Not like that.” You reiterated, trying to get yourself across harshly, but it only made it more apparent:

You fucking liked Roy Kent. It was clear to fucking see, and he probably knew it himself, too. That made it all the worse, and embarrassment crept onto your ears immediately.

You shoved another full fork of salad in your mouth, and Rebecca scoffed to herself, amused. The two of you finished your lunch together, with her playfulness counteracting your idiocy. How many more times were you going to make yourself feel childish?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I get it,” she said. “He’s grumpy, and mean, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who doesn’t want to fix a grey, stormcloud of a man.” She smiled at you sincerely. “Your secret is safe with me.” She winked, and you scoffed so abruptly that an olive from your plate launched itself across her office.

It felt good to have another woman around. You liked it.

You had the weekend to yourself, and stayed in for the sake of self care. You’d face Roy sometime next week, but had to psych yourself up first to deal with it. He’d been training non-stop anyway, with the first threats of relegation for AFC Richmond appearing, despite their win against Everton the week before. It just wasn’t enough to keep them in a stable position, not when the season was over halfway done.

You wanted to call Keeley, but stopped yourself when you remembered she was on a weekend away with some sponsors, getting treated and talking business. You were thankful that you weren’t in her shoes. You knew nothing about PR, nor did you have her same sense of style and immediately approachable personality.

You messaged Sam a few times, just to talk about your latest shared book. He was as sweet over text as he was in person, and even invited you out with the guys on Saturday night— you were tempted, but declined for the sake of stressing yourself out too much. You had a full-on few weeks and wanted to be chipper for the days ahead; you had an assignment due imminently, and your aversion to Roy at the moment was proving difficult to manage work and your personal life at the same time.

You needed to snap out of it. Rebecca was right— it was eating up your time and energy. And as much as you were picturing it badly, you knew that Roy probably didn’t care nearly as much as you did. Embracing your mistakes was all part of learning.

That’s the mindset you adopted when you entered the Dogtrack on Monday morning, just over a week after the team’s win at Everton. You smiled at your colleagues and chatted to them in the cafe in the morning like normal, before you went about your daily routine. You popped your head around the manager’s office a bit later on, and discussed your weekend with Ted, Beard and Nate, before all the players started arriving for training. They sent you smiles and hellos in greeting, and Sam told you about the messy night he’d had on Saturday. All was normal, until Roy stepped into the locker room.

When he caught your eye, the air stilled. The guys around you silenced like school children, and you fought the urge to fake an emergency so you could leave. Roy scanned the room bluntly, before he strolled towards his cubby and dropped his bag on the bench. You sent Sam an awkward smile, before you turned to the Richmond Captain.

He peered down at you for a second, before looking away without a word. “How was your weekend?” you asked, trying to keep things light. Roy didn’t like small talk, but this would have to do.

He growled in response, but you were determined to get something– anything– out of the gruff man before you. He’d noticed your overly avoidant behaviour for one, and you only had yourself to blame for that. “Roy,” you tried again, shooting him a small smile when he peered at you once more.

“You talking to me again, are you?” he replied, and a jolt of electricity ran through your limbs.

The energy in the locker room stalled, as the guys descended into absolute silence at Roy’s response. You felt their stares on your back, and you fucking hated it. You doubted they knew what was up, but had probably had to deal with some weird energy from Roy over the past few days.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, holding your ground. “Are you okay with that?” You raised your brows at him questioningly, strongly, and he reciprocated with a quick scan of your face.

All his prior angst faded away with your simple retort. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” he said, and you felt your chest relax instantly. “I took Phoebe to the zoo on Saturday. Two lions were going at it in the enclosure and I had to tell her they were wrestling.”

You scoffed so hard you almost choked, not expecting those words to fall from his mouth. “She has to learn one way or another, I guess.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want her thinking that sex is like fucking wrestling one another,” Roy said gruffly.

You shrugged. “It sort of is,” you let out hazardously.

Roy perked an eyebrow at you questioningly, an amused smile appearing on his face. “What kind of sex are you fucking having?”

Sam choked beside you abruptly, and you shot your stare onto him quickly, only to find Isaac and Colin smiling at each other like schoolboys behind him. You pointed at all of them sternly, with wide eyes. “Enough.”

Isaac clutched a hand to his chest defensively. “It’s a valid question, bruv. What kind of sex are you fucking having if it’s sort of like wrestling?”

The boys descended into childish giggles, and you turned back to Roy as you tried not to join them. You could feel your cheeks warming as you did, but you loved them all so much that you didn’t care if they were laughing at your expense. It was good to laugh at yourself once in a while.

You inhaled deeply, accepting the embarrassment only for the sake of you and Roy being okay again. He was smiling at you as you fiddled with your fingers. Not that he’d admit it, but this week had gone twelve times slower without your presence breaking apart his time. He’d got used to your impromptu locker room crashes, and the methodical way he always peered around your open door after training was done for the day.

“None,” you finally let out. “I am having no WWE level sex, sadly, because I’m not a fucking Premier League footballer.” You scanned the room and pouted at them all melodramatically, before you headed towards the locker room door with false glumness. Their giggles surrounded the entire room and it warmed your heart.

“We’ve gotta get you on some apps, or something,” Colin suggested, as you turned back to them and leaned against the doorframe.

“Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms. “Which ones?”

“Tinder?” Isaac offered, and you mimed sticking a finger down your throat.

“Please, Isaac. I’m not a fucking teenager anymore.”

“What about Bumble? It allows women to message first,” Sam said, and you furrowed your brows.

“I don’t want to talk first, ever. I’d rather a man send me a shitty pick up line that I don’t respond to than have to do that.”

“Hinge?” Bumbercatch added, and you let out a disgusted laugh.

“Oh, great! I can have three dates with some posh Richmond bloke, engage in awful fucking sex and then be ghosted the next day for no reason. That sounds thrilling.”

“There’s always Grindr,” Colin said, and the room fell silent. All eyes were on him, including your own that were squinting at him questioningly. Colin paused for a moment, like a statue. “Oh, sorry. With all this wrestling talk I forgot that you don’t actually have a dick.”

The room erupted in ooo’s while you tried and failed not to scoff to oblivion. You glanced over at Roy– there was a smile on his face, one that he was trying to hide and absolutely failing at. He shrugged his shirt off quickly, and you sucked in a painful breath, before you forced yourself to look away.

“Maybe I do,” you said bluntly, before you pointed around the room. “And none of you will ever fucking know.” You smiled at the way the boys got all bashful, before you stood up straight and beamed at them all. “Thanks for the dating advice, but I accepted my chronically single fate a long time ago.”

“That’s only because you’ve been around pretentious, uptight writers your whole life,” Zoreaux offered, and a few nods of agreement cropped up around the room. Zoreaux clapped his hands together suddenly, and you flinched in surprise. “You need to find yourself a footballer.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored their childish chants. “Over my dead fucking body,” you said, raising your hands to the sky in defeat. “And this is where the dating advice ends.” You swivelled on your heels and sent them a chaste middle finger, before you made your leave. “Goodbye!” you yelled from the corridor, and were met with one collective Bye!

Roy slipped on his football shirt after you left, and he was thrust back to two weekends before. He knew he’d fucked up with what he’d said in Liverpool, but there was something that kept him from opening up about it all– the fact he avoided everything that was written about him. Every interview, every post match press conference, every fan photo or interaction, the lot.

As much as he felt like a twat, he was also secretly relieved that you’d chosen not to submit the article. He wanted your success, certainly, but he wished you’d picked someone else. It was his fault for agreeing to it in the beginning, which was exactly why you’d got angry and upset. You were right; he’d been harsh, he’d been mean, but he hadn’t expected you to give a shit. Maybe that was more of a commentary about him than about you.

Either way, he was glad to put your week of silence behind him. Having you back in the locker room in the morning felt like coming home.

The days flew by quickly, but you still hadn’t updated Keeley about everything that had happened, and part of you didn’t want to now. She’d been so excited for you, and you didn’t want to break the news to her at all. You put the article behind you, and focused on new projects. With the days whittling down and matches being played in the blink of an eye, it wouldn’t be long until the season was up– along with your time at Richmond. It was funny to call it a year of placement, when in fact it was only nine months, to tie in with the football season.

You’d been at the club for almost six fucking months already. Christmas and the New Year had passed unceremoniously, and when you thought about it all you only freaked out more. You’d been to more matches than you could count, had written more words than you ever had in your entire life, and actually considered a bunch of footballers as your friends. But the worst thing of all– you’d held onto Roy’s jacket for close to three fucking months. He had to have noticed its absence by now, but still hadn’t approached you about it. Nor had you done the right thing by returning it, especially not after your panic in his house the month before.

That’s what you found yourself thinking about over the next few weeks. In between matches and assignment days, you’d lie awake at night and think about the fact it was all going to end. You needed Keeley to tell you to snap out of it, but had been so deprived of her company since she’d become so busy all of a sudden. As the final three months of the season loomed, you barely got more than a few minutes to spend with her at lunch. You hadn’t mentioned the article at all since the incident with Roy, but you were glad that it wasn’t hovering over you anymore like a few weeks prior.

As February ended and March began, you walked to work happily. You’d miss this immensely. Your small flat, your easy walk to Nelson Road, and everyone you got to see on a daily basis. Richmond was definitely part of your life now, and that wasn’t something you were going to forget.

You entered the stadium like normal, but there was an uncomfortable buzz in the air. You smelled it first in the form of static, the kind you get before a thunderstorm. The corridors were quiet as you walked towards your office, void of all players and your colleagues alike. You weren’t overly early, nor had some sickness ravaged through the entirety of Nelson Road, but nevertheless all was quiet.

You strolled into your office. When you switched on the light, you screamed when you were met with the burst of a confetti cannon right in your face. “You’re a fucking writer!” Keeley screamed, as you ducked down to try and protect yourself from this surprise attack. Paper crinkled in the air and all over your hair. It landed on the floor and ceased to move. Glitter covered everything.

Behind her, Sam, Ted and Nate cheered at your terror, while you tried to compute what the fuck was going on. Keeley lunged at you and encased you in a fast hug. You squeezed her back when you came back into your dimension, but confusion rattled in your brain. “Well fucking done, babe! We’re so proud of you!” she exclaimed, and you allowed yourself to accept their excitement, even if you had no clue what she was talking about.

“Ah– thank you?” you let out, alongside a subtle yaaaay that you felt was necessary, when Keeley started bouncing up and down while hugging you. You smiled at her as genuinely as possible when she pulled away.

Sam stepped forward first. “I particularly liked the paragraph where he talked about football academy. It is sweet to imagine Roy so young and less grumpy,” he said, and Ted clapped him on the back in agreement.

“Oh, absolutely, that was a banger.” Ted looked at you and grinned so hard that his moustache moved higher-up on his face. “Now, I don’t hold what Roy said about Beard and I against you, I was just glad to get a mention in this legendary article of yours.”

The smile dropped from your face immediately. You stood up quickly, and turned to Keeley quickly. “What are they talking about?” you asked, but you already knew the answer.

Keeley frowned at you. “Your article, babes,” she said, like you should know exactly what she was fucking talking about. Quickly, she shuffled in her bag and brought out today’s copy of the Independent. It was already open on the sports section, and when she hovered it before you, you stopped breathing.

Your article was on the front page. In huge, bold letters, as clear as fucking day, it read The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football). Your name was on the byline, alongside the photo you’d picked out before to be submitted alongside it.

“I– I didn’t–” you stuttered, trailing off in shock.

“I did,” Keeley said for you. “I submitted it for you, after you let me read it,” she admitted, but the look on her face showed you she was so much less excited about it now. All you saw was red at her admission, to the point where you were torn between screaming at the top of your lungs or crawling into a ball on the floor.

“Will you guys give us a minute, please?” you asked quickly, shooting a wide-eyed and panicked look at Sam, Ted and Nate.

The three of them scattered like rats, and you slammed the door behind them as soon as they were out of your office. Keeley flinched when you did, but your heart was beating too fast for you to notice. All you felt was the wobble in your fingers and pins and needles in your toes.

“What’s going on?” Keeley asked, concerned.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the article. Your words were printed right in front of you, but you’d never been so mad to see something of your own published. “Roy and I had a bad fight,” you started, but the words took so long to form in your brain from all the yells that ratted inside your skull. “He told me he had no intention of reading the article, that he’d never wanted to, and I said–” You stopped yourself from choking on your words. You caught Keeley’s eye, and chose to ignore how much yours were welling up. “I told him I wasn’t going to submit it.”

Keeley gently brought a hand to her forehead, digesting your words. She paced your office slowly, trying to find the right thing to say, but both of you knew it was useless. “I’m– fucking hell,” she said, stumbling over her thoughts. “I’m so fucking sorry.” She turned to you with glassy eyes. “I didn’t know, and I– I just wanted you to believe in yourself–”

“I know,” you said, trying to hold it together. Your anger dissipated into something else entirely, and that something else was on the brink of tears. “I know,” you repeated.

Keeley rushed forward and grabbed your wrists gently. “I’m a fucking idiot and I never should have done it,” she said quickly.

“You’re not an idiot,” you breathed out, before you peered down at the floor. “But, you never should have done it, yeah.” There was no point in beating her up– she’d done something with the intention to help you, without knowing that Roy would react this way and cause shit to hit the fan.

Never before had you gained friends so kind that they did stupid things all for your sake. In any other universe, you bet that Roy agreeing to the article had gone very well, and Keeley submitting it without you knowing had gone amazingly, but here? No. Hell fucking no. In your universe, everything you touched turned to absolute shit when it didn’t need to.

“Fuck,” you said sharply, clamping your eyes shut. A few tears fell and landed on the grey carpet of your office. “Fuck.”

“I’ll tell him,” Keeley said, panicking. “It was my fault, none of this is on you–”

“I wrote the fucking thing in the first place!” you exclaimed suddenly, and inappropriately found yourself laughing. Chuckles bobbed from your chest involuntarily, and with every burst another tear fell from your eyes. This was a mess.

Keeley squeezed your wrists reassuringly, and you forced yourself to breathe out and look at her. When you caught your eye, you sent her a soft look. As your panic subsided, you thought about the fact that she’d submitted it for you because she’d believed in you. She’d done it as a favour, as a gesture to let you know that you were good, that you had potential, to get you out of your head.

You wrapped your arms around her before you could back out. You were thankful for her, even if it had all gone tits up. Laughter trickled from your lips affectionately, and it only made her squeeze you even harder.

“Is now a good time to mention that you fucking won?” she said, her voice muffled by your shoulder.

You laughed even harder, absolutely astounded by it all. Out of hundreds of students, your article had fucking won the entire competition. “I fucking won!” you chuckled out, and the two of you swayed from side to side in each other’s embrace.

You hated not being in control. It was unsettling and made you feel erratic, like everything could fall apart if you didn’t have it all planned out beforehand. As far back as you could remember you’d had this issue; not being able to switch the fuck off. Things needed to be planned, and when they weren’t, you felt sick. Now, times that by ten and add a bunch of hyperactive footballers into the equation. It was a miracle you hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest during your six months at the club. Your masters had been fucked from the start, you’d messed up countless times during the job, and everything with the article was just the cherry on top of a shitstorm.

You sat in your empty office and stopped yourself from yelling at the ceiling above you. After Keeley had left, all your innate foundations came crashing down imminently. You wanted to go home and sleep for the remainder of your placement, but you couldn’t– not now. This mess had been reopened, and you had to clear it up again.

You knew the longer you left it, the worse it would get. Roy and the other boys were due in for training soon, and you couldn’t stand the thought of Roy seeing the article out and about before you’d had the chance to catch him up to speed. Keeley had made a massive fucking oopsie, but you didn’t hold it against her. She didn’t know about your fight, nor had she had the intention to screw things up this bad. That was always the thing, wasn’t it? Intentions were always good, but that didn’t always mean the best outcome was inevitable.

Wracking your fingers through your hair, you puffed out your cheeks with a colossal sigh. It was a waiting game, now. And as soon as you could, you’d tell Roy everything.

Roy slammed through the doors of the stadium for training. He was in no mood to be messed with, and knew that seeing your face would only make it worse. That morning, as he shut his front door, he looked down to see his face on the front page of the Independent’s sport section. Your name was beneath the heading, alongside a smiling photo. He leaned down and picked it up, scanning the title quickly–

The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football).

He growled to himself, before he crumpled the paper in his hands angrily. He stormed towards his Jeep and threw his gym bag harshly onto the passenger seat, before he headed off to Nelson Road. Everywhere he looked, the newspaper article loomed over him. His colleagues in the cafe read it over their morning cup of tea, and promptly froze when they saw him pass. This was he last thing he’d fucking wanted, and he was regretting his decision to ever say yes to you.

You’d reassured him you wouldn’t submit it, so why was it printed in the paper for everyone to fucking read?

He continued to the locker room in frustration. When he entered, the guys stopped the conversation they were having. They nodded at their Captain, before they silently turned back to their cubbies and got ready for the day ahead. Roy tried to ignore the prickling feeling of being watched. He had it whenever he went anyway, but this was tenfold. The thought of people knowing new information about him made him feel overexposed to the max.

Sam approached Roy through the silence, and shot him a sunshine smile. “Morning, Captain,” he said. Roy didn’t respond with more than a quick glance at his teammate. “So, have you seen the ar–?”

“Where is she?” Roy interrupted him suddenly. His voice was coarse and gruff, and Sam immediately recoiled when he sensed the anger seeping through Roy’s pores.

“In her office,” Sam replied, gesturing in the direction of your office innocently.

Roy didn’t stick around after that. He headed to see you as fast as he’d bombarded through the doors from the car park.

Your inbox had been blowing up all morning, along with your Twitter. You hadn’t been able to stomach reading them all yet, as you sat upon your anxiety and tried not to imagine the absolute worst when you saw Roy. Trying to reassure yourself had stopped working after the first ten minutes, and a Google search of ‘how do you un-print an article from a published newspaper?’ hadn’t provided much in the way of help.

Roy didn’t bother to knock. He rounded the door frame and took you by surprise. You sucked in a sharp breath and stood up quickly, meeting his gaze. “Roy, there’s something I need to tell you–”

“You submitted the fucking article?” he said harshly.

You frowned at him apologetically, and gently rounded your desk to stand opposite him. “You saw it,” you started, trying to settle your nerves. “I’m so sorry, Roy. It was a total accident, and it was actually Keeley who–”

“An accident? How is this a fucking accident?” he interrupted you. Upset cut through his aggression, but he was still seething. He pointed at you harshly. “You told me you weren’t going ahead with it. My face is plastered on every fucking newstand around London, and you’re saying it’s a fucking accident?”

You furrowed your brows at his outburst, not expecting him to be this angry. It was a mistake, but he was acting like you’d done this intentionally. “Roy.” You tried not to stumble over your words as rage crept up on yourself. “It was an accident. I’m sorry, but this was out of my control. Keeley submitted it without me knowing.”

Roy balled his fists. “Fuck this!” he yelled, and you took an abrupt step backwards.

“This could have been avoided if you’d just told me the truth!” you hit back with, losing all sense of composure. “If things had gone smoothly, this would have been the fucking outcome all along, and it’s obvious that you never wanted this! This is not just on me.”

“Not just on you?” Roy repeated. “Oh, of fucking course, it’s not just on you, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s always someone else's fault with you.” He raised his arms theatrically as he spoke, trying to expel his anger. “The uni cocked up your placement, I fucked up your first assignment, and now Keeley accidentally submitted an article that has my name stamped all over it.”

“You just stated facts, Roy–”

“But do you know the biggest fact of them all?” he cut over you, before he took a looming step forward. He leaned closer to you, until you could feel the air warm at how heated he was. “You did this. It was your choice to come here when you knew fuck all about the game, about us. It was your choice to write the fucking article in the first place, and it’s your fault that everything has gone tits up–”

“You fucking agreed to this!”

“I didn’t agree for you to get involved in my life!” he yelled, and you let out a colossal groan of frustration. You paced on the spot, needing to just fucking move, to dispell what you were feeling, to get it all out of your system. Roy didn’t back down. This fight, the real fight, had only been growing within both of you from the moment you first met. “I didn’t agree to you walking in here and latching on like a fucking leech, and fucking with my head, and making me feel– all this.”

All this.

Your heart pounded within your chest as his words spilled onto the carpet. This wasn’t just about the article, you realised. This was more. This was the jacket on the peg by your door, and all of the another times, and all of the smiles and jokes and texts that had been rattling between you both for the past six months.

“Oh, I see,” you said, lowering your voice. There was an energy that buzzed between your gazes, one that told you now was a good time to rip off the fucking bandaid, even if it meant the end. “This isn’t just about the article, is it?”

Roy breathed heavily opposite you, his chest rose and fell erratically. His fists were balled at his sides, but his face softened almost imperceptibly. You noticed it. You noticed every look that Roy sent your way. That was why this entire problem had begun.

Him, him, him, him, him.

“Why won’t you let me in?” you caved. “Or fucking anyone.”

“This is fucking stupid—”

“What’s stupid is that you cannot fucking stand when people give an actual shit about you.” You stepped towards him strongly, trying to convey everything you felt within your words. “You do it with the guys, with Ted, and you fucking do it with me.”

“This isn’t a fucking therapy session. I don’t need a fucking uni student to psychoanalyse my thoughts and feelings and all that other bullshit,” Roy said lowly, like a warning.

“Why have you never mentioned the jacket?” you asked suddenly.

Roy’s eyes widened. He stilled. “What?”

“The jacket. The one you leant me after the charity ball. I’ve had it for months, yet you haven’t mentioned anything.” Roy’s thoughts short-circuited. “Not once have you asked for it back, or collected it, or fucking anything.”

“At least I didn’t chicken out while trying to return it,” Roy said harshly. You held your breath. “I saw you shove it in your bag at my house, after the interview.”

You fought the urge to be sick. You weren’t expecting a full read through of yours and Roy’s relationship when you entered the Dogtrack today. You weren’t expecting to be so fucking mad at him, madder than you’d been about anything else in your life.

“I didn’t want this to end,” you admitted calmly, despite the butterflies tearing holes in your gut. “Is that why you never picked it up, hm? Because you didn’t want to admit to yourself that you actually give a shit about someone else?” You kept your eyes on his, flicking back and forth between them as you tried to hold it together. There was a finality to your feelings, and you feared you were approaching the end of their tether. You weren’t one to stick around if you knew you weren’t wanted. Roy had made himself perfectly fucking clear to you. “That’s why you agreed to the article, isn’t it? An attempt to give a shit, but you got scared when you realised people will know you just that little bit better from it. That’s why you’re raging and whining and looking at me like that, and ignoring all the other shit you’re feeling just because it’s easy, and what you’re used to.” The words spilled from your mouth like water. “That’s not how I do things, Roy. I bother, and I care, and I give a shit. And–” you stopped to let out an upset chuckle. Your eyes welled. “I can’t believe I thought we were actually close, when the truth is…” You forced yourself to keep your gaze steady. His eyes inhaled you. “I hardly know you, Roy. And you won’t let me try to, not properly, or on paper, or in the fucking article, even.”

Roy’s brain had stopped thinking coherently as soon as you’d started talking. You were right, you were always fucking right, but he would never let you know that. Not after this, not with the way you were looking at him so desperately, in pleading, baring your feelings out in the fucking open to try and get him to understand. His anger was real, but it wasn’t about you– it was about himself, but that’s just not how Roy Kent worked.

He was mean, he was angry, he was harsh. He didn’t let anyone stomp all over him on the pitch, or in life. Anyone who entered his life and tried to scale the tall walls he’d built around himself was nothing more than a threat. It was unsustainable, and had only brought pain in the past. It explained his string of finished relationships and friendships, and why he was still unsettled at the age of thirty-five.

“I’m sorry about the article,” you said softly. “But, I’m not sorry about everything else. Whether or not you get over it– that’s on you.” You shrugged, before you frowned at the floor. Tears disrupted your vision. You felt defeated, almost.

As the anger disappeared from his shoulders, Roy nodded at you in understanding. There was nothing else to say.

You let out a shaky breath as you looked up, and you decided that time was up. “I have work to do,” you said, as a signifier that this conversation– confrontation, fight, admittal, whatever the fuck you’d just had to endure– was over.

Roy hardly spoke for the rest of the day. Not during training, or during the team’s pep talk before their next match that Saturday. When he drove home, he felt odd in his house alone. All he could fathom to think about was you. Your words, the way you so easily revealed all and told him to grow up. He was overly used to people backing down when he got angry, but you hadn’t let him. You fought back, and had such determination to put him in his place.

It was a refreshing change of pace.

Roy noticed your absence at the game that weekend. The owner’s box was void of your energetic support. Out of a crowd of ten thousand, he could easily pick out your voice above all else– not only for the fact that you yelled like an opera singer, but because he listened out for you, in truth. When the crowd went wild at an excellent tackle of his, his signature chant roared from the stands.

He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where. Roy Kent. Roy Kent.

When your voice hadn’t rang out next to all the rest, he glanced up at the owner’s box to find your seat empty. It threw him off his game for the remainder of the match.

The weekend after, you also didn’t attend. Your presence was sporadic after the fight, and Roy found himself enduring the sharp sting of butterflies in his gut whenever he so much as glanced at you in the hallway, or caught sight of you in your office during his workouts. Guilt was not an emotion that Roy often felt, but it had taken over his entire body. It was a slap in the face when you’d laid everything out perfectly, and absolutely judged him correctly. Whether it was projecting, or just being fucking stupid, his anger about the article stemmed from something much bigger. You saw straight through him, and that was what terrified him.

Word of your fight had spread across the team. He knew as soon as the guys started looking at him differently– with pity. They were careful not to step on his toes, and muttered to each other when he left the room. Your visits to the team were still clockwork, but it was clear to see there was something painful whenever you caught Roy’s eye. You’d smile, you’d say hello, and that would be that. He was surprised that you acknowledged him at all, and had been certain that you’d restart your silent treatment from before, but you were bigger than that. If anything, he wished you’d ignore him, since every stare you gave sent a shockwave of guilt through him.

When you failed to turn up for the third game in a row, Roy bottled it on the pitch. He played poorly, and was overly distracted to play decently. He kicked his boots off from frustration when entering the locker room afterwards, and they smacked against the wall of cubbies loudly. Behind him, Sam and Isaac looked at each other knowingly.

Isaac was the first to step in. “Roy,” he said calmly.

“I get it, I played like fucking shit and lost us the win. I fucking get it,” Roy said quickly, trying to get this over and done with.

“Nah, bruv.” Isaac gently grabbed his shoulder, turning him around to face the rest of the team. “This isn’t about the game.”

“She has never missed this many games before,” Sam said, and the team all shared sullen looks. “We get why that would throw you off, but now it is time to do something about it.”

The team nodded in agreement. “Did you read the article at all?” Isaac asked.

Roy frowned. “Why would I? It’s nothing I haven’t read before.”

Sam moved to stand next to Isaac. They looked at each other quickly, and shared a soft kind of look. Isaac turned back to Roy, and squeezed his shoulder. “Just read it, bruv. Seriously.”

“It is not like the others,” Sam added.

When Roy got home that evening, he opened the top drawer of the side table by his front door. It was full of old post and discarded papers, just stuff that didn’t have a place anywhere else. He’d shoved the copy of the Independent in there after the fight. He hadn’t wanted to throw it away for some odd reason. From the drawer, he picked out the newspaper and clutched in tightly. He got himself a whiskey from the kitchen, and sat at his dining table, before opening it up to the sports section.

His face stared back at him judgingly. Donned in his Richmond shirt with his foot on the ball, there was a steely look that had been captured in time on his face. He remembered that day– the first game of the season, where they’d been fucking battered. Beneath it was the article, in all its glory. The words loomed on the page almost scarily, but Roy told himself to get over it.

He inhaled deeply, and then started to read.

The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football)

The first fact I came to realise, working at AFC Richmond, was that Roy Kent is a legend. He was only nine when he was scouted for Sunderland, and he grew up loving the greats– Robbie Fowler, Paul Ince, Gary Neville– but his favourite footballer falls to his namesake; Roy Keane. ‘He didn’t take crap from anyone,’ Roy tells me, over a beer in his Richmond house. It’s full of sports memorabilia, trophies, awards, shirts, that I’m sure any fan of the beautiful game would whimper at. For me, however, it goes straight over my head.

It’s impossible not to feel the gravitas of being in Roy Kent’s home, but I feel it’s wasted on someone like me. I wouldn’t consider myself a football fan, but having been AFC Richmond’s appointed social placement for three months, it is a world that I’m desperately trying to enlighten myself on. Roy knows that, which is probably the only reason he’s let me grill him about his past, despite his very public opinion on the press.

Roy looks nostalgic when he thinks of his initial training. ‘You’ll never know how cool I felt when I was twelve, going to a football academy with the likes of world class players. My life was laid out as soon as I signed on the dotted line, and from the age of fifteen it was obvious I was going to be signed at Chelsea,’ he recounts like it was yesterday.

‘Chelsea. I think I know that team,’ I say, and all it does is make me seem more stupid. Roy shows me he doesn’t mind when a smile appears on his objectively grumpy face, and it eggs me on to try and make the footballer laugh as much as I possibly can throughout this interview. Having been at Richmond for almost half a season now, I know that the boys work hard. Making them laugh is part of my job description, just to break apart the obvious stress they all feel about the rest of the season.

Lasso’s reign is something new that none of them were expecting, and Roy’s face sours slightly when I mention his name. ‘You know Ted just as well as I do, you tell me what you think is going to happen?’ Roy says, and I comically mime locking my lips and throwing away the key. It’s best not to let people who know nothing about this game comment on what could happen at the end of the line.

From his start at seventeen, Roy Kent was a Chelsea staple. He donned that bright blue until his thirty-third birthday, which is when he made the decision to leave. He headed to AFC Richmond soon after. Even though I know nothing, I’m curious to know why he made such a career altering decision– going from the top, to the literal bottom. AFC Richmond haven’t got higher than 18th place in the Premier League in six years. It was practically moving to an alien nation.

‘I’d been at Chelsea for more than a decade,’ Roy starts, and I can’t help but notice the tension on his jaw, covered by his signature beard. ‘It had become routine, my life. The guys were stellar, and the management. Everything was the same, except me.’

‘You mean… your ability?’ Roy nods almost severely, and it’s easy to understand what he’s getting at. It’s then that I get up and grab us another beer. Roy makes it very easy to feel at home, despite someone prodding into parts of his life that he hasn’t spoken about publicly very often. He speaks highly of his sister, and his niece. Family is a large part of what makes him the man he is, one that drags him away from football when he needs to be reminded of other things that make life beautiful– not just the game.

Since arriving at Richmond, I’ve heard a phrase within the walls of the Dogtrack; the Roy Kent Effect. His teammates say it when they nail a play in training. Lasso and Beard say it when Roy makes things easier for their NFL suited brains to understand. His hamstrings say it when he withstands another sports massage from the club physio.

The Roy Kent Effect is a household name at AFC Richmond, only becoming so alongside Roy’s arrival at the club two years prior. When I mention it to him, Roy leans back in his chair and smiles. Yes, he can smile! ‘They’re good lads, the Richmond lot. I see myself in a lot of them. Obisanya, McAdoo, they all work so hard. It’s an honour to be their Captain, but I don’t steer the ship on my own.’

‘I don’t think that’s what the Roy Kent Effect means. It’s not about you leading them.’ I say, and this is the only time I’ve ever felt smart when it comes to football, especially next to the likes of Roy.

Roy leans forward. He likes to show people when he’s listening to them. It only elevates the notion that he knows there’s always something for him to learn. ‘The Roy Kent Effect isn’t anything you do, it’s simply having you around. You’ve been a role model, a leader, a staple of the game, for more than ten years. There’s admiration there, and that’s what they want to show you. That’s why they perform, and overachieve, and kick the ball like their life depends on it. It’s for them to show you how much you mean to the sport.’

He sits with my words silently, as I juggle with the panic I feel at making Roy Kent speechless for once. This will never happen to me again.

It’s only then that I realise the Roy Kent Effect has hit me, too. It’s why I annoyed him for this interview. It’s why I research, why I show up for work everyday, despite knowing very little in the grand scheme. When I learn something new, Roy’s the first person I tell at the club. I fit it into conversation, but he always notices. The other’s are often amazed when I reveal I know a fact, or understand the sport more, but Roy doesn’t make a big deal of it. It’s another reason why I don’t stop. He pushes me, the same way he Captains his team, directs his managers, and plays the damn game– with thought, with care, putting one foot in front of the other, like he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t keep this up.

‘One day I’ll wake up, and without knowing, it’ll be the last day that I ever play football,’ he says, later on. Roy has changed our beers to whiskey. ‘From your perspective, you think football is just a game. But, it’s not for me. It’s my whole life.’

We talk about the possibility of what lies beyond the sport, of what is out there for Roy after his inevitable retirement, but he doesn’t seem to understand that there is more that lies beyond. It’s impossible not to take it to heart. I spend the latter half of the interview trying to slot my feet into his shoes, and I still won’t ever know how it feels to be Roy Kent. Even Roy doesn’t know, which makes me strike off every tabloid photo, pundit quote and incel tweet that’s ever been shared about the Richmond Captain.

He is often described as blunt, harsh, mean, angry, and all of those traits are definitely true. But, the man that sits before me, after welcoming me into his home, his world, his life, is so much more than than. This is the Roy Kent Effect in full force, and I, amongst thousands of others, will not take it lightly when he leaves football behind for good.

“Fuuuuck,” Roy breathed out slowly. The butterflies in his stomach had disappeared.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax

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dipplinduo · 4 months

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Just a lil' check-in regarding S&S D engagement <3

Hey! I’ve honestly been debating on making this post, and I’m hoping I can come across intentionally here:

Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten an increased amount of asks/comments/etc. that are essentially inquiring about S&S D updates in ways that seem to be more on the “demanding” side, for a lack of better words (e.g., repetitive, insistent questioning regarding updates, not-so-politely worded “requests” to either abandon certain storylines or add something into a storyline, and even expressions of dissatisfaction/disapproval for when I’m choosing to write for something other than S&S D itself).

I’ve chosen to remain disengaged from this kind of behavior since it personally has felt upsetting, discouraging, and pressuring to receive. It unfortunately doesn’t really seem to be going away, and it has been affecting my writing process. So I just wanted to make myself a little clear here:

I personally don’t appreciate and will remain disengaged from interactions I’ve characterized above. I feel that I put a lot of hard work into what I do choose to do, and I also really do enjoy writing dipplinshipping content in general. I know many people on here may be following me primarily for S&S D – and that’s fine! But please know that I’m putting an equal amount of passion and effort into the other works I’m writing, and while you don’t need to read them if you don’t want to, publishing them still means a lot to me, personally; I don’t view them as being any “less” than S&S D, even if S&S D is pretty much my magnum opus in terms of hits/engagement.

I recognize that I’m pretty playful in my interactions in general, and a lot of these interactions may be coming from a completely well-intended place. So I do have faith that many of the comments I’ve received probably wouldn’t have been said if people knew how I’ve been feeling about receiving them. I’m hoping this post can clarify things going forward and help us all have a better understanding of each other as we celebrate dipplinshipping and have fun engaging with each other. 😊

That being said, here are the types of engagements that have felt really enjoyable regarding S&S D, and personally motivate me a LOT to keep writing:

Asks/discussions about things/moments that you’ve liked, or are wondering about (I’m open to constructive criticism, too, of course)

Asks/discussions that express general excitement, theorize, or talk about/inquire about potential breadcrumbs, etc.

Fanart! God, I love your fanart!

Headcanons too – whether they’re S&S D related or not!

Reactions to chapters, or quite literally anything that sparks dialogue (these ones I do deliberately delay answering so it doesn't spoil people immediately after an update, lol, but omg I love, love, love them!)

Lastly – I will say: I am actively working on Chapter 13 right now! I know how much people are eagerly waiting for it, and I’m grateful that it’s highly anticipated. It’s my full intention to write well rather than just write for the sake of producing; I want what you read to be of quality and worth your while. I will be letting you know when it’s coming out, as I always do! Thank you for your patience and understanding. 💕

With love,

dipplinduo

#my fics #dipplinshipping #kieran pokemon #kieran x juliana pokemon #juliana x kieran pokemon #juliana pokemon #kieran x juliana #juliana x kieran #asks

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pinkcannibal · 1 year

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Are you comfortable writing a breeding/heat kink fic, by chance? Maybe a fem!student reader is some type of supernatural creature that experiences heat cycles that's triggered by the touch of a viable mate which happens to be Marilyn Thornhill who she has a massive crush on. Perhaps the reader gets permission to opt out of her classes because of her heat but feeling restless one night, reader goes out to Professor Thornhill's classroom when she thinks Marilyn won't be there to just soak in her mate's scent and presence but Marilyn walks in because she's feeling restless with worry for reader who has been exempt from classes because of some mysterious "illness" that no one will tell her what it is and the reader wouldn't answer the dorm room door when she went to check on her and she's just so worried but she sees the panicked reader just standing there in her classroom and she runs straight to her. And smut occurs.

If you're not comfortable writing this, it's totally ok! Just love your soft mommy!dom Marilyn Thornhill x desperate needy reader fics!

a/n ill be real with you this is my magnum opus. this is my first time writing heat cycles or anything alluding to breeding kink so be pls be kind im learning skdksd but its helping me flex my writing muscles. thanks for the request! hope you like! feedback means the world to me btw <3

title: soul-bound

pairings: marilyn thornhill x reader, (werewolf!femreader)

tw/warnings: heavy smut, heat cycles, soulmate dynamic, fingering, face riding, marking, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight use of 'puppy' as a petname, slight strap idolisation, soft!dom marilyn thornhill, bottom!reader

word count: 5,180

Your heat cycle comes two weeks earlier than planned, and it throws you out of equilibrium almost immediately, so jarring and intense that when you wake up and turn in bed, shifting beneath the sheets; you gasp at the realisation.

God, and you should be used to it by now, this comes with the territory of who you are. Werewolf heat cycles are so common at Nevermore there’s an entire sex-ed class about it, but jesus fuck does yours like to be irregular about it- and you can already tell it’s going to be intense.

You sit up in bed, face flush at how your heart rate picks up and your stomach warms and your thighs press together – how when you breathe in everything is so fucking heightened its overwhelming.

You can smell the trees outside, Yoko’s perfume on her clothes, the shower drain, the cool Summer air, the wooden floors of your dorm, the-

Oh God. Fuck. Is that...?

You're helpless to the whimper that comes out of you.

You totally forgot Miss Thornhill visited you yesterday, gifting you another one of her plants with that knee weakening smile and adorable scrunch of her nose. An iris this time, purple and freshly tended to. You have to clamp your palm over your mouth and nose, because Marilyn’s scent is everywhere around it.

It has you shutting your eyes, a whine begging to cry from your lips and it’s making you needy in a way you’ve never felt before, just her smell enough for you to feel that familiar submissive haze blanket your brain.

Your eyes water, because there’s a particular type of cruel torture in having a mate you can never touch, or taste, or please. You need Marilyn’s approval, her hands, her voice; to fill every part of you until you feel whole again. And having that just out of reach? It makes you feel...fuck it makes you feel incomplete.

You suddenly remember that time Enid confided in you about Wednesday, how being so close yet so far away from someone hurts.

“It sucks knowing you’ll be a lone wolf forever. Trust me, I know.”

You don’t realise how fast your breathing is, close to a pathetic type of pant, until your alarm goes off and you startle.

You’re suddenly thankful Yoko has left already, you can’t imagine how awkward it would be to have a vampire witness this. How desperate you are, how just at the thought of Miss Thornhill has pheromones bleeding from you, something not even the strongest wolf could ignore.

Jesus, you may as well have a neon sign pointed to your heart saying I need my mate to breed me so bad it’s pathetic.

You decide right then and there, going to Marilyn’s class would be a death wish, you’d probably drop to your knees as soon as you saw her with your mouth open, begging for her fingers with wide doe eyes as you squirmed. And she’d look at you, she’d be so tender when she makes love to you and fucks you and tells you “You’re so pretty, sweet girl. Such a pretty pup for me, aren’t you?”

Oh, god.

The thought has slick rushing to your centre, and you blush so hard at the idea that you have to physically stop yourself from shaking. You whine, immediately grabbing your phone and opening your school emails. You submit a form to Principle Weems, explaining your situation as quickly as possible because your hands are sweating and shaking.

As always, she’s incredibly understanding, receiving these kinds of forms every so often. You’re exempt from classes for the week duration of the cycle, and just knowing you still have five days of this is fucking torture.

You know you can’t have the full satisfaction of Marilyn looking after you, breeding you (that thought makes you even wetter as you throb) but it’s worse to know you can’t even nest and ride out the wave of it in your mate's scent. You have nothing of Miss Thornhill’s besides the flower, and sometimes thoughts like these make you flush with shame.

She doesn’t even know you feel this way, or that she is this to you. And fuck, would she even want you? Accept you? You can’t think of anything worse as a werewolf than the rejection from a mate, what do you do if presented with that? Who are you without them?

Because sometimes you swear Miss Thornhill recognises the compatibility, you swear her head tilts and she breathes you subtly in when you smile at her and tuck your hair behind your ear. How she softens when you’re near, how sometimes when she passes by your desk and leans down to you, her hand finds your lower back protectively, like in her own way she was telling everyone in your life you’re hers.

One time, you bumped into her at Jericho and she fixed her glasses and when she noticed it was you, she beamed, and you honest to god swooned at how happy she was to see you. And Marilyn’s hand squeezed your bicep in greeting, a little too intensely to be normal, and your eyes glazed over in utter devotion.

The thoughts make you feel small, like you could cry, so you curl back under your covers and try and hang onto the lingering trace of her on the iris, squeezing your eyes shut with need.

It becomes downright unbearable on day three.

Three days is all you could hack, it’s almost as if you’ve come down with a fever; you’re hot and feverish and panting, almost fucking bed ridden because of how bad it is. Having a mate who hasn’t claimed you is maddening, and you’re realising very quickly you don’t know how you’re going to survive more of this.

Yoko couldn’t stay for long, opting to room with Divina for the week. You toss and turn and groan into the sheets, slamming your fists down against your mattress and feeling tears burn the back of your eyelids because you dreamt Marilyn kissed you, bit down on the space between your neck and shoulder and covered you in her scent.

You can’t take it anymore.

You get up, tossing on a sleep shirt and shorts hastily over your bralette and underwear. You blush, knowing this is pathetic and sad but maybe, just maybe, if you walk into her classroom it’ll help. Because the iris doesn’t do it anymore and you need something stronger, the submissive part of your werewolf brain is constantly just howling in need now.

It’s almost midnight, and you hope with all of your heart her room is unlocked.

When you make it to the conservatory, you try the handle and sigh in relief at it opening. You don’t have long to dwell on how pathetic you feel, because-

The wave of calm that hits you takes your breath away. You stumble a little, catching yourself on a nearby desk and closing your eyes on a groan; you breathe in deep, the scent of Miss Thornhill overwhelms you, has your knees weak and heart beating from your chest. Fluttering your eyes open, you walk further in, to her desk and you bite your lip because her green coat is just there on her chair.

You swallow thickly at how it all immediately has your chest yearning for her, when you reach out and grab the fabric you allow yourself a moment to feel guilty, and embarrassed, blushing the whole way down to your neck.

Then you bring it up to your nose and inhale and-

You whine, high pitched and like siren call.

You shut your eyes immediately at everything of her flooding your senses. She smells earthy, like her plants and rain, but there is something underneath it that is so sweet; so distinct to the smell of a bonded mate. Marilyn’s is like liquorice, black liquorice, it’s heady and warm and makes you want to be good. The slick that gathers between your thighs is immediate, has you flushing with need and shifting on the spot.

The switch is instant, and you realise fuck, oh god, maybe coming here wasn’t as smart as you thought.

You drop into subspace like an anvil, scrunching up her coat in your fingers and closer against your nose and you collapse against her desk, leaning back against it. You’re shivering, you know, because your wolf is begging to be claimed, to be bred, to be looked after and held and marked by your mate.

You don’t get a moment to calm it down before the conservatory doors open again.

You startle, looking up, you lower the coat from your mouth and nose and have two seconds to register just who walked in.

Marilyn shuts the door behind her, and you blush red across your cheeks caught like a deer in headlights when she turns.

You have to hold yourself up on her desk with your free hand because now that she’s here you can’t- oh god you can’t breathe. And your body feels like it’s going to melt into the floor.

The other woman jumps a little too, not expecting anyone as she places her hand to her chest and breathes out, shutting her eyes briefly.

“God, you startled me, sweetie.” Marilyn chuckles slightly, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s awfully late, why are you-”

But Miss Thornhill’s gaze immediately shifts to concern, because your eyes are watering at her just being near you. The other woman mistakes your flushed cheeks and shaking body for fear, and it’s almost instant how she parts her lips in worry and rushes to you.

You gasp, widening your eyes and pressing closer to the desk. You bite your lip to stop the desperate whimper wanting to escape. She takes your biceps in her hands, squeezes softly, and Marilyn ducks her head slightly and her hazel eyes are saying talk to me, please, and you are powerless to whatever she wants from you in this state.

“Oh, dear. Honey.” She begins carefully, and you swoon at how protective she sounds. Marilyn reaches up and tucks a stray piece of your hair behind your ear and it opens the floodgates, you swallow thickly and choke as you try and speak.

She’s so close. Any closer and you’re going to fall to your knees. Marilyn then briefly fixes her glasses in a rare display of bashfulness. “I just, well. I got so worried when you didn’t show up for class. It’s very uncharacteristic of you. Are you...are you okay?”

“I-” You part your lips to answer, voice cracking on your desperation. Marilyn notices your reaction, softening.

“I just, I’m s-sorry, I came here looking for you because, I...” You flounder for an excuse, and it’s then Miss Thornhill notices her coat clutched against your stomach.

You flush, following her gaze as she parts her lips in surprise.

Miss Thornhill softens, laughing lightly as she fixes her glasses. “You came here to steal my jacket?”

Marilyn teases, and it breaks the tension a little but all it does is make you feel mortified, so you duck your head and stutter, trying not to whimper as you shove her coat into her hands and move to leave.

Miss Thornhill blinks in surprise to you at the action, you’ve never dismissed her so easily, and she frowns instantly in concern as she places her jacket on her desk.

“Please, just-” You don’t know what you’re trying to say, she’s just so close and you need her.

“I'm okay. I promise. I need to go, I-” Your voice cracks, because your heat is flaring at her proximity and how her protective concern is making it worse. You turn to leave, but her warm hand is taking you by the bicep and halting you softly.

You whimper, tugging as tears spring to your eyes in your desperation. “Marilyn, please I-”

“Sweetheart,” She starts, shaking her head softly in confusion.

“What’s wrong? Tell me. Let me help.” Marilyn pleads softly, and you sink, deeper and deeper into where you yearn to be.

“You’re shaking.” The other woman breathes out, eyes so caring as she then pulls you closer and back to her; then she tips over the line between you and you fall.

Because she brings you into a hug, and you gasp so hard when her arms wrap around you and you feel her chest press up against yours; and your nose is shoved into her neck, red hair spilling all around you.

Her scent is overwhelming, and you don’t have any strength left in you, none at all as you breathe in deep, circle your arms around her too, and moan softly into her skin.

Your senses pick up how her breath hitches, how blood rushes to her cheeks at the sound. She pulls back, and you feel your stomach flip at how her hazel eyes have darkened. Her lips part, like she was weighing what to say.

“Honey,” Marilyn starts, and there’s this tone in her voice you can’t say no to. It has your eyes flickering to her lips, desperate and doe eyed. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Yes, you think. Yes, I’ll do anything for you.

Before you can think better of it, the words spring from your lips at her gentle, warning command.

“M’in heat.” You slur, throat bobbing as you shyly look to her neck instead of her eyes because as much as your inner wolf wants to do what Marilyn says, you’re heating up in shame and embarrassment.

Marilyn’s eyes narrow in confusion. “You’re in...?”

Then, her expression eases into realisation. “Oh.”

You shut your eyes briefly, reopening them and seeing her toss a questioning look to her coat on her desk. “But you were...with my...?”

You watch Miss Thornhill put the pieces together in her mind, how it slowly dawns on her and you almost start begging for her, because Marilyn softens into this sympathetic look, breathing out an “Oh, sweet girl.” that you swallow thickly at.

Then her hand cups your cheek, and you deflate with need, nuzzle into her palm with a mewl. Your head goes foggy with arousal, your heat is flaring and flaring you’re drenched with slick at this point as you look up, and Marilyn’s eyes are so warm and dark and enraptured, for you.

You have no idea how you got here, how this is real; but you aren’t questioning it, you aren’t running away from this, ever.

“I’m sorry,” You say, voice cracking in places. “I know it shouldn’t be you but it is and I can’t-I couldn’t do anything about it.” You say.

“I need you,” You whine out, desperate and a little pleading. “I need you and it hurts Mari, please. Please.”

“God,” The other woman breathes out, and you can hear how fast her heart beat is, how her eyes dilate and how Marilyn’s scent changes all together. It’s so musky, sweet and alluring, you want to be covered in it.

Her hand falls to your hips, thumbs riding up a little underneath your sleep shirt and you’re suddenly hyper aware how short your shorts are, because when she moves forwards you feel the material of her jumpsuit rub against your thighs, how the top buttons of her blouse are open baring warm, pale skin. You gasp softly as she traps you against her desk.

“You’re in heat...for me?” She says, like she needed clarification, to know that if she kisses you how far it’ll go.

And you almost buckle at how gravelly her voice has dipped. You nod, fingers white knuckling on the edge of her desk behind you.

“You.” Is what you breathe out in confirmation, voice shaking. There’s no one else. You want to say. It’ll only ever be you.

Miss Thornhill bites her bottom lip lightly, tilting her head, and your eyes zero in on the movement.

“Do you need me to look after you, baby?” Marilyn asks, and fuck, it’s all degrading and soft and kind and you want her to always call you these names. You whine, almost breaking your neck with how fast you nod.

“Yes, please. Please.” You beg, you’re way past caring how whiny you sound. Your brain is just flooded with breed me, I’m yours. Only yours. And you know she’s only human and that’s another cruel twist of fate for you, but you don’t care. It’ll be enough. She’s enough.

As if reading your mind, Marilyn's fingers at your hips dip into the waistband of your shorts, playing with the hem as she sits patiently and waits for your consent. “What will help? Tell me how you need me, sweetie.”

Your desperate eyes flick down to her lips.

“K-Kiss me,” You say, barely above a whisper, and before you can beg her and get on your knees just for her to touch you, Miss Thornhill softens, leaning close and taking your lips in hers.

It’s fucking fireworks, something inside of you just, clicks into place. You immediately reach up, grabbing for a lifeline, fisting her red hair in your hands and she groans. Her tongue is inside your mouth before you can gasp, and she tastes exactly how she smells; that sweet earthy scent you gulp down.

You deepen it, pulling her so close your hips knock and it's so hungry because you’re throbbing, you think you might die if she doesn’t fuck you right now.

You buck, push your body closer, Marilyn’s breath is hitching and she’s making these soft noises that your werewolf preens at.

You’re feverish and slick and you don’t even think when you grab for her hand at your hip, urging her beneath the waistband of your shorts with this desperate grunt, that turns into a mewl as Marilyn breaks the kiss and breathes against your lips.

“Fuck,” You watch her throat bob, an unrestrained desire in her brown eyes with how you whine for her, force her inside you and-

You buckle forwards, resting your forehead on her shoulder as you gasp, shut your eyes in pure euphoria as she enters you with two fingers, slipping so easily inside your slick that the sensation makes Marilyn gasp.

You clutch to her shoulders, moaning into her neck, and the constant anxiety from your heat is melting away in your mates' arms, you feel so right and full and you need more, you know she can’t knot you but the thought is enough to make you sink on her fingers harder, making Miss Thornhill whimper.

“J-Jesus, baby,” She moans, high pitched as she curls her fingers inside you, forearm straining with the effort.

“You’re so wet. This is all for me?” She asks, in awe, like she couldn’t believe you’re real.

When you look up, you nod, panting as you ride her. As the desk keeps squeaking with her thrusts. As you gulp down her scent mixing with yours and then you pick up on the thick, overwhelming scent of her arousal and your entire body shakes.

You hold to her forearm, just to feel the muscles flexing with her effort, and it makes you soak her fingers even more when you feel the definition under your fingers from where her sleeves are rolled up.

Then she’s gently urging you harder against the desk, enough that you hop up onto the edge so she can slot between your spread legs. The new angle has you gasping, eyes watering in arousal.

“Mari,” You whine out, slurred and hazy. Marilyn is enamoured by you, not slowing down her thrusts as you near your peak; her thumb rubs deep and hard at your hardened clit, enough for you to see stars but you can’t come. You don’t have your dominant’s permission. You can’t until she marks you until she scents you in her own way.

She kisses you again, making you chase her lips when she pulls back to speak.

“Oh, sweetheart,” She moans. “What do you need? I’m here. Tell me.” Marilyn says, as desperate as you are for you to come.

Her lips part, eyes suddenly vulnerable as she fucks you. “This...this is new for me too.” She admits, and you whimper lightly as you cup her cheek and buck against her fingers. “Is this enough? Do you need more, baby? Is that it?”

You nod, hard and fast, it makes her soften as you gasp out. “M-More. Deeper too, please.”

Then, Marilyn’s adding a third finger and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

The guttural moan that leaves you shocks you, has Miss Thornhill whimpering against your ear. You fall forwards again, needing to rub to her neck and scent her skin. You slur into her neck that ‘More, s’good, feels, fuck-” and Marilyn’s heart beat is loud beneath her neck.

You’re so close, you’re so close but you know you’re missing that one thing you need. Pulling back, doe eyed and needy, you shyly pant against her lips.

“Mari. Mari. N-Need you to-” Your breath hitches, because Marilyn curls impossibly deeper and has you seeing white.

“I need you to mark me.” You rush out, breathless and dripping down her fingers as you swallow thickly and wait for her reply.

Marilyn opens her mouth in shock, eyes blinking back to you beneath her glasses. You whine, because she’s slowed down at your words and she’s blushing and you’re so, so in love with her.

“Darling, but-” She shakes her head softly, sending you a tender, searching look. “I thought that was for- but I’m not your...”

Mate.

You bite your lip, shuffling closer and grinding against her fingers almost to make a point and Marilyn shuts her eyes on a tiny moan when you kiss her again, breathe against her mouth that-

“You are.” You say, and the truth of that statement has this needy noise leave your lips. “You are and I-” You swallow, watch Marilyn’s hazel eyes shine back to you in both shock, love, and adoration.

“I need you to mark me. Make me come. Make me yours.” You plead, and the other woman is kissing you again with a fever that you gasp at.

Her soft, deep thrusts start again and her lips trail from your mouth to your neck and you bare it to her on instinct, tendon tight against the skin of your neck and you feel Marilyn softly, tenderly, kiss down the area to where she pulls the neckline of your shirt away, exposing your collarbone as she fucks you against her desk and you suddenly want to cry at the display.

And then-

Marilyn’s teeth sink into your skin, at the area where your shoulder meets your neck. Her canines bite down on the muscle and you moan so deep it turns into a sob. You clutch to her back, her claim so sudden and raw and overwhelming that your heart thuds, hard and fast in your chest for her. You don’t know if she knows how much this is for you, how sacred it is for a werewolf.

You suddenly want even more of her, an impossible amount, you want her knot or her fingers in your mouth or her strap.

“Oh, god-” You moan out, tears springing to your eyes at the pleasure and the pain and the feeling flooding you. You feel Miss Thornhill pull back in worry, stuttering in concern, like she hurt you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. Was that-?”

“No!” You rush out to say, desperate to have her teeth back where she was.

“A-Again,” You shyly say, watching Marilyn’s eyes darken and her lips part in surprise. “Want it again, please, don’t stop. It’s so good. Feels-”

Marilyn groans, thigh meeting the thrusts of her hands to fuck you harder and you rock faster against the sensation, choking on a high-pitched whimper. Her tone drops, head tilted as she takes the sight of you in, like she was devouring you.

“Feels what, puppy?” She says innocently, and that word makes you sink, speechless as the subspace takes you over.

“Oh,” Marilyn softens, degrading and gentle all the same. Her eyes glint back to you, gloating in this new found reaction. “You like it when I call you puppy, sweet girl?” She mocks.

You start to sob, so close to coming it’s hurting. You nod, biting your lip and feeling her hit so deep it takes the breath from your lungs. Marilyn presses ever closer, kissing you and tasting your tongue and biting hard to your bottom lip.

“Come for me, puppy.” She moans, breathless at the sight of you. “Come all over my fingers, now honey.” Marilyn demands. “Come for me like the good girl you are.”

It crashes into you, gushing onto her fingers as your orgasm takes over. The slick dripping down your thighs and her fingers is thick and heady, you moan and mewl into her neck, feel your walls clench around her and your claiming bite burns and throbs.

She tenderly helps you ride it out, hushing you sweetly as you pant into her neck and nuzzle into her sweat slicked skin. You clutch her so close, nose the area, bathing in her scent and smiling so wide at the feeling and fuck, before you realise it your throat rumbles on a purr.

You’re purring.

You blush, hoping she didn’t notice, and relax in relief when Marilyn simply kisses the side of your head, down to your cheek, and your lips and jawline. Her thrusts slow down, pulling out and making your breath hitch.

“You okay?” She gently murmurs, making you pull back and soften.

You nod, breathing out, lovestruck and dizzy as you smile shyly, huff on a laugh. “Y-Yeah. More than okay. Perfect.”

Marilyn’s eyes warm, lips quirking up on this tender smile aimed at you and suddenly you want to make her feel good, that part of you made only for the other woman yearns for it. You shift on her desk at the instant need, and Marilyn takes that as a sign that you want her fingers taken out.

She furrows her brows, softly apologises, slowly pulling out and you whimper at not feeling filled by her anymore. Then you glance down and see her fingers coated in your slick, your heat, and your throat croaks on a whine as you look to them needily.

Marilyn tilts her head at your reaction, blushing when she realises what you want.

“Fuck, you want my fingers, sweetie?” She asks, voice husky and dipped in arousal. You nod, not even thinking twice as you obediently open your mouth for her fingers coated in your cum, eyes looking up to her beneath your wet eyelashes.

Your doe eyed look has the other woman’s heart beat pick up, and as Miss Thornhill rests two of her fingers at your bottom lip, pulling it down gently, her eyes are an inky blackness. Your tongue darts out to taste yourself, eyes closing on a groan as you lean forwards and take them fully in your mouth.

You wrap your lips around her digits, sucking and moaning in ecstasy and it has you throbbing again when you open your eyes, see the effect of you deep throating Marilyn’s fingers has on her. She starts to pump softly, completely and utterly enraptured by you and when you choke lightly, eyes watering, it breaks something inside of you.

You let go of her fingers with a moan and hop down from the desk, flipping your bodies as Marilyn gasps and blinks in surprise to you. She steadies herself on the edge of it, palms clenching the wood between her fingers.

“Darling girl, what are y-”

Then you sink to your knees and Marilyn parts her lips, breath hitching at the sight. You look up to her, leaning back on your haunches and biting your lip in need. You can’t even wait for permission, just immediately unbuckling her belt around the jumpsuit and reaching up to her hips.

Marilyn moans softly at the sight, lets you unbutton it down, down, until she shrugs out of the top half and it’s pooling at her mid-thigh; and her chest is heaving against the restraints of her black bra. The plane of her stomach rises and falls with her breaths, the soft skin of her lightly defined abs is so alluring, you want to lick and bite and suck at the swell of her ribcage.

She shyly fixes her glasses and shifts on the spot, hand coming down to run through your hair softly and you suddenly want to make her feel as loved as you do.

The smell of her arousal has you whimpering, has you just losing all sense of control as you press forwards, pulling down the waistband of her underwear that are soaked; tongue darting out to taste her as Marilyn gasps. The other woman chokes on this moan, fist tightening in your hair making you mewl into her as she rides your face.

You suck her clit, moan when she startles at the sensation and bucks harder into you and your hands come to her thighs, holding her in place against your mouth and tongue.

“Oh my god,” Miss Thornhill pants out, when you chance a look at her, eye lids fluttering open briefly, you see the defined angle of her jawline as she tilts her head back and her throat bobs.

“Baby, you-” Her words break off into a needy whine, head tilting back down as she watches you go down on her. “There, right there, don’t stop. That’s it. Jesus, such a good girl.”

The praise has you preening, a little dumbed down and blushing as you work your mouth harder against her. Here, you think of wanting her strap, and almost come at the thought of sucking the length and taking her like this – you wonder if she’d come at the sight of your lips wrapped around her cock.

Marilyn tastes so good, you want to always be drenched in this, down to your chin and neck, like you are now.

Then, her hand in your hair tugs, fisting, and she suddenly comes against your mouth with a breathless gasp, your name on her lips moaned over and over.

You swallow her, moaning at the taste, and you pull back when she urges you to with her hand in your hair. You obediently sit back, still kneeling, looking up to your mate with starry eyes and her come on your lips and Marilyn’s chest rises and falls; like she realises just exactly what you both have started.

Then she pulls you up to her, a little desperately, and kisses you; her warm tongue is in your mouth and both of your arousals mingle together in the kiss.

It tastes like ambrosia, like honey, something you’ve been needing, searching for, your whole fucking life.

#marilyn thornhill x reader #marilyn thornhill #wednesday netflix #laurel gates x reader #christina ricci #fanfic #reader fic #sorry i got carried away. or not sorry? depends on how you look at it!!!!

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hungerofhadarr · 2 months

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Okay . She mass on my gate until the Baldur is effected . Is this Anything .

Like I said b4 … Wyll is a human Spectre with artificial biotics that Mizora funds and controls . Hidden face of the Alliance he probably doesn’ t have any identifying symbols but he’ s . He is the Omniblade of the Frontiers . You feel me ? He would be a Sentinel honestly … the class just fits him the best … Rarely gets actual assignments but always has access to a ship , aid , evac , etc due to being a spectre and also … Mizora … she is not letting him go he is her magnum opus .. like I also stated b4 the artificial biotics definitely have very Adverse and Dangerous side effects , so he has to keep up with a lot of medication and routine hospital checks and medical testing , but he also cannot have it removed unless Mizora willingly removes it , because she is the only one that really can ..

Karlach . Okay . So . She has to be like a Cerberus Super Solider Test right . Like she was under Project Zariel and the whole point was to make an extremely powerful and unbeatable soilder , leading to still having her heart replaced with a mechanical replacement . That is still killing her because it’ s not like it was anything more that a prototype , and she escaped before it was fully fixed and updated so she could live without needed it monitored and constantly tweaked 24/7 .. now I know that this would make her human but the vision of Krogan or YAGH KARLACH is also fucking dope .. sorry Yagh Karlach is like cocomelon to me right now . Honestly I think that’ s gonna be the only way . Yaghlach …. Full solider class , something like a Dragoon without biotic whips

Astarion is Ardak-Yakshi . Look me in my eyes and tell me I am wrong . I am not . Um I think huntresses are like . The asari term for infiltrators … he kinda has to be that . When he was being transported to the Monastery , the ship got attacked and Cazador was the one to “ save him “ . Now , here’ s where I am pondering . Cazador can be another Ardak-Yakshi , targeting others when they are being transported to the monasteries , and is trying to like . Set up his own personal army of them . You know how Morinth says that Ardak-Yakshi are the perfect future of the Asari race ? Yeah . He’ s taking that to heart . OR . Or . He can be a scientist . Human , maybe , or whatever . But he is a non-asari Fully fixated on Ardak-Yakshi and trying to understand how it develops and how he can utilize it . Can he somehow develop something to mimic this power , can he work backwards to recreate it … etc etc

… Lae’zel should be a Prothean survivor . I was kinda going back and forth between Quarian or Batarian , but she would be a fucking Prothean !!!!! Avatar of go fuck yourself . She would be similar to Javik and be an avatar of something very similar . Revenge , I think . I think she would choose Revenge to be what she represents. I mean , Protheans and Collectors echo Gith and Mindflayers to Be Clear and Frank .. Prothean born near the end of her original cycle and was forced into a cryopod .. ohh wouldn’ t it be fucked up if Voss gave up his pod for her ? Like he knew they would need her and her youth and her ability to adapt for the next cycle and made sure she would survive .. ORPHEUS . Ohh okay . She thinks that he was a betrayer and ratted out Prothean resistance groups but she learns through having access to the archive and with new research that he was the last standing against indoctrinated groups trying to betray a save zone … yeah … Vlaakith is like . Sovereign . And keeps trying to speak to her through the collectors and trying to convince her to join them . She also probably preys upon her fear of being forgotten or failing her duty .. Ohhh fuck yeah

Gale is . Okay I have Two Ideas . The most ‘ correct ‘ one is that he is a Drell biotic who would be like . A wandering scholar ? Like his purpose is to gather knowledge and experience and bring it back to Kahje . Mystra could be the one he serves in a Compact , alongside other drell like Elminster .. he’ s been sent off world after getting too cocky and overstepping in the eyes of Mystra , and he needs to go learn humility before he can return back . He’ s an adept .. trying to translate the orb … either it is Kepral’s Syndrome and he’ s gone without care for it for a concerning stretch of time , or it could be related to biotics in some way … how ? Good question . But honestly it would make the most sense if he did have Kepral’s Syndrome in place of the orb . Okay second idea that I won’ t go with but i like . Geth Gale ( chose the name Gale based on the definitions of both a strong wind and an outburst ) who is now an outlier Geth .. MYSTRA was like . A group name for his collective mind until he was cast out from the group . YOU GOTTA ADMIT YOU GET THIS VISION TOO

Shadowheart . I really like her as a Quarian .. Quarian who was taken away from the fleet and raised outside of it .. being told all her life her family gave her up and traded her so they couldn’ t be exiled from the fleet .. So she lives in full resentment of them and the fleet and other Quarians she sees on pilgrimage because of how cruel it was for her to not have that , that her family gave her up and never tried to contact her , that the fleet would be so cruel to her and allow such a trade off ... but that isn’ t actually true . She was forcefully taken and raised by non-quarians , mostly because they saw her as a chance to try and understand the Quarian immune systems and responses and use that research for riches … if they can reverse engineer a way to artificially boost immune systems and make Quarians pay a random for it , then.. project SHAR . That is what I’ ll call it . That is also why her hand is constantly injured they’ re running tests and using that wound like a controlled variable . Aylin and Isobel are Quarians too , and Aylin has been on a hunt to find Shadowheart since she learned of her kidnapping .. she’ s the team medic but also the engineer … spirit guardians are still a thing they are drones that shoot rockets at you

#bg3 #mass effect #wyll ravengard #karlach cliffgate #astarion ancunin #lae’zel of crèche k’liir #gale dekarios #shadowheart #bg3 wyll #bg3 karlach #bg3 astarion #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 gale #bg3 shadowheart #hey …. how we feeling about this …#long post

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 months

Note

can you suggest fics with love confessions/first kiss

Hey Nonny!

It's not much, but I do have enough fics compiled for a new Love Confessions list! Check these out, and also have a look-see at my other lists below! I just recently posted Part two of my First Kiss list, so enjoy that as well!!

As usual, suggestions are welcome, friends!

LOVE CONFESSIONS Pt. 6

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

... / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / ...

Love Confessions Pt. 3

Love Confessions Pt. 4

Love Confessions Pt. 5

Christmas-Time Love Confessions

First Kiss (Updated March 24/23)

First Kiss Pt 2

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

A Comprehensive Taxonomy of Tobacco-Ash by Silvergirl (E, 11,475 w., 2 Ch. || No TRF AU || Cranky Sherlock, Alternating POV’s, Self-Esteem Issues, Jealous John, Pining John, Confessions, First Kiss, Frottage, Bed Sharing, Sensuality, Cuddling, Touching) – A handsome academic approaches Sherlock about publishing his magnum opus on tobacco-ash in a prestigious scientific journal. Sherlock is quite flattered and flustered, and John’s nose is out of joint.In this little AU there is no Fall and no Mary. Instead, there is humor and smut. Truly a disproportionate amount of smut.

Both Sides Now by Silvergirl (M, 14,724 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TEH / Reunion Fix-It, Bed Sharing, First Kiss / Time, Undercover John, Couple for a Case, Assassin Mary, Big Brother Mycroft, Norfolk Coast, Angry John, First Kiss, Worried Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Alternating POV, Infidelity, Meddling Mycroft, Emotional Love Making, Matchmaker Mycroft) – Sherlock, undercover on the Norfolk coast, texts that he needs help; John is still seething after Sherlock’s gambit in the train car, and he refuses. When Sherlock goes missing, Mycroft sends John in to pose as Sherlock’s bit on the side.

The Slow Dance and Death of a Carbon Copy by batslikepastel (T, 15,576 w., 8 Ch. || Angst with Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Mental Health Issues, Mary is Not Nice, Idiots in Love, Eventual Fluff, Developing Relationship, Alcoholism, Love Confessions, BAMF John, First Kiss) – He hasn’t talked to Sherlock outside the bedroom since that first night. Today, though, when Sherlock painstakingly makes John’s favourite breakfast- eggs Benedict- he smiles delightedly and kisses his cheek. “Thanks, Mary.” The first sign of delusion.

Swallow the Night by ArwaMachine (E, 87,873 w., 15 Ch. || TSo3/Stag Night Fix It, TAB/S4 Divergence, Toplock, Mutual Pining, PWP, Drunk / Public Sex, Anal Fingering/Sex, Alcohol-Induced Amnesia, Everyone Knows Except Them, Emotional Love Confession, Demisexual Sherlock, Internalized Homophobia [John], Parentlock with Rosie, First Kiss, Drug Relapse, Infidelity, Texting, Masturbation, Oblivious John, Emotional Love Making, Angst with Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares) – “Do you know how long,” John panted, his cheek scraping against the wall, looking back at Sherlock through half-closed eyes, “I’ve wanted this?” Sherlock pressed himself against John’s back, biting at John’s ear. “Not nearly as long as I have,” he whispered.

Bakers with Benefits by Raina_at (E, 88,130 w., 14 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Strangers to Lovers, Switchlock, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Alcoholism / Past Drug Use, Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Past Sherlock/Victor, Mutual Pining, POV Sherlock, Obsessive Sherlock, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (E, 109,272 w., 60 Ch. || S4 Compliant to TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock’s Italian Adventure, Sherlock/OC and Johnlock, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Idiots in Love, 3 Part Story, Slow Burn, Inexperienced Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Introspection, Multiple Alternating First and Third Person POV, Separation and Reconciliation, Emotional Love Making, Love Confessions via Letters, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. Part 1 of the Drawn to Stars series

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #love confession fics #my fic recs

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dvzaiosamu · 2 months

Text

Recommending Ao3 fanfics — bsd

Yeah, again, recommending fanfics! Just eat them all, I know yall are hungry.

Hope yall enjoy these series and maybe I'll continue to post these.

Circus tent [no ship].

Summary: Dazai had never known how to react. He knew watching well - he watched blood pour out of gunshot wounds, watched Mori slit the Old Boss’ throat, watched Chuuya’s beatific dance of destruction every time it was deemed needed. But that’s the extent of his natural abilities. Dazai knew only to watch, but never to react. He was not built to interact like that. He was not meant to be anything more than a passing spector, watching the coming and going of mortal lives. Dazai had never known how to react. But he’d learnt to act. It was necessary, and inevitable. He was a ghost made to puppet mortal flesh, and that meant that one way or another he would be seen and he would affect those around him - no matter how much he detested it. So Dazai had learnt to act. He wasn’t very good at it. He knew jokes eased social pressure. He knew comedy would help him slip through conversations. And so he fashioned himself a clown. Not a very good one, but a clown nonetheless! His eerie blankness hidden behind an act of jovial foolishness. What a joke! It was the comedy of the century, a true magnum opus! And so Dazai built his circus tent.

Letter for Mackerel — [soukoku]

Summary: I started to come more often, to check on you. I can't see you, hear you, feel you; I can only imagine. I would like to know that you hear me, that you know how much I hate you for leaving me, and how much I love you to be here more often than I could be when you were with me.

Retrouvailles (Chase me, Love me.) — [soukoku]

Summary: A derived situation of when Chuuya goes down to the attic/torture chamber where Dazai is locked up in chains, detained by the Port Mafia (Anime: Ep9,S1: The Beauty is Quiet Like a Stone Statue), and Dazai tries to gain Chuuya's forgiveness.

Ghost — [soukoku]

Summary: The first time Dazai tried to kill himself with a blade, he was fifteen. He tried other things before, of course; cocktails of pills and carefully knotted rope were no stranger to him. But blades were a new concept entirely, an untapped market he was honestly surprised he hadn’t tried before.

The first time Dazai tried to kill himself with a blade, he didn’t go too far. It was painful. Drops of blood pooled around the cuts and began dripping down his arm. But as much as he yearned for the sweet release of death, as blurry as his vision got from the blood loss, his heart never stopped.

Basically, Dazai's journey with his depression based on the song Ghost by Badflower. Huge TW for self harm and suicide.

A Cloth Heart and the Hands that Sow — [soukoku]

Summary: Forgiveness took time but Dazai would let go of every grudge if it meant he got to be with Chuuya. Soulmates polished through years of half-hearted petty fights and late-night talks, they were molded through each other.

Dazai could never ask for anything more than Chuuya’s hatred but he would worship Chuuya’s love. That was just how they were, stubborn and loving, they waded through the currents of life’s flood only to breathe each other in.

Chuuya and Dazai are so in love it physically hurt, they finally talk about things like normal people let's go(shocking I know)

Soukoku x Somewhere Only We Know by Keanu

Dead People don't come to Life — [dazai]

Summary: “Dazai, i’m serious, do not even dare hang up this pho-”

Ranpo’s blood went cold as he was interrupted by a loud noise.

A gunshot.

Dazai's missing. Normal, right?

Until Yosano receives a bone-chilling call, and the agency is reminded that dead people don't come back to life.

Dead Plate — [soukoku]

Chuuya Nakahara gets a new waiting job at his local fancy restaurant, owned by none other than Dazai Osamu. A chef with incredible culinary skills, though Chuuya isn't a fan of his food.

He's only planning to work there for a week, but what happens when the head chef takes a liking to the waiter?

Dazai Osamu becomes a little too obsessed with making Chuuya enjoy his food, and goes a tad too far...

Skk x Dead plate!!

He was a Sk8er boi, he said annoy you l8r boi — [soukoku?]

Summary: The year?

2003ish.

The vibe?

Fresh off a painful split from his friends, skater boy Chuuya ends up moving in with the weird kid Dazai and his guardian Mori & is thrust into high school with all the teen angst, sexuality confusion, popularity politics, and pranks one might find there. Oh, and that rather mysterious, disturbing past of his comes to light. Only blasting pop punk music will save him.

Meanwhile, Dazai’s suicidal plans have been interrupted by a new toy—dog, boy, whatever—to play with. If only he could stop being an asshole and figure out what these strange new emotions mean.

And then why don’t either of them feel like real human teenagers?

The dynamic?

“Dazai wants to keep him in a cage like a canary—chattering loudly in the corner, pretty to look at, something he could sink his teeth into.” VS. “Chuuya only allows himself a moment of sadness for Dazai, before thinking, He’s so fucking annoying, no wonder he’s lonely.”

And I taste happiness on your lips — [soukoku]

Summary: “I know you like looking at me in the morning”.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes and his voice is still half asleep. Chuuya's heart has grown ten sizes, he has no idea how it can still fit into his ribcage. He doesn’t bother to find some snarky reply to Dazai’s comment - he’s right after all.

“I wouldn’t let you sleep in my bed if I didn't like looking at you”.

“Our bed”.

And that's also true – Chuuya can't remember the last time he slept alone, nor the last time he walked around his house without finding traces of Dazai everywhere. Ours.

Happiness, yes, this must be it, there’s no other possible answer.

Once More to See You — [soukoku]

Summary: “…You won’t stay.” Chuuya didn’t lift his head, simply staring idly at the crab patterns on the younger’s shirt.

Dazai closed his eyes with a slow exhale. “Yes. You know why.” He squeezed his hand.

Chuuya squeezed back, eyes brimming with a sadness only preserved for this conversation. “Yeah…I’m sorry, Osamu.”

The brunette didn’t reply, only pulling Chuuya closer and clinging to him tightly.

---

Chuuya and Dazai struggle with hiding their relationship from public eye, especially from their own organisations. A realistic take on how Soukoku's relationship would affect their lives.

Flowers — [soukoku]

Summary: “Most men don't receive flowers until their funeral.”

Was something Dazai overheard grabbing his usual coffee.

His first thought was “Couldn't be me, Chuuya gets me flowers for almost every occasion!”

His second thought was “Has Chuuya ever received flowers?”

Admittedly, never from Dazai though. For all the years they’ve been together, it’s always been Chuuya giving him flowers.

But Chuuya wouldn’t have to wait until his funeral to receive flowers, not if Dazai had anything to do with it.

In the Mirror, I Bloom — [soukoku]

Summary: It twists him, turns him, curls in his chest like something alive, something he knows but can’t dare to name. Chuuya curses the red-black petals that fall from his lips, these nearly rotten things that tear him apart from the inside out. Part of him wants to rip his own traitorous heart out, through a ribcage shattered by feelings he can’t contain.

Anger is easy, a thing he’s learned to control. This— whatever the hell this is— is not.

Or at least it’s easier to feel as though this is beyond his own control, because Chuuya is not in love.

(It feels like a lie even to himself.)

After he's hit by a strange ability, Chuuya is forced to consider truths he'd much rather keep hidden- but not everything is as simple it seems.

Vicious Footsteps — [soukoku]

Summary: "Please don't leave me, don't leave me in this hellhole with him"

"I'm sorry Dazai, I can't stay here any longer. Thank you for everything, I did enjoy hanging out with you but...this is where we part ways."

"Wait!-"

He closed the door on him, hoping he would also eventually look for the light just like Chuuya.

Eventually, 2 years later they reunited again.

Will Dazai forgive him after 4 years of no contact?

a soukoku role-reversal fanfic

Chuuya leaves the port mafia after the death of the flags, but Dazai does not take it well and start to become more obsessive.

It Was All in My Mind — [soukoku]

Summary: Dazai can’t cope with Chuuya’s death or being stuck in the Port Mafia, so he literally goes crazy and finally kills himself.

#bsd #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #osamudazai #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dvzaiosamu #soukoku #fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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neutron-stars-collision · 9 months

Text

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 1 - Stratford Underground Station

Masterlist Summary: Everybody knows anything can happen on London tube. That includes meeting a handsome stranger with a strange name, who doesn't mind saving a ballerina in distress. Chapter playlist Warnings: Swearing and E-rated language (as the preview already shows). Author's Notes: So it's finally here, my opus magnum. Or so I hope. As I've hinted before, this project is the love-child of a few things - my unfading obsession with Neil, fascination with London and the love of public transport. Or something along those lines. I've no idea how long it'll be, or the exact details of what's going to happen, but I know that it's going to be fun. For both me, and them. And you, too, I hope. Chapter titles come from station names (in case you've been wondering) and I decided to go wild and attach a short, chapter-centric playlist to each of them, because why not. Enjoy and please, let me know what you think 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

The discovery that it would be a day came a mere two hours after the harsh sound of your phone alarm. Its harbinger took the form of Liam – a moderately tall, dark-haired man with an acceptable face and an ability to make you come that did not seem to get the hint.

Instead, he continuously nagged you for days after the (absolutely intended) ghosting you have implemented. While you would admit it was harsh, it was also not your fault that you had enough of him after the hook-up no 5. It was just fine, nothing spectacular and, most importantly, it was getting predictable. Solution? Ending the situationship before it could become a chore rather than a pleasure. Problem? Liam did not seem to think the same.

So, when, this morning, you finished the lukewarm coffee and picked up the phone to check the socials before leaving, only to find another string of texts with pathetic emojis, the mood has soured. It was nothing new, just more hearts, pleading eyes and invocations to your goodness, all culminating in the same way. With another proposition of date, with another love confession he could not have possibly meant. This time, you’ve had enough. You ignored the urge to smash the phone and instead broke the silence by sending him a simple message – Fuck off. With that, you let out a string of curses that probably made poor Miss Stevens next door recoil in disgust and blocked Liam. The triumphant spark did not outweigh the annoyance, however.

The second blow of the day came not that much later and could also easily be blamed on Liam. Or so it was easier to believe. There was no sense of distraction as you tied up the ribbons of your pointe shoes and started warming up. And, at first, it was all just as it was supposed to. You welcomed the opening notes of the coda enthusiastically, happy to go through the steps just as you were supposed to be. As you were taught. A turn after turn, the burning in your legs felt like a benediction. That was what you were always supposed to do.

Until it started to feel different.

One misstep was instantly noticed by Jane, who danced alongside you, perfecting the same choreography. You could hear her quiet gasp, wordlessly pointing out the mistake you would never have missed anyway. In a split second, you knew it was enough to throw you off, losing the tempo and balance, barely managing not to sprain your ankle and topple onto the parquet. Refusing to look at Jane, you slid down the wall by the barre and let out a frustrated groan. Not long after that, you decided to check out of the studio. One humiliation was quite enough.

By the time you had set onto Southwark station, intending to catch the tube back home, you were half contemplating unblocking Liam to sue him for mental damages. And the cost of reparations of your dignity. It seemed like a fair deal, considering everything. On autopilot, you descended the steps to the station, welcoming the cooling air of the metal-plated hall. While the whiteish subway tiles in most stations felt like home, the futuristic tinge of Southwark had always felt special. Even if the afternoon bustle could sour your mood and make you throw daggers at any human in your path. There was a dose of relief in the knowledge that it had already been done. You were pissed off beyond measure.

Any innocent bystander could probably see it in the angry square of your shoulders as you strode through the ticketing hall and past the gates. After all those years, there was no need to check the signs; your body knew where to go. Down the escalator, following the graphite signage leading towards the correct platform. Once you were there, you looked up at the timing screen to check the ETAs. Stanmore 2 mins. Thank fuck. Moving down the platform like god intended, you got lost in the chaotic ambience. Sometimes, especially on those difficult days, the noise was better than any music you could listen to. The babbling children, the chatting adults, and, if you were lucky, an odd bark or two in between. That, combined with the PA overhead, was enough to ground you. To take in that deeper breath.

Only that tell-tale whoosh of the approaching train could pull you back into the moment, the body yet again taking the needed steps without you ever telling it to. One step back, not crossing the yellow line. Two steps to the side, aligning with the platform edge doors, yet not standing in the way of those leaving. By the time the train arrived, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. A surveying look inside the cart told you the crowds had been avoided. Luckily. With only a handful of people occupying the space, you stepped aboard and zoned in on one of the empty seats by the window.

It was then that fate chose to intervene again.

You barely stepped in the right direction before the train started again, the sudden movement throwing you off balance and making you drop the bag hung precariously on your shoulder. You watched it fall, unzipped pouch spilling the insides onto the dirty grey floor. Another string of curses lodged in your throat as you knelt among the wreckage of personal items. Before you could reach for the notebook, another hand appeared on the edge of your vision. Long, fair-skinned fingers met yours over the moleskin cover, making you look up and follow the outline of a person. Up over the legs, clad in black jeans and over the bare forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of a dress, pinstripe shirt. Until you met the striking blue eyes of the man kneeling in front of you, having joined the fray. The stranger stared back, his piercing gaze roaming over your features, seemingly just as struck as you were.

A beat passed, and neither of you moved. You glanced up, taking note of the dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The announcement over the system began calling up Waterloo. It was the wake-up you both seemed in need of. He was the first to shake off the stupor, snatching the notebook to place it in your waiting palm. He shot you a friendly smile, the expression brightening his stunning features.

“Bad day?” his husky voice was another pleasant surprise, shooting through your brain like the restart to the systems you seemed to have been missing.

You looked up to find him one step ahead again. There was something mysterious in his handsome face, instantly making you forego the suspicions against strangers. This one did seem at all dangerous.

At least, you hoped he wasn’t.

A sardonic smile invited itself onto your face. For the first time since the morning, the expression was not forced.

“You could say that” picking up the bag, you accepted the belongings he had collected from the floor and hoped to convey the gratitude through a simple word “Thanks,”

“No worries. Hope that’s everything…” the stranger threw a final glance at the cart floor and got up, brushing the dust off his knees.

The nagging feeling in the back of your head did not ease off, helping you decide what the next step should be. After all, there was no reason to cut the interaction short. One glance out the window told you there was still time. The train had just left the Waterloo station, giving you at least a quarter of an hour till you had to get off.

Perhaps, that was your sign from the petty destiny to get your shit together. Strictly speaking.

“Looks like it,” dropping the remaining items into the pouch, you extended your hand in greeting, “I’m Y/N,” raising your head to find his gaze, you were welcomed with yet another bright smile.

Judging by the lines around his mouth and crinkles in the corners of his eyes, your mysterious saviour did smile a lot. The realisation only strengthened the conviction, pulling you into his orbit effortlessly.

His warm palm engulfed yours in a firm handshake. It lasted just a second too long, yet no complaints were to be raised.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Neil,” the gleam in his eyes was like the poisoned edge of a dagger, a fatal weapon to strike you down should you be reckless.

You knew for sure that face would be hard to forget. Even if you were to never see it again after today.

“You don’t look like a Neil,” catching onto the peculiarity of his name, you shot him a cheeky smile.

Finally remembering what started the ordeal, you took the seat you had been hovering over and motioned for Neil to join you. He did not hesitate.

It only made you like him more.

“Elaborate, please,” the curious tint in his voice, completed by a deadpan look, made you grin, unable to defy his charm.

Not that you were trying to, anyway.

Making a show of giving yourself time to think of an answer, perfected by the loud hum and a hand stroking your chin, you measured him critically. Still amazed by the man Transport for London put on your path. By the seemingly faultless features, harsh lines of his cheekbones and the kind eyes that still held uncertainty that you were all too familiar with.

“You know… a little more geriatric. A little less dashing,” you sent Neil a wink, watching with fascination as the pinkish blush spread over his cheeks.

That sort of reaction was always a compliment. A sign that you should keep going because it could only get better. The frustrating morning had been almost forgotten, having stood no chance against the unpredictability of the interaction.

You could see Neil process the compliment with rapidly blinking eyelids and a parted mouth. Westminster had been called before he spoke again:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it,” the blush had faded slightly, yet the disbelief in his pretty eyes told you he was not used to the flattery.

Which was a surprise considering the way he looked. But that, like all the other discoveries you had made within minutes, would have no application. You would likely never see him again.

“You should. I don’t hit on complete strangers every day,” you sent him a pointed look, meaning every word and hoping Neil would see that.

The amused smile he cracked along with a chuckle, were the rewards for the risks you had taken. Being that forward with a stranger could backfire terribly. You had first-hand experience of that. This time, though, no alarm bells were to be heard as you waited for Neil’s response, with your gaze fixed on his face. If only because it was hard to look away.

“Now I’m flattered,” the sparks in his blue eyes burned bright as he took a cursory look out the window and then back to face you with complete focus, “So… do you want to tell me about your day?” the lack of judgement in his gaze helped you decide before you even knew you were considering it.

Usually, confiding in random people met on the tube sounded like a bad idea. Not entirely off-brand for your poor judgements, but still. But this interaction was anything but usual. The temptation was too big to be ignored. You twisted in the plastic seat to face him properly and channelled the anger dormant beneath your skin. It was all too easy to do.

“There’s this guy… We’ve had sex a couple of times, and it was quite good, but now he wants more, and I- I’m not even sure I believe love exists, let alone feel that way about him. Trouble is he doesn’t get the hint, so…” becoming aware you unloaded the whole speech without taking a break to breathe, you took a greedy inhale and spit out the conclusion with a frustrated huff, “He’s just pissed me off” it was a lot.

You could tell Neil was slowly coming to the same conclusions from the dumbfounded look on his face as he processed your rant. He blinked, unseeingly staring at the Jubilee line plan above the opposite seats. The apology was ready on the tip of your tongue when he finally spoke again:

“Overeager?” the sympathetic wince in his face made that same affection stir in your heart.

All because he understood. He got it. And that was rare. Yet again, you contemplated unblocking Liam. This time, to send him Neil’s phone number with an annotation – This guy gets it. He can explain.

But it was hard to say whether Neil would be up for such a task.

“Mm, yeah,” you offered him a tight-lipped smile and a nod, confirming the theory.

“Sorry,” it was your turn to suffer through a double take.

With incredulity filling every inch of your soul, you stared at him in confusion:

“What for?” as the train arrived at another station, you glanced up to check you had not somehow missed your stop.

But it was fine. There was still enough time to continue what was slowly becoming the most fascinating conversation of the previous couple of months, if not years.

It was Neil’s turn to be amused. His eyes roamed over your face as his lips quirked into a smirk. The cheeky expression sent your heart tumbling through the ribcage. You knew he could be dangerous. You were right. Again.

Yet, no sense of foreboding danger could make you look away. That was for the weak. Or the smarter.

“Being a representative of the male species,” Neil shrugged as if his answer did not leave you agape with amazement, “I know almost everything is our fault, one way or another,” the slight grimace passing through his face told you he knew that was an understatement.

But it was better than nothing. Better than the load of self-entitlement and egocentrism displayed by most of the men you had ever met. It sure did set him apart.

“Guess that’s true,” nodding in agreement, you chose to forego the subtlety and reached out to pat his hand, “Thank you, though,” yet met his eyes, not trying to hide the extent of impression he had left on you “I can already tell you’re a better representant of the species than Liam,”

The fading anger at that man seemed so distant now. Like a dream that you could no longer remember, except for how it made you feel. Liam would stay blocked and hopefully never seen again, but now you could finally see yourself having a pleasant evening. That felt like a reward in itself.

“And he’s called Liam? Good god,” Neil’s dismayed tone was the one to bring you back to the present.

The smile played in the corner of his lips. The amused expression was fast becoming your favourite. Which could be problematic, but you were never the one to search your soul if that was uncalled for. Which it definitely wasn’t.

“I know” sharing an eye-roll with your companion, you chose to focus the attention on that second part of the shit day, “The other thing that happened was how I fucked up the ballet practice” almost automatically, you winced, self-consciously rolling the right ankle as if feeling the phantom pain of the twist that never came (thank god) “But it also can be blamed on him,”

Too caught up in the thoughts of vengeance you would never actually implement, you missed Neil’s surprise, reflecting through the widened eyes and an intense stare boring through your temple.

What you did not miss was a question uttered with so much disbelief that your head swivelled in its direction faster than you thought possible:

“Hold on, ballet practice?” Neil’s scrunched-up face, complete with a frown between eyebrows and mouth agape, was the reason for your giggle.

“Yup, I’m a ballerina at the Royal Ballet,” there was an unusual sense of pride in the proclamation.

Probably because it had been a long time since you got a reaction this stunned. You did not remember the last time someone looked starstruck when hearing about your occupation.

“I’ve never met one before,” his blue eyes still roamed over your face with amazement as Neil confirmed the obvious.

While attention was always pleasant and a reason you got into professional ballet in the first place, this kind of focus felt different. It made the rare blush dust your cheeks as joy surged in your veins from the sheer force of being noticed. From being seen through the best you could offer rather than the multitude of shortcomings that were all easy to find.

“Well, now you have,” you opened your arms in the ta-dah motion and added, “A second soloist, to be exact,” the hierarchical promotion was still an additional point of pride.

A result of years of practice and mental conditioning to try and improve. The culmination of hours of pep talks, pleading to your strength not to give up. To keep on trying. A proof that you were good enough. But it was also a reminder that you were not there yet. That there was still more to achieve.

“I’ve no clue what that means,” the apologetic tone in Neil’s voice was another reason for a smile.

Without thinking, you nudged his shoulder with yours and grinned upon noticing the bashful blush creeping back onto his cheeks. That alone was a reason to delve into the explanation:

“That I’ve still got a long way to go if I want to get promoted to principal dancer. Which is the dream,” hope waged war with scepticism as you chose to stare at the window opposite the seats, taking note of the passing darkness of the tunnels outside. That moment of wistfulness inspired the next thing you said, “You could come to see me if you wanted to,” it was another risk taken.

Another potential to end the conversation prematurely by misjudging the limit. Before you could find the tenacity to see the reaction, Neil’s question got rid of the doubts:

“Are you hitting on strangers again?” the smile in his voice was matched by a cheeky grin on his face.

The brightness in his eyes told you he was enjoying the conversation, that it was not just you who been silently wishing for more time. For more opportunities to continue the back-and-forth, testing the limits of what was acceptable within an unusual connection like yours. Because, surely, there were limits. Right?

“You’re not a stranger anymore, Neil,” instead of searching for the lines drawn in the metaphorical sand, you laid a careful hand on his shoulder and watched with the breath caught in your chest as he glanced at it and back at your face. The only indication that too was not a misstep was the darkening shade of pink on his cheeks and the persistent smile, motivating you to land a double strike, “I am, though. Is that bad?” innocently batting your lashes, you signed off the move with a quick stroke of fingers, tracing the collar of Neil’s shirt.

He swallowed hard, clearly reacting to your risqué move. The goosebumps rose on his skin following your touch, making your smile widen. Unwilling to stop the fascinating game just yet, your fingertips skimmed down the front of his shirt to strengthen the invisible lines in the collar and encircle the tortoiseshell button. As your fingers drifted ever so closer to the bared sliver of the chest revealed by the two buttons left undone, Neil gasped and met your searching gaze with an intense look of his own. It was easy to see the curiosity there, brewing underneath the composure. Not for the first time since you met, you wondered what else was hiding behind that steel-like grip of control. What else was there to discover?

“I’m not complaining,” answering your question with ease, Neil did not flinch away from your taxing gaze.

It was good to know. Just because.

Unable to look away, you realised that your hand was outstretched with the fingers lightly touching the collar of his shirt. The heat from his skin radiated onto your palm, making your fingers flex unconsciously. It was your turn to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat, as yet again you found yourself arrested by his gaze. Like then, the time seemed frozen, leaving you stranded between one heartbeat and the next. You were content to stay there.

Only the familiar announcement over the PA system could wake you up. The train is now approaching St. John’s Wood. Your body jolted awake with the curse ready on your tongue:

“Shit, that’s my stop” a spiteful glance at the darkness of the tunnels outside was a reflex, born out of the annoyance for the world that did not seem to care about your happiness or the desire to stay in that Jubilee line train cart till the very end of times. The anger passed quickly, yet you knew the frustration would persevere long after you made it home. The only way to push back against it was to turn your focus back to Neil, “It’s been a pleasure. I’d say I won’t forget you, but I’m not sure I can promise that,” the exaggeration in the statement, and the knowledge that it was unlikely you would forget him, were better left unsaid.

As much as the chance meeting was everything you never dreamt of experiencing, it was just that. A pleasant outlier. The one-off happening, that would never happen again. You could feel the sharp prickle of that realisation stab at your consciousness as you checked whether all your belongings were accounted for and got up from the seat. The train was slowing in the approach at the platform, forcing you to grab onto the nearest railing.

“Try your hardest,” Neil’s response made you whip your head back up to stare at him in confusion until the meaning of his words caught up.

Then you could only grin, willing to stretch the limits one last time.

“Or?” the question was accompanied by the tip of your tongue running over your lower lip as your eyes traced Neil’s gaze.

He caught the hook. The intrigue and hunger in his stare proved the point as he glanced at your mouth, not even trying to resist the obvious trick. You were glad it worked.

One look at the world beyond told you there was no time to lose. The familiar voice called out to make sure everyone minded the gaps, and you could not help but throw one final glance at Neil. His dirty blonde strands caught the fluorescents and created a washed-out halo-like effect. The blue eyes were still fixed on you, observing and calculating. Yet again, a wayward thought begged you to stay. To say fuck it and check what could happen if you had more time. But the courage was not quite there when the train came to a stop, and the doors slid open.

Before you could take that decisive step outside, Neil replied:

“I’ll be disappointed,” the smile in his voice was an easy trigger, bringing a breathless chuckle to your lips.

You still laughed as the doors closed behind you and the train started moving away from the platform. You did not look back, letting the crowd of commuters carry you along the tunnels and towards your apartment. It was better that way.

Only once you got back home did you realise one crucial fact. One simple observation easily missed in the rush of thoughts about striking blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. It had been hours since Liam crossed your mind. And somehow, it all made sense.

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