#there are no secrets that time does not reveal. (musings)

[yeonban]

G. Nikolai sc. ft. @autymns!

❛ What a nice afternoon this is, isn't it, my good sir! ❜ A tip of the hat follows the statement as he continues to walk past the executive without a care in the world, and objectively speaking it is indeed a perfect day - neither too warm nor too frigid, neither too windy nor too humid, the sun seems to cradle the base in its protective embrace rather than wish to turn it into ashes. Subjectively speaking, however... it perhaps isn't the best of days for the protectors of the night, given the resident clown's idle stroll through the halls of their headquarters as though invited to partake in their hosted children's party and presently retiring from it after finishing a fulfilling day's worth of work.

#muse: nikolai gogol. #autymns #* nikolai gogol. / ic. #I'm laughignfh Nikolai woke up and was like Okay! Time for a nice relaxing stroll through the Port Mafia's headquarters! #Does he have a plan in mind? Does he just feel like throwing them into disarray by giving them anxiety about possible traps/bombs/etc? #Who knows! A clown's secrets are not to be revealed until the grand finale! #(He's just fucking w them.) (Probably!) (...Mostly)

[lovebugism]

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?” 

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson. 

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

[ancestryfound-a]

( obligatory tag dump post c: )

#you want to hear a story about dragons? (in character) #there are no secrets that time does not reveal. (musings) #the infamous polar bear boy. (headcanons) #the world is my canvas. (visage) #wanna join dragon club? (asks) #i've already painted a picture across half the world. (aesthetics) #noah rambles. (out of character) #ask meme. #be brave and take your chance. (open starter) #joking is my way of telling the truth. (crack)

[mistydeyes]

hiiiii I LOVE YOUR WORK!!!!!!!! Can you please do 141 with a model reader who does Chanel,Versace etc and she gets an invite to do Victoria’s Secret runway and they see her down the runway how would they react

she’s not any model shes and icon,sex symbol,brains,she is the moment

big inspo for me ( I want to become a model)

AHHH I LOVE THIS! anon i feel you tho, every time i look on pinterest i just want to be a model! thank you for requesting <3

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: The 141 has always had an odd connection of friends, allies, and connections. However, they can't deny that they don't enjoy your luxurious life as a model and the perks that come along with attending one of your shows.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

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A series of events in Milan allowed the 141 to cross paths with you. Staying in a lavish French penthouse was far from what they had expected on a mission dictated by Laswell but her connections with your retired INTERPOL mother had brought them the extravagance of your home and lifestyle. Laswell had to threaten to have their court marshaled if they delayed their arrival home any longer. You thought of that brief moment in summer fondly as you left Gaz a voicemail. "I have a runway in New York coming up, let me know if you'll be on leave," you spoke on the phone, examining your manicured nails, "accommodations and champagne are on me." 

"This is nice," Price said, dropping his duffle onto the marbled tile of their hotel room. "Are you kidding, Cap?" Gaz said as he opened every door into the massive suite, "This is fucking amazing." When they got off the plane at JFK, they had not expected a private driver who brought them to the ornate hotel. The room itself had four separate bedrooms with two bathrooms filled with the best amenities. Soap had taken the opportunity to run over and open a bottle of champagne while Ghost pilfered the small shampoo and conditioner bottles. While the men explored the vast rooms and fought over the beds, there was a knock at the door. Price opened it to reveal a well-dressed bell-hop boy, holding a tray with an envelope. "Four tickets sent by one of the models," he spoke and Price handled the black envelope with embossed pink lettering. "Hell of invitation," he muttered before he looked at the runway time and shared the details with his team. "Wonder what she'll be wearing," Soap mused as he turned to take over one of the bathrooms.

Behind the stage, there was organized chaos with models running around in their silk robes in between the stations. The chatter roared as they chatted with the various hair stylists and makeup artists. "First VS show?" your makeup artist asked as she applied glitter delicately to your primed lids. "Yes, but not my first modeling gig," you smiled as you felt the pressure on your closed eyes, "Versace was beyond a mess compared to this." The artist laughed as she continued to prep your look. You could see mixes of pink and gold applied to your lips and the apples of your cheeks. "We think an olive green liner would look stunning on you," she said before holding a green eyeliner pencil in hand. You nodded in response as you shifted a bit in your robe. You gently closed your eyes again as you envisioned your latest outfit for the night.

Weeks prior you had visited the city to see your outfit for the night. A sage green bra and panty set decorated with pink and glittery flowers to resemble a meadow. Your wings were made of a delicate rose pink chiffon that was reminiscent of a fairy. "Do you like?" the designer asked as you walked around the stand and examined every stitch and detail. You smiled as you nodded happily, feeling the soft fabric under your fingertips. "Any particular inspiration?" you questioned as you made sure to feel the weight of the wings. "The newest line of Victoria's Secret," she spoke dreamily, "the delicacy of nature."

With your makeup and hair done, you walked over to change and receive the final touches from the design team. The group walked rapidly around your figure, assuring every detail would shine when the lights hit your walk. "Have anyone special here tonight?" one of the designers asked as he cut a few loose stitches. "Just a few friends from Europe," you spoke, hoping you didn't sound too entitled. You wanted to talk more but your odd friendship with a small special forces group would definitely reach some tabloids. "You look perfect darling," another designer spoke and you nodded before beginning to walk in your heels. "You can mingle with the others. Your collection is after the classics set," she reminded. You took a deep breath and made some facetious conversation with the other women. They were in awe at your previous shows but you just simply talked as if each was a mediocre experience. "Alright ladies, walk begins in five," a voice called over the comms and you lined up accordingly. As you watched the excited group in front of you, you wondered what you would treat the 141 to for dinner. You were sure if someone knew this is what you thought of before a show, they would laugh.

"Move up, Y/N," the stage manager directed, pulling you out of your food-related musings, "almost time for you to go on." You moved forward, getting into the comfort of your model walk you had done so many times before. You took a deep breath as you heard the live music stream through the curtains and the ethereal light peek through. You looked down at your attire one last time before the model ahead of you returned and it was your turn to awe the show. "Go, go, go," you could hear the stage manager command as the bright lights and menagerie of faces met your gaze.

"I think this is her!" Gaz commented, leaning forward in his chair. "You've been saying that for the past four models," Ghost corrected before he turned to see who was coming out next. As the men directed their gaze to the stage, you confidently strutted onto the platform. They were glued to your figure, perfectly accentuated by the flirtatious lingerie set. The details were delicate and encapsulated your aura. "Fuck." Soap whispered under his breath as the glitter and flower additions to your ensemble shimmered underneath the light. Your wings bounced and looked like they flittered in the air as you made your way in front of the watching crowd. "She's a natural at this," Price commented as he watched the way you walked in a straight line with an air of elegance in each step. He also couldn't deny the way you shined on stage and how the cameras clicked in rapid succession. As you reached the end of the runway, you took an opportunity to look over at the seats you had picked for the 141. You gave a small wink before blowing a kiss in their direction. 

Upon your exiting, there was a clamor amongst the group as to who the kiss was directed to. Primarily, Soap and Gaz were at odds thinking you made eye contact with them as you puckered your glossed lips. Price attempted to put a stop to them before Ghost spoke up. "I'm sure that was for me," he spoke quietly, leaving everyone to shelf the conversation and bring it up later over dinner.

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #mw2 #izzie is writing

[princessbrunette]

thoughts on jj x bunny!reader ??

oooof, yes. i think it’s time we revisit the au where it’s bsf!jj and kook, prissy, well groomed bunny!reader.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 ⋅🐰 ˖°

you’re total opposites. yes you want to fuck eachother. yes you’re both oblivious to this.

your parents were never a fan of the pogue boy from the start. especially your father. he didn’t like the way that dirty pogue with the big smug smile would shake his hand at the door when he’d come round to pick you up, still wearing that black backwards cap and an expression that said ‘i’m probably balls deep in your sweet innocent daughter. you’ll never know.’ they’d scowl when they’d watch you disappear down the driveway with him, clutching his arm, practically rubbing all up on him in your tiny skirts. sometimes he’d even look back at them with a cheeky grin, like he just couldn’t believe it either. it was obscene, but they couldn’t stop you. you were soft, yes — but what bunny wanted, bunny got — and it just so appeared that bunny wanted to slum it with some blonde stoner from the cut, so for now they’d have to bite their tongue until you learn your lesson.

jj can’t spoil you like he wants to, no— he’s broke, and plus there wasn’t much you didn’t already have. but he’ll be damned if he didn’t give you the princess treatment, it was the least he could do for perving on his sweet, innocent best friend who knew no better (right?)

what this entails, is never having the power to tell you no. you need picking up from a kook party because you’re too tipsy and he certainly doesn’t trust rafe cameron to see it to it that you’re safe? he’s already outside, and has been for twenty minutes. you wanna learn how to smoke weed because you’ve never done it before? it’s better off he teaches you anyway, right? he would put his foot down with you, clearly needing some guidance and ‘taming’ if you will, but it’s harder than it seems.

“please, jayj?” you cling to his arm stood at his side, plush tits pressed against his bicep and eyelashes batting up at him routinely.

“nah, don’t do that.” he groans, shutting his eyes.

“pleaaaase?”

“you know it’s like, really not fair to pull the doe eyes on me. disappointing you is like… choking out a baby rabbit or something.”

“so you’ll come with me?” you muse hopefully and his eyes flutter, bordering on a roll as he licks his lips.

“fine, okay? fine.”

“weak.” john b passes by, clucking his tongue with a smug head shake.

“weak and pussy whipped.” pope follows him, bringing his can to his lips.

he’s also always getting looped into all of your girly shit somehow. “lets uh, keep this our special little secret, yeah cupcake?” he’s likely to say from your bedroom wearing a robe too small for him with cucumbers on his eyes, a victim of your ‘spa day’— which he secretly agreed to because he saw the potential of some possible feel-ups. maybe a massage, or showering together. not this shit.

you’ve also heard the phrase. “aint no way you’ve tied a pink ribbon to my bike again, princess.” more times than you can count. again, girly shit.

it does pay off though, the pogue tucked up in your pristine bed when your parents are out of town, whistling jokingly when you arrive back from the shower with just a towel tied round you.

“ooo—wee, aint that a sight.” he calls and you giggle, walking over to his side.

“not ashamed of anythin’ around you, jayj— just that comfortable. look!” you pull the towel off, giggling and doing a spin as you reveal your still dripping naked figure, pretty much the blondes wet dream presented before him.

it’s safe to say he nearly loses composure, but he’ll settle for you riling yourself up based purely on his reaction and praise, writhing your naked body on his lap only fifteen minutes later, humping him through his sweatpants.

“th—this isn’t normal for best friends, jj!” you mewl, body still warm and damp as he paws at you anywhere he can get his hands on.

“sure it is, sweetcheeks. don’t even trip.”

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 ⋅🐰 ˖°

#bimbokendall #jj maybank prompt #bunny!reader

[heavysoldat]

lemonade

neighbor!bucky barnes x housewife!reader

devastated by the spreading talk of your husband’s affair, you’re desperate to find a way to get back at him— and who to do it with.

warnings: smut (cunnilingus, unprotected sex, dirty talk, manhandling, praise & light degradation, creampie, breeding) mutual cheating, insecurities, hints to abusive relationships

(highly inspired by this song)

“How is it?”

The incessant whirring of the washing machine is tunneling in your head, adding to the stress induced migraine you’ve already received. But the man in front of you is more than chipper, smiling as he takes in more of the pie you’ve prepared.

“Amazing.” James compliments, mouth full of cherries and crust.

You give him a smile; weak, barely breaching your smile lines- but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You just seemed hungry.” You muse. “Working outside all morning has gotta make you starved.”

“Well, I won’t turn down a fresh pie, that’s for sure.” He says, washing his mouth down with the lemonade you generously whipped up.

“Your husbands gonna be one happy man, comin’ home to this.” James wipes his face down with a patterned napkin, leaning back into the oakwood dining chair.

You stare ahead blankly, trying to push away the anxiety that’s eating into your stomach like termites— but nothing goes. You can’t explain what you’re feeling, what you’ve been hearing. The secret your husband has been keeping of his affair had no longer been kept, revealed to you by your best friend in town.

She told you about how she saw him, heard him with one of his female colleagues, noticed how much time they spend together daily. How often they both seem to be working late.

The pain you had felt had eaten at you rabidly. You spent days festering, barely able to clean the house without breaking down in sobs, thankful that your husband worked a nine to five and didn’t see the way he made you ache.

You couldn’t give him that. You wouldn’t.

“He’s working late today.” You say, smile deteriorating. “Probably won’t be home until I’m asleep. He’s not that big of a fan of my cooking, anyway.”

James’ eyebrows furrow, “Does he not have tastebuds? You’re a genius in the kitchen, I swear.”

That makes your cheeks heat up, adding to the warmth of the summer weather. “Well, thank you, James.”

“Friends call me Bucky.” He winks, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Bucky it is.” You say.

Bucky is a well-dressed, hard working man from across the street, always tending to his yard or making the exterior of his house fresh. You had always found him attractive. From the day he moved in a few months back he had been in the back of your mind, swirling.

You kept pushing it back, determined to be a faithful doting wife— but it seems that ideal was one-sided.

That gave you an excuse, and excuse to make your vaulted desires come forward. You won’t let your husband see you suffer, but you will let him see you thrive.

You even put on your nicest dress.

“You don’t work?” Bucky asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, no.” You say, “I’m a homemaker.”

“You should be a chef.” He jokes, picking at his plate with a fork.

You giggle, “I don’t have the time.”

“Eh, well,” He says, cleaning off the rest of his dish, “Guess I’ll have to be your pie test subject, then.”

That makes you smile, but more genuine- a spread of butterflies flowing inside your stomach.

You stand up to grab his plate, picking it up and carrying it to the sink to wash.

“Oh, I would’ve gotten that.” Bucky says, sitting up.

“No, no, it’s fine!” You say. “You’ve been working. I got it.”

You bend down to get dish soap, making a show of letting your dress skirt ride up to air your white, lace panties. You linger for just a second too long, before coming back up and actually washing his plate.

As you head back, you wipe off your skirt, dusting off anything that had gotten on it. You don’t miss the way he stares at your thighs, nor the way his eyes drift to your chest as you lean forward.

“I should probably go. Gotta lot to work on.”

As he stands, you grasp his arm, stopping him. “So soon? I could make you some more lemonade.”

You watch as he eyes your hand on his arm, thumbing his flannel with rubbed circles, then gazing back at you.

“As much as I’d love that, I’m pretty behind. I’ll definitely be back, sweets.”

You smile, reaching to paw at his other arm. “I like your company. It gets lonely here, without my husband… having you around is nice.”

“I’m glad.” Bucky says, staring down at you. “I like your company, too, doll.”

You bite down on your lip, playing at the strings of his flannel. “Then why don’t you stay? Just for a little while longer?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, taking a long, considerate pause.

“If I didn’t know any better-“ He notes, speaking slowly, “I’d say you had ulterior motives for invitin’ me over.”

You give him your best doe-eyed look, letting him sit in the silence.

Of course you did. You got up early, dawned on your nicest matching lingerie set and prettiest dress- just to bake a pie and lemonade for him. It’s pathetic, it’s desperate, but you haven’t felt this giddy since you first started dating your husband.

Bucky’s eyes widen just enough to expose the whites of it. He doesn’t know what to say, really, eyes flickering from to every point he can, debating every option that’s being presented to him on fucking porcelain.

“Your husband…” He trails.

“He’s not here.” You note. “He won’t be for a while. I told you he’s working late.”

“Doll…”

“Yeah?”

“What are you playin’ at here, exactly?”

You contemplate what to say, how to say it. You’re unsure if it’s even a good idea, if you’re more motivated by revenge or desire— but both are clouding your head.

“I want you to fuck me like he never could.”

Bucky can’t help the way his mouth opens. He can feel his cock throb in his jeans, already half hard since he saw you in that godforsaken dress. You’re like the devil.

“I don’t wanna be the guy who ruins a marriage.” He objects, despite his own desires.

“Trust me,” Your hand rises up to grip his face, “It’s already been ruined.”

Bucky’s hands move almost against his will. Sliding down your back, hovering over your ass under your dress, his breathing shaky.

“He doesn’t fuck you right? That it?”

“He doesn’t fuck me at all, cause he’s too busy fucking another woman.”

That settles it for him.

His mouth practically swallows yours, hands grabbing your ass with force while his tongue invades your mouth. You can do nothing but moan, whining into his throat as you hold onto him.

He turns, picking you up and placing you on the kitchen table. You clatter against silverware, but he pushes them off before they stab into your skin- letting them clammer onto the tiled floor.

He moves to press open mouth kisses on your neck, already pulling the cups of your dress down, followed by your bra to reveal your breasts. He wraps a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking as he massages the other one, reveling in the way you moan above him.

Bucky’s pushing up your skirt, pressing kisses down your stomach and your legs. He mouths around your inner thighs, teasing to where you need him most.

“Please,” You pant, pinching at your own nipples.

Bucky sliiiiides your panties down your legs, letting them fall to the ground beneath you. He lets out a grunt at the sight of your pussy, glistening and wet. Just for him.

“Your husband make you this wet?”

“Mm-mm,” You hum, “Never.”

That makes him grin. A shit-eating, cocky, son-of-a-bitch grin, but god, is it sexy.

He presses kisses to your mound, before licking a broad stripe up your folds. That has you moaning, legs squirming- but he’s quick to hold you back down.

You’re gasping while he sucks around your clit, fingers catching in your wet hole and sliding in and out. He’s moaning at your taste, sending vibrations against your clit that have you reeling.

He’s practically buried himself inside your cunt, devouring you like cherry pie. His mouth moves to suck down, before his tongue slides into your hole, his fingers replacing his tongues previous placement at your clit.

“I’m- I’m close,” You whine, pulling at his dark hair.

You feel his movements get faster, urging you to teeter off that edge. The high he’s building is unlike one you’ve felt— it’s cold, lighting inside your legs and stomach, building up so tight you can feel it about to snap.

And when it finally does, Bucky has to hold you still. He’s moaning with you, letting you ride out your orgasm by using his face.

When you come down, you’re panting, watching as he comes back up with a glistening mouth. He wipes off the sides, sucking around his fingers to get the last of your taste.

You reach out for him, which he gladly accepts. He brings you in for another kiss, reaching down to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Mhm,” You moan, legs still tingling with a post-orgasmic haze.

“Say it, honey.” Bucky grunts, pulling down his boxers and stroking at his cock. You whimper at the sight— it’s thick, bigger than your husband’s, tip practically weeping.

“I need you to fuck me, please, I want it so fucking bad.” You beg, watching as he slides the head of his cock around your folds. “Please.”

Bucky’s cock catches in your hole, sliding into your wet heat with ease. You both whine at the feeling of him bottoming out, pressing kisses around every piece of skin on the other you can reach.

“Fuck,” He moans. “So fuckin’ tight, honey— he really doesn’t fuck ya, does he? This was all you needed, a good fuck, someone to make you cum hard, treat ya like the little slut you are. Well I’m here, honey, and I’m fuckin’- shit, I’m not leaving.”

He starts to fuck into you, balls slapping against your ass with the furious pace he’s already set. He’s grunting, groaning at the feeling of your warm cunt, head thrown back in pleasure.

“Yeah,” You moan, whining at the feeling of him using your pussy, “Fuck, just like that, please!”

“Yeah? You like that?” He moans, “Like me fuckin’ using your pussy?”

You can’t reply- too fucked out. You just moan, mumbling incoherently, pussy clenching around his moving length.

Bucky slaps at one of your tits; making you yelp, but then he sucks the nipple into his mouth with a groan. You tug at his hair, reveling in how it makes him borderline whimper.

You rub circles around your clit, desperate to get off, despite already coming so recently. He grunts at the sight, pulling off your nipple with a pop—

“Fuck, you gonna cum again?” Bucky groans, grabbing your hips to fuck into you harder, “It feels that good? Fuck, Wanna see you cream on my cock, be a good girl. C’mon.”

Another orgasm washes over you. It’s not as intense as the first one, but still leg twitching, making you curl into yourself.

“Oh god, that’s fuckin’ it,” Bucky groans, gasping, “Feels so good, baby, you have no idea.”

You whine in overstimulation as he keeps fucking you, whimpering when he reaches down to start rubbing your clit again.

“Need you to give me one more.”

“I can’t,” You whine.

“You can.” He rasps, “You fuckin’ will. Be a good girl, doll, gimme one more. Fuck, I need it.”

You’re clawing at his back, wetness practically drenching his cock. You know you’re leaving scratch marks, probably even drawing blood- but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it spurs him on.

“I’m coming,” You whine, “Oh god, I can’t-“

Your third orgasm rips through you sharper than the others, leaving you trembling under his hold. All you can hear his harsh groans and grunts, praising you for how good you did for him.

“Shit,” Bucky grunts, sweat dripping down his face, “I’m so fuckin’ close.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him in closer and locking him inside.

“Fuck, honey-“ He stutters, “I gotta pull out, I can’t- you gotta let go, I can’t pull out.”

You shake your head, whining, “Cum in me, please.”

That makes him whine. “You want me to come in you? Fill up that slutty pussy?”

You nod rapidly, clenching your legs around him tighter. You can tell he’s close by how his thrusts stutter, cock throbbing inside your cunt.

“Your husbands gonna come home today, not knowing his pretty little wife has a pussy full of another man’s cum,” Bucky taunts, “But you love that, don’t you?”

“Yeah- yes, I love it.” You moan, grabbing onto him.

“Oh god- beg me for it.”

“Please cum inside me.”

“Fuck, you can do better than that,”

“Please!” You shout, “Cum inside me, I want it- I want it so fucking bad. I need you to fill up my pussy, please, Bucky.”

With one last, loud, bellowing groan, he stills above you, pumping you full of every last drop he has. He almost fully collapses, both of you left panting and spent.

After a moment, he stands up, wiping the sweat off his forehead before helping you correct your clothing malfunctions.

“Hey, uh,” Bucky says, pushing your hair back out of your face. “You ever make another pie that needs testing, you know where to find me.”

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan smut #my writing #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

[goldsbitch]

Right? p8

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

epilogue - Lando's POV

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

Challenge me. Make me question my past actions. Hold me on the edge, while we risk it all.

Watch me watch you walk around the paddock, as if there wasn't a bright red love bite underneath your turtleneck. One that only I know about and plan on refreshing. Knowing you have to cover those up makes me ecstatic, because I have seen you smile like a teenager while doing so.

We're our little secret, for now. It will come out eventually and we'll enter a new chapter. But for today, let me have our classified, not so modest photoshoots. Let me sneak around just to give you a little peck on the cheek. Walk just a little close to me so that our hands brush, ever so "accidentally".

The way how you're so good at passing me by, as if you hadn't woken up next to me. Like I have no idea about your birthmark little too low on your lower back. The one I'd touched in a way colleagues should not.

And I know you're having to fight smiling a little too obviously during our team meetings. Because I have to admit, sometimes I have to hide my smirk behind a coffee cup or a cough. I wonder if people noticed that you don't take official photos of me anymore.

I'm good at running around with a camera, but I think I was born to be your muse. To let you capture me in the way only lovers can. Energy and desire creeping through every frame. I trust you deeply that you won't sell my secrets - and I know you have to trust me too. Allow me to play an all-or-nothing game, while being ultimately raw with you.

I sometimes can't help my mouth from smiling at random times throughout the day, just knowing that we managed to play this game so effortlessly. Once I got you on board, it turned out you're quite good at this. I guess it's making you irresistible even more.

I think hiding it from everyone is working in our favor. Once the fan hurricane hits when the reveal day comes, we will have already spent many days of freedom. It won't be a va banque taken with a stranger. A companion, lover, muse and the capturer. I should not be looking forward to causing a scandal, right? But I do. Turns out I am bad at stopping myself when it comes to you.

I've already sunk so deep, so much at your mercy, I am unable to untangle myself. Please, promise you mean it when you said "I love you" so shyly the other night. It took me some time to admit that I do. But with you being so slick and smart, you must have already known. You're someone who does not like to be brave about this. You wouldn't have said it if deep down you were not sure about my response. And that's ok. You're the smart one, I'm the brave one. A perfect combination.

One day, you'll have to take a big risk with me. When you've finally moved on from McLaren photos and get yourself in fashion photography as you always wanted anyway. You'll have to get out of your shell and I am so here for it. But for now, we have our little secret life to enjoy.

There will come a day when we'll replace the thrill of a private affair with a strive for something serious. If it had been only my decision, I would have already shouted to the world that you are mine. Make your love bites visible and trackable to me. One day, we won't have to worry about hotel room walls being too thin. But I want you ready for the price that comes with my public company.

I'll drive us fast, maybe even recklessly, and you'll make sure we have something to remember it by.

_______________________

@i-wish-this-was-me @lqvesoph @ophcelia @noneofyourfbusinessworld @formulaal @chezmardybum @amberpanda99 @4-mula1

Short, but a proper goodbye to my first story. Thank you all for the support! Love you all.

#lando norris #lando norris x y/n #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #ln4 imagine #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris angst #mclaren #lando norris fanfic #smut #ln4 smut #lando norris fluff

[beenbaanbuun]

the pet w/ poly!addams!matz

upon spending more and more time with your lovers, more things that have been kept well guarded secrets from the rest of the world seem to reveal themselves to you. the things that go bump in the night aren’t necessarily all figments of the imagination. the legends may be twisted and warped to make them seem a hell of a lot scarier than they actually are, but some things still hold true.

vampires for example. while their genes still technically exist, vampires themselves went extinct long before you were even born. seonghwa had explained it to you in depth one morning over breakfast, but none of it really sank in. you should’ve paid more attention to your biology classes in school; maybe then all the ‘immortality is a recessive gene’ nonsense that he was spouting would make sense to you. the whole ‘my great-great-grandmother was a vampire’ thing just didn’t seem to compute, but it did sort of explain why seonghwa gets a rash when he’s out in the sun for too long.

it turns out jongho isn’t really a bear skin either. he’s an onikuma that hongjoong’s family had passed down through generations. it was during that long, drawn-out chess lesson that hongjoong had explained to you that his family were once livestock farmers that the creature had stolen from time and time again. you found it cruel that jongho was slain just for the crime of being hungry, but hongjoong patiently explained that his ancestors were hungry too. slaying the beast that kept breaking onto their land and taking their sheep was the only way to keep food on the table. you’re just glad the memory of the onikuma lives on; you hope his spirit knows that he’s one of your closest friends.

but then one evening, just after the nightly waltz that you so love to sit and watch, seonghwa drops a bombshell. you’re cuddled up by hongjoong’s feet, gently undoing the laces on his dancing shoes as he and seonghwa pass soft conversation over your head. you’re listening, but not very well. it’s not like much of it is any of your concern anyway… well, except those few words that slip so freely from your mommy’s mouth.

“we should get a werewolf,” he muses to his husband before tipping the rest of his wine down his throat. it’s so nonchalant as if it’s something so perfectly normal for them. in the end, you suppose it is; seonghwa has already alluded to being descended from immortal beings (that aren’t really all that immortal, just… longer living) and the rug you’re currently sitting on is made from the skin of some mythical beast. if anything, a werewolf should just be another thing that you shrug off and accept as just being another part of your increasingly weird life.

but there’s a difference here. quite a big one. seonghwa said they should get a werewolf, and you can’t quite wrap your brain around why he means by that.

the couple seem to notice the sudden interest you have in their conversation though. perhaps it’s the way your body physically tenses up, or the way your fingers become slack on hongjoong’s shoe. either way, the two men hum out a chuckle. seonghwa’s hand finds it’s way to your head, stroking at your hair in the same way he does whenever he needs to calm you down. hongjoong just taps your knee with the toe of his shoe, reminding you of the task you appointed yourself with the moment the pair collapsed onto the couch.

“why ever should we allow some mutt into our house?” hongjoong says as your fingers begin to work on his laces again. he always ties them so tightly. you know it’s just to give you something to do with your hands for a little while. “we’d have to house train the feral thing, which would be an immeasurable amount of work. it’s hardly a walk in the cemetery to train a beast to be civil, Cara Mia.”

seonghwa chuckles as he watches his husbands face twist up in disgust. he never has liked werewolves; claims they’re shifty creatures with no good intentions. seonghwa has to wonder what ‘good intentions’ he thinks vampires have, but he chooses not to argue. there’s not much point in the grand scheme of things. vampires don’t exist anymore, werewolves do.

“protection for our darling?” the tall man suggests, curling his fingers against your scalp so his blood red nails scratch delicately against your skin. you let out a satisfied sigh. your lovers smile down at you, “a friend for when we’re busy with work? there’s plenty of reasons as to why…”

hongjoong seems the mull the idea over as you slip the first shoe off. you gently place it to the side before moving the the next foot, laces done equally as tight.

“and you want to let our sweet girl near such an uncivilised creature?”

“it’s either that or a dog,” seonghwa shrugs.

“i’d rather the dog,” hongjoong cocks his eyebrow confidently, but seonghwa isn’t so easy to give up.

“and i’d rather the werewolf,” he says with a smile. he knows, after all, that he always gets what he wants. the proof of that is sitting right between their legs with a collar around its neck. “it would give her something to talk with when she gets lonely, plus the fact we won’t have to clean up after it. opposable thumbs really do work wonders.”

hongjoong sighs; they’re all good points but the thought of letting a werewolf into his home still sends a shiver down his spine. the thought of you being around one is even worse. they’re notoriously difficult to train (the fault of their human-esque desire to be independent) and hongjoong really doesn’t have that much time to waste. he lets out a groan just as you get the knot to the second shoe undone.

“you’re serious about this, aren’t you?” hongjoong asks. seonghwa replies with a nod. “what about you, little dove? would you like a friend?” you think about it for a second before slowly nodding as well. you suppose it would be nice to have someone to fill those empty hours where hongjoong and seonghwa are both tucked away in their respective work spaces. hongjoong lets out a defeated huff, “fine.”

you slip the shoe off of his foot just in time for him to grab you and tug you onto his lap. it’s ironic really—you’d get punished for having a temper tantrum, and yet when hongjoong groans and hides his face in your hair, all seonghwa can do is smile. there’s a reason you’re the one with a collar around your neck, you suppose.

“thank you, mi amor,” seonghwa leans over to press a kiss to his husbands head, “i’ll let mingi know that we’re interested; he was showing me photos of an absolutely gorgeous specimen named yeosang just the other day…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #poly ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #matz x reader #opposites attract universe

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xiv. this feels like the calm before the storm.

— the one where the world is caving in.

warnings: cheesy pop culture references, aidan and victoria are back, more articles than usual. mentions of panic attacks, anxiety tics, spelling mistakes in the tweets that i am too lazy to correct, forgive me. 2.3k words (+articles!)

masterlist ✢ next

'Did Timothée Chalamet get y/n y/ln a role in 'Little Women'?'

By Bridget Thomas

As previously reported by various outlets, actress y/n y/ln has been cast as the youngest March sister for yet another remake of "Little Women", expected to be premiered by the end of next year. However, we can't help but wonder, how did y/n manage to get a role alongside actors of such high caliber, such as Meryl Streep and Best Actress Nominee Saoirse Ronan?

Despite the success of movies such as Supercut and The Hating Game, y/n's acting skills cannot even begin to compare to those of her co-stars, she's a romcom actress, and she's supposed to stay that way. But as Ringo Starr once sung: "I get by with a little help from my friends" and y/n is no exception.

Timothée Chalamet, Greta Gerwig's other main muse, has Hollywood eating out of the palm of his hand, and his influence goes a long way. So much so, that he was able to secure Amy's role for new friend (possibly new something else) y/n y/ln.

Right after they were seen mingling at a party in Paris with y/n's boyfriend (probably soon to be ex) Charles Leclerc, y/n got the call that they decided to give her the role.

Don't we all want a boyfriend who uses nepotism to our benefit?

Seriously, though, how does y/n manage to get this heartthrobs to spare a glance her way and do this stuff in her name? Somebody call the Winchester Brothers, we might have a witchcraft case right in front of our eyes.

Click here to go to the next article.

'Victoria Presley: I still miss my best friend, but all she did was use me.'

By Daniel Gomez

After staying away from social media and her job for a month and a half, beauty influencer Victoria Presley is back and she's not afraid of anything. Not even legal repercussions.

Back in July, Victoria received a 'Cease and Desist' letter from none other than former best friend y/n y/ln, demanding she stopped talking about her in public and to news outlets. This sparked the rumors that Presley had been selling her secrets to tabloids and was the one to reveal the engagement secret alongside actress Mia Kim, Aidan Kim's sister.

Victoria immediately removed herself from the narrative, deeply hurt by her ex-bestie's actions. Now, after gathering her thoughts and recovering from being stabbed in the back, she's giving us this exclusive interview.

"I can't help but miss y/n, she was my best friend for so long. But all she did was use me." Victoria is still in disbelief of y/n's actions, after giving her all her love and support. "I let her live in my house for months, and one day she leaves without any explanation. All to meet that Formula One guy."

Victoria has expressed her discontent with y/n's relationship with Charles Leclerc several times, arguing he is one of the main reasons y/n cut all ties with her and not the rumors that she revealed y/n's secrets to tabloids.

"He changed her for worse. Their relationship is so toxic, they breakup and get back together again and again, and they're just looking for ways to use the other's reputation for their benefit."

However, Victoria is certain the relationship won't last much longer, since y/n has her sight set on co-star Timothée Chalamet. "y/n has liked him for a while. When the rumors of his relationship with Kylie Jenner came out, she assured me she could steal him away with a flick of her hand."

Meanwhile, Victoria is focusing on her beauty line and its evergrowing sales. "I'm competing directly with Rare Beauty and Fenty. I'm in the big leagues, the way I deserve to be."

Click here to go to the next article.

'Aidan Kim reveals tracklist for "MIRRORS" and moves the release forward.'

By Paul Dean

Aidan Kim fans won't have to wait until October 5th anymore since their idol has decided to move the release date for his debut album forward by one month.

While we believe this decision was influenced by the news of ex-girlfriend y/n y/ln making her acting comeback in a high category movie, his fans also begged him to 'remind everyone of how awful y/n is' and judging by the titles of his upcoming tracks, we're sure he's leaving no crumbs.

Check out "MIRRORS" tracklist here:

In Your Pocket

All The Things I Hate About You

Him

Cry Me A River

Stabber

Stupid Love Letter

MIRRORS

Round and Round (Star-5 Reprise)

Yours and Mine (Star-5 Reprise)

Blinding Lights (The Weeknd Cover)

No Lie (With Mia Kim)

We can't wait for Aidan's insight on his relationship and breakup to y/n, we're certain the details are juicy! Don't forget to presave "MIRRORS" on Spotify and Apple Music!

Monza, Italy, September 3rd.

1...2...3... deep breath in, 4...5...6, breathe out.

You repeat the process five times until your heart has set in your chest and isn't trying to break free anymore. Until you've stopped squeezing your thighs with your palms and you can keep your eyes open without feeling like the red decoration is stabbing your eyeballs.

It's good that you can manage your anxiety before it turns into panic. You're still embarrassed about The Spain Incident, although neither Charles nor Carlos fault you for it at all. Still, every now and then, their panicked faces flashback in your mind and you feel sorry for them all over again.

You don't want this weekend to turn into The Monza Incident. Not when Charles' contract renewal was announced a few hours ago and he's on Pole Position, this weekend has to be perfect. Or as perfect as possible, for your boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

The weight of the word has multiplied by a thousand in your mind. Silly, when you really think about it. But palpable in a way that has butterflies flying around your stomach every time you think about the word and Charles' smiling face appears in your mind.

He's your boyfriend and you're his girlfriend, and this was a mutual agreement you reached with panic still holding you by the throat, only soothed by Charles' soft lips against your temple and his warm hands rubbing your skin.

You agreed to come to this Grand Prix because it will be the last one for you for a while. Filming for Little Women starts soon, and though they have a couple of races in the States, your schedule can be a little unpredictable. Also, you're hoping to score more roles soon.

You breathe again, deep enough that your lungs ache and lightheadedness threatens to rise through your body. You're overwhelming yourself, again.

According to the world, you’re not skilled enough to be in a movie with Saoirse and Timothée and should give up the role to someone who actually deserves it. Which you won’t do, of course. That someone who deserves it is yourself. It has taken a lot of pep talks in the bathroom mirror to brainwash yourself into believing it, but you’re getting there.

Plus, there are more things to worry about with Victoria back on her bullshit and Aidan's album coming out in two days. There are so many things to fix again, just when you thought you were getting there. Of course the two people that hate you most in the world have to mess with you again.

"Already here?" Carlos asks the second he crosses the door to the Suite. "It's way early."

"Good morning to you too," you let the air out of your already burning lungs and smile at Carlos. "I have nowhere else to be."

You could be at the Paddock Club, mingling with whatever celebrity or rich local is there. Or even visiting McLaren, since Lando offered to 'show you the garage', something Charles didn't like, of course. The secret of your newly earned girlfriend-boyfriend titles is one you try to keep close to your heart.

As if that has worked before.

A wave of anxiety runs down the back of your neck when you remember the tweet you saw this morning about a Deuxmoi tip on Charles and you. What could the exact price be, to reveal your relationship to the world?

"Have you had breakfast? Looks like you're going to throw up," Carlos says, sitting in the sofa opposite yours.

It's at least the fifth time he's told you that during the weekend. You know he does it out of a place of concern, but it still rubs you the wrong way. You also need to look perfect, not like you're going to throw up.

"I had breakfast back at the hotel, it's just the lighting."

"Sure?"

"I'm fine, Carlos. How are you?"

Carlos shrugs, he's not being the center of attention this weekend despite this being another home race for the team. "Good."

"Didn't you have to be at the meeting today?" you question, although it's obvious that by his getting there just now, he didn't.

"Had my PR reminders yesterday. Charles is different."

Of course. He has to know what he's allowed to say about his renewal and what he should not speak on at all.

Your own team advised you not to let yourself be seen at Monza. Mildred would have pulled you out of the plane if it had been up to her, and Walter would have helped her hold you hostage until the weekend was over.

They're both trying to find out about the Deuxmoi pictures too, although you doubt they can reach an agreement of any kind with whoever holds them to stop them from calling People Magazine up.

This whole avoiding being seen thing makes you feel wrong. As if you were doing something bad with Charles instead of just finally letting the love you've felt for him for months show. You hate it.

You're wrong to compare your current situation with your past ones. Aidan was your first really public romantic relationship, but before that, you didn't hide your partners either. Of course you weren't that famous, but even then, you didn't entertain the thought of scurrying around like criminals.

"He'll be fine, y/n," Carlos adds, looking at the way your foot keeps stomping the floor, like you're some kind of hyperactive bunny. "He's on Pole. You can pray for Max's downfall, though, maybe that'll help."

"I don't pray for people's downfall," you click your tongue, crossing your legs to stop the tic.

Karma and all that.

"Maybe you should." Carlos winks at you, and your conversation is finished as Charles leaves his meeting.

You can tell something's off just from the way his shoulders tense, but he smiles at you the moment your eyes meet.

"Everything okay?" you ask before he leans down to reach your height as you sit and pecks your lips.

"Yes, everything's good."

He's lying.

─────────

What was the point of coming to Monza if you're only watching the race through the screens?

You don't think the sun has touched your face at all since you got to the circuit, and you really want to be out there. But you stay put in your seat as the formation lap occurs right outside of the Suite.

It will make no difference, though, Charles is focused on the race, as he should be, rather than whether you're watching him through the TV.

Soon enough you know what will make a difference.

It's some kind of miracle that Charles has managed to regain the P1 position after the disastrous pit stop Ferrari put him through, and maybe Carlos was actually praying for Red Bull's downfall since Max has his very first DNF of the season and Checo can't get past George in P3.

Charles is going to win Monza again.

The decision making tree branches in front of you in a matter of seconds, people at the Suite are already talking excitedly and someone asks if you want to go down, there are four laps left.

You get up from your seat, aware that if life was anything like that videogame you played a couple times on the set of Parisian Valentine with your co-star, the "This action will have consequences" legend would appear on the screen right now.

You follow the Ferrari worker out, but even between the excitement and celebrations, you manage to hear what the PR Manager really thinks of your presence in the Paddock.

"She’s such a PR nightmare,"

She switches to Italian when your eyes fly to her face. And you can only wonder what cruel yet entirely accurate thing she said.

It's worse than a nightmare. It feels like the apocalypse all over again. And the weight of the world is back on your shoulders, feeling like you're messing up what was a weekend out of a dream for Charles.

You flashback to Monaco and the way Mati pulled you out of your head and locked your phone in her purse. You wish she was here more with each passing second. You cannot tear your eyes away from every single tweet speculating about your presence, about your relationship, about your intentions. It's overwhelming.

But Charles' happiness is what matters. He's absolutely ecstatic, even after the mishaps during the interviews where his PR training had to kick in and lead reporters back to Formula 1 related questions.

The thought that maybe you should have tried to make friends with more people occurs to you when you arrive at the celebration in the private club and Charles is dragged away from you. He tries his best to hold on to your hand, but the truth is people want to be with him and not you, so you let him take the spotlight he deserves and enjoy it.

"So, are you and Charles dating, then? Didn't you use to be engaged?"

You half-smile at the girl who just asked you the question, so boldly it takes you aback. But you guess her eyes are so bright from how much alcohol there is in her system, she's bound to be direct with liquid courage running through her veins. She's pretty in that dark hair, dark eyes way that has you momentarily doubting your own looks.

The extra heartbeat that takes you to reply, has her eyes shifting around the room before settling on Charles, who is finally walking back to your side.

Your boyfriend hands you a drink and smiles at the dark-haired girl and her friend, politely. "Are you having a good time?" the question is mostly directed towards you, but both girls jump at the chance of saying they're having the time of their lives and congratulating Charles for such an epic win. But they prompt you to join the conversation a few seconds later, so you're grateful for it either way.

There's a song in Spanish playing on the speakers and Charles is doing his best to sing the words while encouraging you to move to the beat with him. With his arms around you, things feel a little lighter, the whole in your chest that anxiety carved out is slowly filling with the love you feel for him, and the happiness of the day outshines the darkness of the thoughts in the back of your mind.

That is, at least, until the first notes of 'In Your Pocket' replace the previous song, after the DJ announces it's a special request. It's a remix, obviously, so people can dance to it, but a few of them have stopped moving altogether just to be a little less discreet about eyeing you.

"C'est pas amusant," you hear Charles say to one of his friends, who is hiding his mouth behind a tall glass of alcohol, his eyes still betray his enjoyement.

"It's fine," you squeeze Charles' arm, trying your best to smile although you're being put in the spotlight and there's nearly nothing worse than being the butt of a cruel joke. "It's just a song."

You wondered many times what those surrounding Charles thought of you. They didn't know you, after all. His brothers were nice to you when you saw them around the Paddock, and it wasn't like you'd hung around the rest of his friends. Did they mock him when tabloids called him a homewrecker? Or did they believe he'd just embarked on what seemed to be a dead-end relationship?

"I'm sorry, soleil, they're just— they're idiots," Charles adds, his hand reaching for yours. He looks genuinely upset and you can't help but hate whoever requested the song a little more for spoiling Charles' mood rather than for making fun of you.

"Charlie, it's okay, I've been through worse," your reassurance doesn't soothe him, so you squeeze his hand and he presses his lips to your temple. "I'd rather listen to Bad Bunny or something, though."

Charles laughs and pulls you out of the dancefloor, to a more private part of the club where you both can catch your breath and share a few kisses, unafraid of people staring at you.

New York, United States, September 7th.

You know you're in trouble when Mildred calls tells you that you need to be at her office ASAP. She also used that condescending 'I'm the adult' tone that send you back to when you were fifteen and got in trouble with your mother, so it's another indication that she's angry at you.

Of course you know why, the words 'PR nightmare' haven't left your brain in days. And the moment you set foot in New York, Mildred was all over you about every single thing that was being said about the Monza Incident—aka seeing your boyfriend like any normal person would.

"This isn't ideal," Mildred says after a while, she has been explaining the public's perception of you for the past half hour. "It's like you—"

"Like I fucked up?" you cut her off, squeezing your knees to stop from biting your nails.

"We were rebuilding your brand, y/n. People think you waited for things to die a little so you could go public with Charles. Aidan's new album is not helping your case."

If you thought 'In Your Pocket' was bad, nothing compared to the rest of the songs. Some in which he called you a list of things including a homie-hopper, drama starter and said you settled for a 'bum' when you could have had a 'rockstar'.

"How is that my fault?" you don't intend to sound so whiny, but you can't help it. Why are Aidan's actions always your fault somehow?

"People are talking more about how you are dating a Ferrari Driver after spending months saying you weren't, rather than the fact that you landed an incredibly important role."

"We haven't told anyone we're dating,"

Mildred rolls her eyes despite her best efforts to remain professional. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

"What do you suggest we do?" you ask, knowing you won't like the answer.

─── team principal radio: ❝remember when I said it wouldn't take me one month to update delicate and then it took me longer than that? I'M SO SORRY LMAO. also not loving this chapter but i just want it out of my way for now i need it off my drafts, but don't worry this time i'll try for the next not to take me a century. thank you if you're still here, your patience means the world to me i love you all so muuuuch♡❞

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#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc series #formula 1 imagine #formula one au #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader

[tigertales9]

Hard Reset IX

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut / Fluff

Description: This fic covers the rest of the bye week honeymoon.

Time/Place: Wednesday, Oct. 18, 2023 - Friday, Oct. 20, 2023 / the lakehouse

A/N: This is the ninth fic in the Hard Reset series.

The end of the secret honeymoon is here! Next chapter will be back in the city. I'm going to be pretty busy the next couple weeks, but I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. It'll probably be after the holidays.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wednesday night, 10/18/23

You come awake slowly, yawning and smiling against Joe's chest as he drops a kiss on your forehead. "How long was I asleep?" you ask.

"Just over an hour," he answers. "I woke up about ten minutes ago."

"I feel like I slept for ages," you murmur, yawning again.

"It was def a power nap," he muses.

You enjoy his warm embrace for several more minutes before his stomach growls loudly, causing you both to laugh. "Let me get a quick shower and we'll cook dinner," you state. "We can save the fondue action for tomorrow."

"Can we finish carving the pumpkins before dinner?" he asks, his hopeful tone making you smile.

"Sure." You take his hand as he stands up and helps you off the sofa. "Shower first, then pumpkins, then dinner. Does that sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," he agrees, following you as you head for the stairs.

~ ~ ~

About forty minutes later, you're freshly showered and back downstairs, finishing up carving your jack-o-lantern as Joe -- who finished carving before you -- tosses another log on the fire.

"I'm done," you eventually announce, standing up and giving him a smile. "Time for the big reveal," you continue, setting your jack-o-lanterns side by side on the table before stepping back to inspect them.

"Awww, yours is super cute," he mutters, making a face as he gestures at his. "Mine looks like he's struggling to hold in a huge fart," he grumbles, mimicking his jack-o-lantern's grimace as you bust out laughing.

"He really does," you agree, laughing even harder when he playfully swats your butt.

"You weren't supposed to agree with me," he pouts.

"Sorry," you giggle, pulling him into a tight hug. "It'll look awesome once we put the candles inside. Let's put 'em on the hearth and light 'em up."

Y'all grab your jack-o-lanterns and head toward the fireplace, placing them on the hearth and inserting lit candles inside before stepping back to admire the results. Both of you are silent for a minute before Joe speaks.

"Mine looks even worse lit up."

You know better than to agree with his very correct assessment, so you just give him a smile and lie through your teeth. "I think it looks great," you chirp, smiling even bigger when he narrows his eyes at you.

"Liar," he scoffs, trying and failing to keep a stern look on his face.

"He's got a touch of RBF, but he's still super cute, kinda like you," you tease, grabbing his hand and walking toward the kitchen. "You ready to cook dinner?"

"Yes, I'm starving," he groans, quickly forgetting all about his less-than-stellar pumpkin carving skills.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Thursday, 10/19/23

Y'all sleep late the next morning then have breakfast together before taking a few hours to do your own things:

watching game film, talking to Coach Taylor, and a work-out for him

a shower, talking to your bestie, your mom, and Joe's mom, plus online furniture shopping for you

You're lounging in bed just after noon -- wearing lace panties and one of Joe's t-shirts -- perusing armchairs for the lakehouse bedroom sitting area when he walks in fresh from his work-out, wiping his face and neck with a hand towel while looking like sex on legs.

"Hey," he greets you, ambling over and leaning down to press a kiss on your lips. "What are you doing?"

"Watching porn," you deadpan, smiling when he cranes his neck to look at your computer screen.

"Those leather chairs are really nice, but I wouldn't call 'em porn."

"I was talking about you," you purr, placing your fingertips on his inner thigh and running them all the way up the leg of his slinky shorts to his thigh crease, giving him a filthy wink at his sharp intake of breath.

"I'm really sweaty," he mutters, his eyes going wide when you pull your hand out of his shorts, set your laptop aside and turn to face him.

"Take your shirt off," you order, grabbing his hips and coaxing him forward a couple steps until his legs touch the edge of the mattress; you look up at him, loving the angle as he towers over you while you stay seated on the bed, your spread thighs flanking his long legs.

He tosses the towel down and slowly pulls his shirt off, using it to wipe his armpits and chest before trailing it down his torso. "Uh-uh," you scold, taking the shirt and tossing it on the floor. "That's what my tongue is for," you tease, holding eye contact while flattening your tongue against his abs just above the waistband of his shorts, licking up the length of his barely-there blonde treasure trail before slowly rimming his belly button.

He makes a sound low in his throat as you reverse course, trailing your tongue back down over his treasure trail, waistband, and all the way down to the prominent bulge in his shorts. "I wanna taste you," you state, licking his erection through the flimsy fabric. "I'm really sweaty," he repeats. "I know," you moan, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his shorts and undies and pulling them down to mid-thigh; you catch his cock as it springs free, relishing the hot and heavy feel of it in your hands as you trace the prominent veins with gentle caresses before gripping him tight. You give him a few slow pulls, base to tip, coaxing some pearly precum out before gently lapping it up, a sizzle of heat rushing through you at the noises he makes as you pleasure him.

"So good," he grits out, placing one big hand on the back of your head as you take him deeper and deeper; your entire body reacts to the sensory overload, drunk on the feel and the smell and the taste of him, the pheromone cocktail causing an immediate rush of moisture in your mouth and core.

"Jesus, baby, I wanna fuck you," he eventually groans, "but I'm way too sweaty to get in bed."

You pull off of him, stripping your shirt and panties off before spinning around and getting on your hands and knees, scooting back until you're on the edge of the mattress, your butt conveniently positioned at his crotch level. You throw him a look over your shoulder and wiggle your ass in invitation, fully expecting him to sink his erection inside you. He licks his lips and squats down, sinking his hot tongue inside you instead; you drop your forehead down onto the bed and arch your back, giving him easier access as his talented tongue works magic between your thighs, your fingernails digging into the cool sheets and your breathy moans escalating as he expertly coaxes you toward climax.

~ ~ ~

After a few orgasms -- two for you, one for him -- y'all end up sprawled on the bedroom floor with you on top of him, both panting hard to catch your breath.

"That got my heart rate up much more than my work-out," he grins, running a hand up and down your back.

"I think I blacked out for a sec," you chuckle, taking several more minutes to recover from the intense climaxes before rolling off of him. "I need a shower, but I'm not sure I can walk."

"Let me help," he offers, standing up and helping you to your feet before guiding you to the bathroom. "Let's get a shower then go do the fondue thing, okay?"

"That doesn't sound like a very healthy lunch," you laugh.

He gives you a wink before turning the water on to heat up in the oversized shower. "We gotta enjoy the cheat days while we can. Once we're back in the city, we'll go back to healthy eating."

"Sounds good," you concede, stepping into the steaming shower just ahead of him, shivering in delight when the hot water hits you.

~ ~ ~

An hour later you're back downstairs, sitting across from each other on the floor on either side of the coffee table -- in front of a roaring fire -- playing Uno and dipping Honeycrisp apple wedges, pumpkin spice doughnut chunks and fluffy marshmallows in warm caramel.

"This fondue pot is amazing," Joe mumbles around a mouthful of gooey marshmallow, holding one hand in front of his face so as not to show you his partially-chewed food.

"It really is," you agree, hitting him with yet another 'draw four' card while he rolls his eyes in exasperation.

"Damn, woman," he mutters, snatching the cards from the deck. "I've got like fifty cards now," he exaggerates.

"Good thing you have big hands to hold all of 'em," you tease, giving him a cheeky grin when he faux-glowers at you.

A couple minutes later, you throw down your last card, laughing at the look of relief on his face. "Thank God that's finally over," he grumbles, stacking the Uno cards and setting them to the side.

Y'all exchange small talk while you finish the fondue.

"I talked to your mom earlier," you say. "She's hinting that she wants to see us when we get back to the city." You reach over and wipe a drop of caramel off of his chin before continuing. "Maybe we should have them over Sunday? You and your dad can watch football and grill steaks, and your mom and I will make all the side dishes."

"Sounds good," he mumbles around a mouthful of apple.

"I'll call your mom tomorrow and invite them. They can just spend the night and head home Monday morning." Joe opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it. "I'll let her know that you have to be at the facility early Monday to start prepping for the 49ers, so you won't be having breakfast with us."

"You read my mind," he grins.

"It's getting to be a habit," you laugh, before gesturing to his phone. "Check the weather real quick."

He wipes his hands on a napkin before doing your bidding. "The rain is really scattered," he muses. "Looks like we have a good chance for some light showers but nothing crazy like last night."

You heave a sigh and roll your shoulders, throwing a look of longing at the roaring fire before speaking. "Is it bad that I just want to stay in tonight? I know you want to go to the Lake Lodge for dinner, but it's so warm and cozy here," you plead, batting your eyelashes for good measure.

He gives you a smile before responding. "I was just about to suggest we get soup and sandwiches delivered from The Cove Café for dinner tonight. There's an hour window from like 6:00 to 7:00 when the rain chance drops to basically zero." He shrugs. "Perfect time to have something delivered without the delivery guy getting drenched."

"Great idea," you grin, your smile fading a bit as a thought hits you. "I feel bad you won't get to try the other items you were looking forward to at the Lodge. Maybe we should have lunch there tomorrow before we head back to the city?"

"Why don't we stay one more night?" he asks. "The weather is supposed to be nice tomorrow. Max said we can borrow his boat to explore the lake, then we can have dinner on the rooftop deck at the Lodge tomorrow night."

"That sounds amazing, but we only booked three nights here."

"That was before we bought the place," he grins, laughing along with you as you make a sheepish face.

"I keep forgetting it's our house now. -- It feels like a dream."

"This whole secret honeymoon feels like a dream," he sighs. "Let's stay an extra night before we have to go back to the real world."

"I'd love that," you agree, watching as he stands up and grabs a couple of throws off the sofa before layering them on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"Now that we have that settled," he states. "Let's play a game that I know I can beat you at."

"Football?" you tease.

"Blackjack," he answers, grabbing a deck of cards before plopping down -- criss cross applesauce -- on the plush nest of blankets, gracing you with a smug grin as he shuffles the cards.

"Boy please," you snicker, dropping down opposite him. "I'm gonna beat you at that, too," you boast, sticking your tongue out at him when he laughs at your bravado.

"Let's make it strip blackjack since you're being a cocky little shit," he challenges.

You shrug nonchalantly. "Sure, but you better stoke the fire up so you don't get cold when you're booty butt naked and I'm still dressed."

"You'll be naked first, sweetie," he purrs, giving you a wink as he stands up to throw another log on the fire.

"We'll see."

He drops back down on the pile of blankets and shuffles the cards again while stating the rules. "We'll play through the deck; whoever has the most cards at the end is the winner. We're both wearing five articles of clothing -- shirt, leggings, bra, panties and socks for you -- shirt, t-shirt, sweatpants, undies and socks for me. So we're good to go."

"Sounds good. Deal 'em," you order, watching his sensual hands as he does your bidding, placing one card face down and one face up for each of you. You check your hidden card. "Hit me," you order, smiling at the card you receive. "I'll stand," you continue.

He turns his hidden card over. "Nineteen," he gloats.

"Twenty," you grin as you turn your hidden card face up.

"Lucky ass," he mumbles, rolling his eyes as you rake the cards into a pile with a flourish before setting them beside you. "This is off to an excellent start," you tease, giggling as he deals the next hand.

You eventually win the game, biting your lip and trying not to look too smug when he rips his socks off.

"You wanna deal the next game?" he asks.

"No, I like watching you do it," you admit. "You have sexy hands," you continue, giving him a naughty wink as he shuffles the deck.

He easily wins the next game, and you slowly unbutton your plaid flannel shirt before shrugging it off; you take your bra off before sliding the shirt back on, leaving it open to expose your breasts. You neatly fold your bra and set it to the side, giving him an innocent smile as his eyebrows slide up toward his hairline.

After several more games, he's down to nothing but his undies while you're still wearing your shirt, leggings and panties.

"You're counting cards," he accuses, giving you a look as he shuffles the deck.

"Yep, just like you taught me," you grin with absolutely no remorse. "Why aren't you doing it?"

"I'm trying, but I have a hard time concentrating when your perfect tits are staring me in the face."

"That's too bad," you snicker, trying and failing to look sympathetic.

He narrows his eyes at you. "You took your bra off first on purpose, didn't you?"

"Maybe," you shrug, squealing when he pounces on you and manhandles you back against the blankets, playing cards flying in every direction. "Wait! The game's not over yet," you giggle.

"You win," he growls, pressing a kiss on the sensitive spot just behind your ear.

"But you're not completely naked," you protest weakly, snapping the elastic waist on his undies before turning your head to give him better access as he sucks your earlobe before nipping it lightly.

"I'm about to be," he promises, "and so are you," he continues, giving you a loaded look before parting your lips with his tongue, immediately thrusting it inside when you open up for him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Friday, 10/20/23 (after dinner at the Lake Lodge)

You finish brushing your teeth before clicking off the bathroom light and joining Joe in the bedroom, smiling when you find him sprawled out on the bed wearing only his undies, his clothes and shoes tossed in a heap on the floor.

"I can't believe I ate so much," he groans, rubbing his flat stomach while making a face.

"It was your last cheat day for awhile so don't sweat it," you soothe, sitting on the bed next to him and looking down at his beautiful face, the light from the waxing crescent moon streaming down through the skylight giving him an ethereal glow. He looks like a Renaissance painting, you muse to yourself.

"Well, the food was delish so I guess it was -burp- worth it," he states, belatedly covering his mouth after his gaseous eruption. "Excuse me," he chuckles. "That burp could've been much louder, but I held back."

"And some folks say romance is dead," you laugh, hopping up to get him an antacid tablet from the bathroom before breezing back in.

"Romance will never be dead for us," he states, chewing the chalky tablet before washing it down with the glass of water you hand him. "Thanks," he continues.

"You're welcome." You stretch out beside him and look up at the night sky, giving a wry grin when you spot the Big Dipper.

"We need to build a boathouse," he muses.

"Are we gonna buy a boat?"

"Yeah, eventually. I want to add another dock with a boathouse about thirty yards to the left of the existing dock. It needs to be offset so it won't block our view."

"I guess you enjoyed cruising around in Max's boat today?" you grin.

"Loved it."

"Me too." You smile at the memory.

Y'all spent a few hours cruising around the lake, the air crisp and the sun shining, Joe's curls blowing in the wind and his deep, throaty laugh echoing as he steered you in and out of quaint coves lined with trees lit up with leaves in shades of red, orange and gold. You took several pics of him, almost as many as he took of you. The outfit you picked out for him -- cream colored henley, dark olive jeans & Timbs -- made him look like a walking orgasm, especially with the henley unbuttoned to show off his sexy neck and a hint of chest.

"We got some amazing pics," he says, reading your mind, as usual.

"Yes, we did."

Y'all fall silent for several minutes before he speaks up again.

"I don't know if I should mention this right now, but I had a bad dream last night. I know it was just a dream, but it got me thinking."

"About what?" you ask, sitting up and looking down at him.

"About our 'official' wedding." He sits up and turns to face you, sitting criss cross and dropping his gaze to pick at a thumbnail as he continues. "I just … the thought of saying vows in front of a bunch of people kind of freaks me out."

You nod your head, not at all surprised since he has a tendency to suffer from social anxiety in certain situations. Playing football in front of 70,000 plus people with millions more watching on TV? Piece of cake. Public speaking when all eyes are on him? Not a piece of cake.

You brush a hand through his curls and give him a smile. "You know I'm perfectly fine not having a big wedding."

"I know." He takes both of your hands in his. "But what do you think about a really small wedding? Like just our parents and us?"

"Keep talking," you urge, the excited look on his face telling you he's got much more to say.

"I'm thinking a destination wedding with just the six of us. We'll take a private jet somewhere a little exotic but still fairly close. Not Florida," he deadpans when you raise a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Maybe somewhere in the Caribbean," he continues. "I like the idea of doing a beach thing, but I don't wanna fly forever to get there."

"I agree," you soothe, giving him an encouraging smile as he forges ahead.

"We can spend a couple days doing touristy things with our folks -- a beach BBQ, sunset cruise, whatever -- then we'll have the wedding ceremony followed by a nice dinner. Afterwards, you and I will go somewhere more private for our 'official' honeymoon while our parents stay behind at the resort."

"You've given this a lot of thought, and it sounds amazing," you grin, loving how excited he seems. "Will we all fly home together?"

"No. Our parents will fly home after a week stay or whatever they decide on. Then you and I will fly home later. Just the two of us." His smile goes from excited to naughty, and you know exactly what he's thinking.

"Will we be joining the Mile High Club on our return flight?" you ask, giggling when he gives you a filthy wink.

"The mind-reading is getting out of hand at this point," he chuckles.

You laugh with him for a bit before responding. "I love everything about your plan, but we'll need to have a party with all of our family and friends when we get back."

"Absolutely," he agrees. "We'll throw a huge party here at the lakehouse sometime between OTAs and training camp. All of the updates -- new boathouse and dock, deck expansion, swimming pool, upgraded landscaping, new kitchen counters, new furniture -- will be finished by then."

"If we host everybody here, they're gonna need a place to stay. Can't have folks getting shitfaced and then trying to drive back to the city."

He shrugs. "I think we should rent out that boutique hotel on the bluff overlooking the lake. It has like 100 rooms, so plenty of space for everyone."

"Ohhhh," you nod, thinking back to the hotel he'd pointed out to you on your earlier cruise around the lake. "The place with that gorgeous tri-level deck?"

"Yeah," he grins. "We should def utilize that deck for something."

"Dinner and dancing," you murmur, immediately getting into the idea. "We can rent out the entire hotel for two nights -- dinner and dancing at the hotel the first night, then we'll host everyone at our place the next day. At the end of the festivities, everyone can crash at the hotel and sleep it off before driving back to the city."

"Sounds like a plan," he states, his huge smile and deep sigh conveying a sense of relief as well as happiness.

You lean forward and press a kiss on his lips. "I can tell you put a lot of thought into this, and I really appreciate it."

He blushes and gives a shrug. "You've mentioned wanting me to make more plans and decisions instead of leaving it all to you. There are a ton of decisions you'll need to make, but I'm glad to help."

"Help?" you chuckle. "You've laid out the entire game plan. All I have to do is flesh out the details which is my fav thing."

"So you're happy?" he asks, his eyes locking onto yours.

"I'm ecstatic." You stretch out on the bed and pull him down beside you, trailing your fingers up and down his bare chest. "We have so much to look forward to."

"We really do," he agrees, covering his mouth to conceal another burp. "But, unfortunately, one thing we don't have to look forward to right now is sex. I ate way too much, and my stomach is churning a little."

"Let me get you another antacid," you offer, hurrying to grab it then watching as he chews it before gulping down another glass of water. "Dinner tonight was pretty rich, and you're not used to that. You'll feel better in the morning."

You stretch back out beside him, several minutes passing before he breaks the silence.

"I never got to see the naughty lingerie you brought."

"I'll surprise you with it one night soon. We have the rest of our lives to enjoy stuff like that."

"We have so much to look forward to," he echoes your earlier words, nuzzling his face into the nape of your neck as he pulls you against him.

"We really do," you agree, your mind racing with thoughts and ideas, a smile still gracing your lips as you eventually drop off to sleep.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

[doumadono]

Sinful Sunday

Aizetsu been sneaking off so the other clones follow him only to accidentally walk in on him and his girl having sex. His girl doesn't notice them but he does so he basically makes sure she doesn't know they are watching but are even more embarrassed from well getting caught

SINFUL SUNDAY

Aizetsu has a soft spot for intimate moments with you, his girlfriend.

The other clones notice Aizetsu's mysterious disappearances and become curious about his activities.

The clones, attempting to follow Aizetsu discreetly, inadvertently stumble upon the intimate scene between him and you - he's fucking you senseless from behind.

Aizetsu, perceptive to the clones' presence, notices them before you do.

You, blissfully unaware of the unintentional audience, continue your intimate moments with Aizetsu, moaning for him; the clandestine encounter remaining a secret between the clones.

Aizetsu tightens his grip on your hips, increasing the speed of his thrusts.

His heavy balls collide with the fat of your ass with every forceful thrust he delivers.

You moan his name, letting his strong hand push your head further into the wall.

With a fraction of his cerulean gaze, Aizetsu catches sight of Urogi and Karaku palming themselves through their hakama pants as they observe the unfolding scene before them.

Aizetsu emits a low hiss as the muscles of your pussy walls involuntarily contract around his already throbbing cock.

To his astonishment, Aizetsu finds that the knowledge of being observed heightens his arousal, intensifying the firmness of his member within you.

"I'm cumming," he manages to utter before spilling his seed in your drenched pussy as his head rolls backwards.

You moan loudly for him, a melodic groans escaping your lips. Yet, a sorrowful whimper emerges as a void is felt when he withdraws his flaccid member.

Only then do you catch a glimpse of Urogi and Karaku, and you blush, clumsily attempting to pull your skirt down to conceal your exposed sex.

Aizetsu, however, dismisses your attempt by smacking your hand away. Instead, he promptly yanks the hems of your skirt up around your hips, revealing to his counterparts the sight of your blended releases oozing from your snug cunny, tracing a sensual path down the back of your thighs. He smacks your ass a few times, earning a moan from you.

"I trust you won't object to their company, babygirl?" the demon with blue eyes muses, and you nod hesitantly. "That's my good girl. If you couldn't agree, it would deeply sadden me."

Before long, you find yourself devoured and used as a fucktoy for them, becoming the focal point of their amusement.

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥 #sinful sunday #anime smut #smutty smut smut #smutty blurb #aizetsu smut #aizetsu x reader #kny smut #kimetsu no yaiba smut #demon slayer smut #hantengu clones #aizetsu #aizetsu headcanons #kny headcanons #smut headcanons #karaku #urogi

[s4ith]

＊ 𝐈. Welcome to the township, a place shrouded in mystery and whispers of the unknown. It's a peculiar destination where tales of the macabre intertwine with the fabric of everyday life. Here, shadows dance with secrets, and the air is thick with anticipation.

But fear not, for amidst the aura, there are comforts to be found. Should hunger gnaw at your belly, venture forth to Kerkore Diner, where hearty meals await to satiate your appetite. And if curiosity tugs at your sleeve, why not take a leisurely stroll to City Hall? There, the history of this curious township unfolds like a tapestry, revealing layers of intrigue and wonder.

Yes, in the township, peculiarities abound, and yet, there's a certain allure to its eccentricity. So settle in, dear traveler, for here, time seems to stand still, and once you've arrived, leaving becomes unlikely.

like this post for a random muse starter.

comment on this post for multi-muses or for a specific muse. you may choose up to +/2

you may also comment any notes of what you'd like to see from this character ( romantic, platonic, lost lovers, & ect. )

BELLA BRAVO — art major  — mortal — part-time barista. fc: jenna ortega

IDA CHO — art director — horseman: famine. fc: sandra oh

HARVEY DOE — florist — unknown — part-time s.erial k.iller. fc: aidan turner

ZAIN HUSSEIN — boxing club owner — mortal. fc: mahershala ali

SHERIFF PAUCAR — sheriff — mortal. fc: benajmin bratt

KERES CUORENERO — ex-armsman / diner owner — horseman:death. fc: frank grillo

JOHNNY LAKES — country singer — unknown — unemployed. fc: patrick wilson

SARGUS STELLANOX — mayor — god of time. fc: ioan gruffudd

SAINT — mortician — vampire. fc: riz ahmed

LUCFER FALLHAVEN — lawyer — the devil. fc: penn badley

FLORA FALLHAVEN — spiritualist — mother nature. fc: anneliese stubert

THE BAND ( DIE UNDER )

FIONN — lead singer — vampire ( 2000+ years ). fc: stuart townsend

MARIGOLD — lead singer — vampire ( 100+ years ). fc: gabriette

ANASTASIA — lead guitarist — vampire ( 2000+ years ). fc: marley bloodrose

JAKOB — drummer — vampire ( 2000+ years ). fc: devon botsick

#＊ 𝐈. ⁽ starter call ₎ — 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 .

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 5

Part 5 - Backdrop

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 16500 🥹 (bestie I-)

Chapter summary:  In which secrets are revealed - by you, by Steve... and by your captors.

Series masterlist

Warnings: pain and unhealthy relationship to pain, mentions of chronic illness and chronic pain (and the relationship to it), blood, canon-typical violence, gunshot wounds, issues with self-worth, implied emotional abuse from a parent (or just shitty parenting), brief torture, mention of human experimentation and Nazi doctors, multiple mentions of death, plenty of swearing

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: Going full circle, sweet readers - aka yes, the beginning might sound familiar, because it is where the prologue came from. And yes, it’s a very long chapter, but it truly feels it works better as one. If you do wish to split, the best point is at the two thirds (the divider). Dooon’t though :)

The exhaustion was coming and going in waves, alternating with pain, concern and fruitless determination.

You wondered if Steve felt the same; you assumed he did. Asking would feel a little silly though; you didn’t see the point and frankly, you and Steve had never been close enough to just sit down on a couch and share your feelings, keeping them close to the vest except for the heat of your occasional arguments. So you stayed quiet, alone in your wondering.

The pulse of pain in your legs dulled a while ago; you let your head lull back against the wall you were leaned against, the thud sounding just as dull.

The irony wasn’t lost on you; you and Steve were colleagues, very reluctant friends as best, guarded and unsure about the other most times despite him being one of the most honest people you had ever encountered. It was true that you stood by his side and he did by yours, but there had always been an invisible wall between you. By the irony of fate, now, when an actual wall separated you, you could feel the figurative one crumble down.

It was surreal and frankly scary; which was just as ironic, given your circumstance that should feel much more terrifying. And yet… you couldn’t help the little warmth spreading in your chest, knowing your back was aligned to the same wall Steve’s was, mere inches apart, and while admitting certain things to him hadn’t been pleasant, in hindsight, it felt good. No matter the outcome, you had no doubt that if you survived, you’d remember these moments fondly, at least to some point.

And yes, it probably made you a masochist; but what else was new.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the files?” Steve’s low voice snapped you out of your musing, making your heart jump a bit in fright.

It shouldn’t have surprised you he asked one of many questions you didn’t want to answer. It was another of his annoying and endearing talents – and you rarely gave him the satisfaction of replying fully, just for that. But what the hell, right? Maybe you were about to die here. And you had just thought about how telling the truth, while embarrassing, felt liberating too.

“Would you have listened?” you questioned him back anyhow.

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

You heard him shift, the clank of metal and a low hiss escaping his lips making you gulp. You weren’t the only one battling pain.

“I would have heard you out. I admit I was angry at that time and I wasn’t… behaving as I should have and I’m sorry. But I would have heard you out.”

A brief barely-there smile curled your lips as he apologized again. Steve Rogers, ladies and gentlemen, unable to bear the fact he himself had been less than a gentleman. You might have been far from a friend and even farer from being able to tell you knew him and understood him despite having screamed at him the opposite, but you understood enough. Even if you sometimes wished you didn’t.

“But would you have listened?”

He didn’t reply.

You both knew the answer: no. He wouldn’t have, because he was the damn Captain America and he believed he knew the best, blindly following his inner compass pointing the true North even should all hell break loose, and those files weren’t a real concern anyway, were they?

Damn him.

And yet. As you challenged him further, you couldn’t stop the warm feeling in your chest humming louder, because yes, that was who he was, and you liked him that way, even if he was driving you mad at the same time.

“Or would have you just waved it off, because you are invincible?”

Silence stretched again.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on hearing his breathing through the wall, still startled and relieved at how easy it was to do so. It was a good distraction from the pain still radiating from your wounds; and it kept your hope alive.

Dum spiro spero, right?

Despite the situation – or maybe out of spite, given both yours and Steve’s nature – you were still breathing and so was Steve. As infuriating as he was, you knew your heart would break to pieces if he stopped. Unable to walk or not, you’d find a way to break through the wall in mere seconds if he stopped talking to you.

Which he did just now.

Something in your ribcage contracted painfully, your voice shaky when you spoke his name, praying he was only offended at you calling him out. After all, being shot really fucking hurt, so you’d rather not move at all, let alone try to crash through concrete; that was the sole reason for your prayers. Liar, whispered a breathless voice, but you ignored it, your heart hammering against your sternum.

“…Steve?”

Blood rushed through your ears, making it impossible to tell, again, whether you could hear him breathe at all, or whether it was just your wishful thinking; long bony fingers of an invisible hand curled around your throat and squeezed at the mere thought that the latter was the case.

You swore, you swore to all Gods you knew, that if he had lied and his fresh bullet wound wasn’t just a graze, if he was actively dying right now and you didn’t even know and you couldn’t tell, if this infuriating bast-

“I don’t think I’m invincible,” he said at last and you released the breath you were holding, the coil in your chest loosening.

A brief flare of anger tried to replace the heavy weight on your chest – because God, you could kill him yourself for giving you a scare like that – but it was hard to stay mad at the man. It was, in fact, one of the most maddening things about him. That, and the fact he made it impossible not to care about him; a deadly feature on someone who was always the first to rush to catch a bullet with someone else’s name on it. Because he did think he was invincible.

God, he was such a likeable ass.

“Oh? Could have fooled me, really,” you sassed him, pretending you didn’t only barely manage to choke out the words. Honestly, it was a small miracle that you did, considering you had just swallowed the hysteria threatening to creep into your voice.

The responding groan of annoyance had the corners of your lips turn upward. It was like a drop of honey melting on your tongue; warm sweet satisfaction and relief at once, calming your nerves. Steve sure had plenty of fight in him left and you could kindle that fire if you pleased.

He had plenty of spite left too; and that was a very good thing.

“Don’t get snarky with me now.”

“Don’t bullshit me then,” you threw back, earning a huff – and then, a sigh, a few beats of silence, as if he was gathering strength to deal with your bullshit.

Frankly, at times you were surprised he still found that strength.

The other thing you noticed, however, was the pattern of his breathing not having changed. It was erratic in comparison to before he had projected and remained that way. There were many things this could mean, but one – the most likely one – had your heart clench painfully.

He hadn’t dodged the consequences of getting hurt in spectral form. It wasn’t just a startle; his pain did linger, just like yours would have. Your own chest ached at the realization; and your heart raced, because surely it was just a matter of time before he’d ask.

Ask the one forbidden question.

Then, guilt twisted you stomach for not having prepared him for the aftermath of getting shot as a spectre; however, the wise insistent voice in your head reminded you that you couldn’t have. You couldn’t have afforded him to know – you still couldn’t.

And it would have never been an issue if Tony damn Stark hadn’t insisted on dragging you to the stupid charity auction and Steve hadn’t agreed to it and then if he hadn’t projected, but he just had to be the ultimate good guy and take care of his injured teammate by any means necessary. Mr. Hero. Mr. Invincible. Case on damn point. You might have not been the best agent the agency had, but you used your brains at times and if they had only listened goddamnit-

“I don’t think I’m invincible…” he repeated slowly and you bit your tongue as not to protest to such claim again, taking a deep breath instead.

Silence stretched; then, a wavering breath of hesitation, his own this time. He was probably pondering whether he should tell you whatever he was about to say; whether you could be trusted not to turn that against him later.

You gulped, guilt nagging at your mind again.

You truly must have been excellent at your open despise for some of his decisions and him himself if his reluctance was anything to go by. Then again, that was hardly any news – his shouts from earlier had been enough of a testament to that. Even as the moments were hazy, wrapped in a fog, his voice still echoed in your ears.

‘Forget you hate me.’

‘Forget you think I don’t deserve the smallest bit of my fame.’

‘Forget that you think I’m just a glorified science experiment.’

God, he really had no idea in how high regard you held him, did he?

Sure, you hadn’t considered him entirely flawless, even as it was a close call; but you knew he deserved every bit of the reverence some people had in their eyes when they met him. Sometimes, it was just hard to remember that when he was flaunting his perfection right in front of your peasant Inhuman eyes, when you knew you could never reach that perfection yourself.

And yet, for whatever reason, he must have decided you were worthy of his trust; or perhaps he, just like you, thought there wasn’t much to lose anymore.

“But… people deserve a strong leader,” he whispered, the determination in his voice almost scarily firm even as he spoke with strange softness. “Agents need to feel they have someone they can lean onto when they feel like they have no more strength of their own left. They need order and someone to follow when everything else is chaos. They need someone fearless when facing the horrors we face every day. They need someone who swallows their own pain, so they find it in them to continue even when they feel like giving up, someone to take all the punches and kicks and stabs in the back and keeps going nevertheless, because-“

“No.”

His voice fell silent at the single word that spilled from your lips without a warrant, just like the tears that suddenly seemed to find their way to your cheeks. You didn’t think to blink them away before they were already out; you hadn’t realized they had started gathering in your eyes in the first place.

The breath you dared to draw was shaky, hesitant, and painful. Every single word Steve spoke drove a small needle through your lungs; painfully familiar and yet so foreign.

Be strong.

Be fearless.

Don’t let them see.

Get up. Now.

Swallow your pain.

I believe in your potential.

You are a marvel.

You have a duty.

Do good.

Do not dare to fail.

Lead.

Inspire.

All but the last two echoed through your head, spoken in your late father’s voice, clear as ever. Warm and distant; high praise and endless disappointment; a gentle touch and its screaming absence. The light at the end of the tunnel and the ball and chain at your neck, all at once.

It was hard to breathe, your mind hazier than your vision, emotions swirling in your chest violently; guilt, anxiety, longing, compassion. Recognition. Clarity.

Steve Rogers had it different, so much different, and yet, the weight of his burden felt familiar. Only his burden was the heavier for all the watchful eyes following his every move, as reverent as judging; with yours right there in the sea of millions, just waiting for an opportunity to lift yourself up on the ruins left behind by his failure, because if even Captain America made mistakes and wasn’t enough at times, then you could all shine just the same and there was still hope for lousy ordinary people like you to be excellent.

Didn’t you all wait in the shadows of his greatness, praying that he’d prove to be human like the rest of you – and stayed terrified of it at the same time?

Because he had a point, didn’t he? If not even Captain America could lift himself up after getting knocked down, then the rest of you might as well call it quits and abandon all hope.

Steve Rogers lived in own personal circle of hell just to keep you all a little further from your own.

He remained silent as you fought to form words after his admission; rendered speechless and stunned.

“Steve, no. I mean… yes. I— you’re not-“

The cacophony of feelings awoken by the epiphany of how painfully familiar these feelings were tasted salty on your lips, for the nth time in the past few hours. You struggled to explain, but you couldn’t just leave it at ‘no’, you couldn't, because while you heard him, you truly did, he was also so, so wrong.

And yet, he was terrifyingly right. Hadn’t you benefited from his immense strength just moments ago when he projected and treated you? Hadn’t you been insanely grateful for the strength that had nothing to do with the serum, with being a supersoldier, but had everything to do with being Steve Rogers?

The Captain America himself.

It was no wonder he had seemed like an angel at times, looked like he’d been carved by an ancient master of sculpture; a Greek demi-god, a Titan. If he truly believed what he said – and there was no doubt he did, it now screamed from every move, every decision, every tinniest gesture of his that you could recall in your pitiful state – he might have as well been Atlas himself. The world's beast of a burden.

And that was one hell of a burden to take on for one person. Even a person like him.

“I mean… you’re right, Steve, obviously. But… you’re wrong, because that’s just--- too much. And because we---we need to know you’re only human too, that you’re--- well,” you hummed, chuckling humourlessly, “if you are human at all, that is.”

He didn’t scoff, but it was a close thing. A funny sound he should make more often. It did sound quite human.

“I’m plenty human… and I’m not perfect,” he spat the word as if it burned his tongue, drawing a lovechild of a sob and a chuckle from your throat.

“Oh I know. You’re a stubborn reckless son of a bitch.”

And yet, you’re the best of us.

You let your eyes slipped shut, shaking your head, feeling like crying and laughing indeed as he chuckled, a breathy surprised sound.

This was the strangest fever dream. Were you and Steve really talking like this, so scarily open and unapologetic? Had you really just told him he was a stubborn and reckless SON OF A BITCH? If you had the courage and hadn’t you been in plenty of pain already, you’d pinch yourself to make sure it was still reality, as surreal as it felt.

“…I practically asked for that, didn’t I?” he noted self-deprecatingly and you could hear a faint smile in his voice, driving the corners of your lips up as well, the dangerous warmth in your chest rising again.

Warmth and the feeling that with a wall between you, with the note of humour in his voice, with his touch having been so gentle and careful, you could trust him and tell him what you thought without consequence.

Most definitely a fever dream, with your brain drunk on blood loss.

“Yeah, a little bit,” you said, unable to keep the smile from your voice too, despite your heart thundering in your chest.

That smile was quick to slip as something whispered in your head to continue, to share the thought that had your smile slip just as quickly. The mere idea of saying it, of indirectly revealing a huge tender area he could poke at if he pleased, made digging a bullet out of your leg look like a simple inconvenience – but he had to know. He had to realize; it was honestly baffling a man of his intelligence was absolutely blind to the powerful impact he had on others.  

“The problem is… well, that other than that, you just might be less human than all Inhumans combined and that’s… that’s a really hard standard to meet, you know?” you whispered, almost soundlessly, unsure you truly wanted him to hear.

The response came much more swiftly and much more baffling that you had expected. If voices could frown, Steve’s was most definitely frowning.

“I think you’re meeting it pretty damn well.”

You snorted, humourless laugh gathering in your chest and threatening to burst out – you only contained it from the fear of the intense pain returning if you shook too much. But your hands rose on their own will, palms up; a mute gesture of confusion he couldn’t see.

“Since when? You projected here just now because I needed your help to do what I should be doing on my own. You nearly ripped me a new one when I was irresponsible and projected without a second thought to protect Natasha and Sam – which I don’t regret in the slightest, by the way – but that doesn’t exactly meet that standard either,” you added, words spilling without filter now that you opened the floodgates. “About two weeks ago, you literally shook me to snap me back because you thought I was going to pass out before I could do what needed to be done – and you were right. As always. You knew I couldn’t do it even before I did, so really, thanks for the attempt at compliment, but we both know not even you believe you could ever mean it.”

You were breathless as you finished; and the aftertaste of your words was bitter as truth often was.

You could scoff again. How could he mean it?

‘Meeting it pretty damn well.’

Right.

You weren’t that deep into your fever dream to believe that; to believe he believed that. As if meeting that standard was even possible by anyone but Steve Rogers himself.

Steve Rogers. Captain America. Your direct superior.

You gulped, panic seizing you as the small alarm in the back of your mind reminded you with urgency that you were still talking to your Captain, this was reality, and he could easily bench you and maybe, maybe listing all your shortcomings of the past weeks wasn’t the best idea if you wanted to keep your damn job.

“And I know that’s not alright, but I’m… I swear I’m trying to get better,” you added swiftly, lump growing in your throat as the silence that followed your words. “I can get better and I will!”

…Captain, Sir.

You only swallowed his rank and the sir because it felt like he’d think you were mocking him. Not that it mattered; because Steve remained quiet.

You could hear him breathe – without any real change, so you didn’t think the reason for his silence was loss of consciousness.

Which meant that the reason was the complete loss of the last remnants of respect he could have ever held for you.

It was selfish of you, but for a moment, you almost wishedhe had fallen unconscious somewhere during your monologue or at least entered some altered state of mind which would make him forget you had said anything at all, because then he wouldn’t have that muchreason to fire you, to send you back to Coulson like a faulty goods, demanding a refund.

You should have kept your stupid mouth shut.

You should have—he was going to fire you. He was going to take away the one thing you were remotely good, at, he was going to--- he was- fuck, fuck, fuck-

Finally, the sound of your name washed over you like a calming tide wave.

It didn’t sound condescending. It didn’t sound unkind, despite you having basically asked for the exact opposite by serving your failures on the silver platter. If anything, Steve’s voice seemed to waver, thick with an emotion you couldn’t quite understand.

“You are more than meeting the standard. You truly are,” he said again, sighing and for some reason, it sounded as if he was gathering strength to do… something. “But you’re wrong. I… the truth is that I knew I couldn’t do it.”

You sat up straighter, frowning; curious and absolutely dumbfounded – for many reasons.

One was obvious – you had no idea what he was referring to. Two – did he just… was that praise? He truly sounded as if he meant that you were somewhat good enough in his eyes. Since when? That was just too insane even as the past 24 hours were the very definition of insanity. And three – he was once again admitting to some sort of a shortcoming, which was surprising too to say at least.

And your voice reflected all that.

“Do what?”

He sighed again, his breath hitching, the smallest noise signalling pain escaping him, one you probably wouldn’t have heard hadn’t it been for your enhanced senses. You winced, guilt gnawing at your stomach again even as it was already tight with apprehension.

Do what?

“Watch you pass out again, knowing you got shot,” he whispered, effectively turning you into a statue, every muscle, including your heart, freezing. “I always try to plan so nobody gets shot. It’s my responsibility to ensure that no one gets hurt, let alone like that, and yes, sometimes that fails, but… that is the primary objective. To bring everyone home. And then you go and… I simply couldn’t take that again.”

You blinked, a strange feeling settling in your gut, one you couldn’t seem to grasp.

You felt like an idiot. You must have looked like one too, because you had no damn idea what the hell he was talking about.

You understood every individual word, you understood the sentences, but you… didn’t understand.

Worse, you did understand, but that understanding didn’t fit into the big picture, didn’t explain what that had to do with him making you snap back.

Irritation flared up in your gut as your brain raced and kept coming up empty of any coherent image of Steve Rogers. You had thought you had begun to understand better and better; and then his last words shattered the picture again, leaving you baffled.

And frankly, you despised being put into a position where you felt like less than a half-wit.

“…why? Does it really hurt your pride that much, that someone from your troops would disobey your order and mess with your perfect plan? So much that you throw the plan out of the window just to throw a fit? Just so no one gets hurt on Captain America’s precious watch?”

The moment you asked, you knew the questions were much sharper than he deserved, meaner and entirely unfair. You knew it was a lame defence mechanism clicking into place the moment it even remotely appeared that the sincerity in his voice was giving you just the last piece you needed to complete the absolute puzzle he was; because that was just not right, it couldn’t be. It never had been right.

‘I couldn’t watch you pass out again, knowing you got shot.’

He couldn’t be saying that. He shouldn’t be saying that. It made no damn sense. He couldn’t- that wasn’t--- yes, you had established he cared about bringing everyone home indeed, but that wasn’t--- it didn’t sound quite like what he was saying.

What was he saying?

Your body, your brain specifically, had rebooted, neurons firing all messy as you tried to make sense of this and was now coming up with either absurd explanations or none at all.

Steve’s laughter was both bitter and genuinely amused, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Sure, that too. But… it’s up to me to keep everyone safe. I need to do it. I want to keep everyone safe. Including you,” he added, almost softly and the shudder that ran down your spine was unlike anything you had ever felt.

It wasn’t… bad, not necessarily, not when you let it happen. It was the thrill of danger, the call of unknown, luring you in; and at the same time, something pulled at your heartstrings so violently you weren’t sure anymore whose chest hurt more. Your eyes burned and so did your lungs as you couldn’t take a deep breath all of sudden.

He really cared, didn’t he? He cared so damn profoundly for everyone under his command it was a wonder he got up from bed in the morning with such heavy responsibility on his mind. And somehow, that group of people he cared for included you.

He would have taken that bullet for you even if he hadn’t in his spectral form, wouldn’t he? Because that was the weight he had taken upon his shoulders, the weight of the world indeed, the weight he agreed to carry whenever he picked up his shield.

The symbolism of choosing that weapon – a weapon as much as a tool of protection – had never been lost on you, but it now appeared heavier and more tangible than ever.

You gulped, letting the new unbelievable piece of knowledge wash over you, another shiver brushing your body.

And still.

Even with all he said, even if you were crazy enough to believe him, it still made no damn sense that it would make him shake you awake and snap back over two weeks ago. And it didn’t explain why he kept putting himself into the position of your own personal guard dog so often whenever you were to project on a mission.

“I… okay.”

You were the farthest thing from okay, but that was beside the point.

It just made no damn sense.

“But that is what you do, always. I am safe. Even if I do get shot out there,” you said slowly, not sure if you were reminding that to yourself or him. “Even if I get beaten up to a pulp and keep going long enough to almost bleed out after that… it’s not real. The pain is, yes-” More than you’d ever know… or as you already know, you thought, swallowing against your dry throat.“And I do have to push through it hard to keep the spectre going, but--- that’s it. All that happens to the real me is losing consciousness and some serious exhaustion, Steve, it’s not-”

“Until it isn’t,” he interrupted you with urgency, causing your voice die out mid-sentence. “What if I fail? What if I fail to protect you, leave you there unconscious and vulnerable – your real body? What if one of those days your abilities act out? What if, one day, the injuries of your spectre transfer to your body, without prior warning? Look at us now. Nobody could have predicted this and yet here we are. Not to mention the pain you feel, passing out… that’s not nothing and we don’t even know the long-term consequences of that. So no, I--- I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let that happen to you again.”

‘I couldn’t let that happen to you again.’

The last words echoed through your skull in a bizarre echo, the room out of focus despite your gaze turned to the opposite wall and your frantic blinks.

It still didn’t make a lick of sense, none of the things he had said, words built on fruitless pondering about what-ifs – except it made the perfect sense.

Hadn’t you worried exactly about that just a few moments ago? When Steve had got shot right in front of your eyes – an image that would haunt you forever, you suspected – even if it had been just his projection?

Yes, you had much more reason to worry; the transition of the effects of the serum to you wasn’t complete either, since you hadn’t exactly grown several inches tall nor gained a hundred pounds of muscle, so it was reasonable at least to assume the transition of your powers to him hadn’t been complete either. But you could see what he meant: powers, no matter how useful, were a volatile thing. You had seen how difficult the beginnings with Daisy’s powers had been and how she was still discovering what she could do to this day, almost two years later. And she was someone whom you considered extremely capable with her abilities.

Was it truly so unfathomable that in his overbearing responsibility for his team, Steve would worry about things going awry with your powers, resulting in you being a lot more hurt than anticipated?

Something had grown in your throat, making it hard to speak, but you pushed the words out anyway, even as they had the strangest taste on your tongue.

“You… never told me it worries you. You never told me that it bothered you.”

You never told me that you cared, not only if I get hurt, but if I hurt. Never told me you cared. Not like this. Not… for me.

Even as your whole frame shook under the weight of the realization, your chest too full for you to breathe properly, gaze swimming in tears you had miraculously kept from your voice, it dawned to you how it all added up with him being the one guarding you.

He truly didn’t trust anyone else with it, but not because he was so full of himself.

With everything you knew about him, when you had gathered all the facts, it should have been clear in any moment when you hadn’t been at odds with him. It had just never clicked, not when it was you; apparently, to him, a part of the Avengers just like any other of the heroes he called friends. His team.

You were the newest addition. Your powers were ones of the most unpredictable and volatile, possibly more than the Hulk’s, even if less deadly.

He felt the responsibility in his bones. He wanted to make sure, personally, that you’d be okay, because that was what he did.

“No, I didn’t. Not without my concern shouted in harsh words instead of spoken in clear ones.”

You gulped, brushing over the slightly veiled apology. He had apologized enough; he had done his atonement a long time ago. Not to mention you hadn’t been exactly receptive to what he might have been trying to say besides clearly being disappointed in you, so there was he wasn’t the only one to blame.

There had been a lot happening under the surface; things you should have known that or at least guess, but you had refused to even consider there could have been anything written between the lines for the fear of revealing another deeper layer of perfection you could never even hope to reach yourself.

And for the fear of falling for him deeper.

Too late, wasn’t it?

Because there was no going back now, was it? Not with the memory of his soft touch. Not with the memory of him admitting he cared so profoundly, even if not in the way you foolishly dreamed of and dreaded all the same. Not with being a wall apart and yet finally allowing yourself to see him. Not with him letting you see him.

What was adding a little insult to the injury? 

“You never told me how hard it is to control your strength either and… or how much it hurts to heal. Or how heavy your responsibility feels,” you said, not having the will to silence your mind.

You never even hinted there was so much more to you. You never shared that you feel like the rest of us, that you are so perfectly imperfect and human, just a speckle of fault that makes you all the better person; just like there’s but a speckle of green in your cerulean eyes that make them all the more beautiful.

Jesus you needed to get a grip before your loose tongue revealed even more of your unhinged train of thought. Maybe it was the time for that pinch to your forearm; to remind yourself you were very much in reality still; even as the ever-present breathy quality of Steve’s voice reminded you that he was in a very real pain, just like you.

“I didn’t think you needed to know. And it gets easier with time… most of the time anyway,” he added with a slightly humorous note before he grew serious again. And softer. “A far cry from keeping an astral body and controlling it, even when you’re in a lot of pain.”

It was but a hint, a dangerous hint to the great scary secret you harboured. You had been forced by circumstance before, to project while you still felt the aftermath of your spectral injuries by circumstance, since missions didn’t tend to wait until your imaginary yet painful wounds from previous projections healed. And yet; all Steve could have been talking about was simply getting hurt as a spectre and staying focused on keeping up the illusion anyway.

An illusion a bit like the one in his words; you doubted ‘it got easier’. You knew enough about what it was like to hurt. It didn’t get easier; it just became a routine to ignore it for the sake of something else. For others. For the job. For survival.

Just like it became easier to build impenetrable walls to protect what’s left, no matter how little the scraps were. Just like it became easier to let another of his compliments fly above your head, or at least to pretend it had, while it effortlessly climbed over the ruins of the very wall that had fallen when you and Steve ended up here and it touched you in your very soul.

“It gets easier with time,” you echoed his words with an absent smile, resting your cheek against the literal wall, almost as if the little turn of your head could offer you a glimpse of him. You wondered if he believed you that you meant it any more that you believed he meant what he was saying. “And I don’t know… it’s what you do that feels pretty impossible to me.”

You thought he shook his head; the quiet rustle of fabric and the note of something in his voice made it sound as if he had shaken his head.

“It was never my intention to make you feel like anything less than absolutely incredible,” he whispered sincerely, the grip he had taken on your heartstrings insistent, tugging again. “To make you think I believe you are anything less than that. What I actually believe is that you are that and more.”

You blacked out for a moment.

You must have blacked out, because when you came to, there was a static noise in your ears and burning in your eyes; your palm was laid over your ribcage, the feeling larger than life still swirling in your chest so hot and brutal you must have felt the need to make sure your body remained in one piece, unchanged.

However, the wavering rise and fall of your chest told you that hearing Steve say that, in the sweetly sincere voice and sounding as if it was simply another fact of life, had changed you fundamentally.

He truly cared for people, didn’t he? He cared and he believed in them, no matter how messed up they were. That was his true superpower and no stupid alien artifact could ever take that from him. And if the damn Kree couldn’t do that, if realizing he had lost everything good he had known when he woke up in the new millennium hadn’t done it, Hydra shouldn’t even hope to succeed.

They could develop the antiserum, they could strip him from whatever power Doctor Erskine had gifted him, but couldn’t take that. And that was the reason why even if you damn well died in here – and fuck did you not want to die – he would win. And they’d lose. Because they might eventually succeed in knocking Captain America down, but Steve Rogers would get back up and end them.

And damn, did he deserve better. He deserved the truth.

“I never meant to question your leadership either, Steve,” you responded in kind at last, trying your hardest to ignore the creaky quality of your voice. “I follow your orders, though sometimes with a few adjustments, for a reason. I… I would follow them if they led me through to hell because I know-- well, I know you’d send me there for a good reason. I just… couldn’t follow them that back in that base, because I knew better.”

“Because you were trying to protect me.”

He voiced your true motivation so effortlessly; and yet, his words were wrapped in such an agonizingly tender awe you nearly choked at the tone – and at your own laugh.

Because it was a laughable and unbelievable concept, wasn’t it? One little you trying your best, one little enhanced human thinking they could at least help to protect a demigod.

Worked well for you both, didn’t it?

“Well. Someone needs to try and protect our fearless reckless leader, right?”   

“Right,” he echoed and you could hear a smile just as tender as before, so unlike the light self-deprecating note you had allowed to creep into your voice. “Can I… can I ask you something?”

You felt your eyebrows arch involuntarily, curious – grateful for the distraction from how unbearably full and warm yourheart seemed to be.

“Pretty sure we crossed that line, Steve. Shoot.”

You regretted the choice of words the moment they left your mouth, the beat of silence that followed awkward at best; and yet, a small snort escaped you before you could contain it.

“That’s really not fu-”

“No. No, it’s not,” you agreed quickly, even as the corners of your lips kept twitching for some reason. But could anyone blame you? It was a little funny. It was absurd how all of this felt like a bad joke… even the lovely parts, which were the most absurd of it all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t--- I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“You’d better,” he grumbled, but the scolding got lost somewhere in translation, because he sounded a little bit amused at least at your horrible choice of words.

You let the smile tugging so insistently at your lips win, feeling like Steve had done the same – at least before his voice fell quieter.

“But what I mean is… when we were fighting, when I was--- yelling at you, and you mentioned pain.”

Your smile froze in an instant, your eyes slipping shut, the feeling of your thundering heartbeat consuming you. There was no doubt where this was going; frankly, you were shocked it took him so long to call you out.

He must have been hurting this whole time, even as the only indication he had given you was his heavier breathing due to the pain in his chest.

“You… curled up, recoiled,” he continued, slow and hesitant – everything your heartbeat was not. “As if you could still feel it. It wasn’t the first time it happened either and it’s been on my mind for a while. Does it--- I’m sorry, I can’t stop thinking about it, I do realize I have no right to ask, not really. I-”

“To ask what exactly?” you interrupted him in a small choked voice, even if you knew all too well what information he was interested in.

It was funny though.

‘It wasn’t for the first time it happened either.’

‘It’s been on my mind for a while.’

There was no way you could confirm what he was saying, but he had no reason to lie. You weren’t sure Steve Rogers was capable of lying, or at least being capable of being good at it. You had no prove but you felt it in your bones that he was telling the truth, tiptoeing around the uncomfortable question awkwardly as if he had been there before indeed. As if he had wanted to ask before.

He had noticed.

Of course he had fucking noticed, who had you been kidding. He was too observant for his own good; and too respectful to ask before. Perhaps he had thought the pain was simply something that had passed in a few minutes – you had been careful to hide it – and thus he had thought it was not his place to pry.

‘I do realize I have no right to ask.’

Except he had every right. As your superior who needed to know your condition to plan missions accordingly – even as you pushed hard enough not to let it affect your results in the field – and as someone who was experiencing the pain no one had warned him about right now.

You didn’t know whether you should burst out laughing or silently weep, the two tendencies pulling you in different direction so skilfully you ended up doing neither, giving Steve the opportunity to ask his question.

“To ask how much of that pain you remember when you snap back. How much of it… you feel after.”

You let your eyes slip shut, your stomach somersaulting despite knowing it was coming.

You could lie. You could tell him it was but a brief temporary side effect which would pass. You could deny you felt anything at all, leaving him thinking it was something he was experiencing due to the questionable power switch between you. The former could come bite you in the ass if you wouldn’t be able to reverse the artifact’s effect eventually; that was, if you’d live long enough to even try. The latter would mean leave Steve thinking he was the problem, the pain not being a universal part of the glorified power you had, only some shortcoming on his side.

Neither of the options seemed fair – in fact, the latter felt downright nasty, sending bile up your throat.

Steve had been doing everything in his power, quite literally, to ease your suffering. He had done justice to the golden part of his mocking moniker and had been nothing short of a good man, offering compassion, kindness and honesty. As much as any kind of lie would make your life easier, you didn’t think you’d be able to look yourself in the eye in a mirror. Steve deserved better than a lie or even a half-truth.

Sharing that burden with him now didn’t seem as scary as it had before either. He was only human too; he was the one person who would, given his past, knew that feeling pain didn’t mean one was completely helpless or useless.

Not to mention that chances indeed were you weren’t going to make it out of here. The least he’d deserve was to know the truth; and to know he wasn’t weak or messed up to feel the pain still. That, or you were both messed up.

The silence stretched as you took a deep breath, gathering courage. While sharing the burden whispered of relief, you weren’t a complete idiot. You had no doubt that Steve was going be less than thrilled to learn you had been hiding this from him. Dread pooed in your stomach as your heart threatened to jump out of your chest, but at last, you forced the words out with a sigh.

“…all of it. I… if it’s something big, I can still feel it even days after, gradually fading away. A bit faster than an actual wound would take to heal by my estimate, but… yeah.”

Dead quiet.

If the silence before had stretched, the quiet that followed this was endless. And deafening, even with Steve’s still ragged breathing.

“So it’s not just me now. It never switches off when you snap back,” he more stated than asked, suddenly sounding at highest alert. And stunned.

You could hear it in his voice, bubbling just under the surface of a matter-of-fact voice, gasoline waiting for a lit match. The anger – and a whole set of emotions you hadn’t dared to guess – he was holding back was almost palpable, even over the wall. There was no going back from your admission; but the safe way was to carefully choose your next words, as to minimize the damage.

And yet.

Maybe you had a death wish. Maybe you were a bit too reckless – that had to be the reason why the words you chose were precisely those, throwing back his assumptions even if with without malice, but with a tiny shrill of satisfaction.

“No. Contrary to the popular belief, it doesn’t.”

A beat of silence; the lit match nearing the gasoline, almost as if in slow motion, anticipation of a catastrophe to sweep the world.

Then, the explosion; a lick of fire on your cheek even if the only thing that happened was Steve tugging violently on his chains as if he wanted to hit anything in reach and a frustrated noise that sounded almost like a growl, causing you to wince and squeeze your eyes shut tighter.

“Goddammnit Spectre! Why wouldn’t you-"

Steve cut himself of mid-sentence, a deep breath of his reaching your ears, even as taking it must have hurt like hell with his spectral wound. And then another. A low noise full of something you couldn’t quite decipher.

But when Steve spoke again, it was on normal volume, perhaps even lower. “How many times have you… why would you-- I’m sorry. It never--- it never even occurred to me. It should have. And I’m sorry.”

Your eyes had snapped open at the first sorry; at the other, you were blinking uselessly, mind having come to a screeching halt as if his reaction had pulled at some sort of a figurative emergency break.

Except everything in your now screamed there was an emergency.

You understood nothing. Not anymore. Not how his anger could have given way to some sort of guilt.

Guilt? How could he have felt guilty?

Everything in your insisted it was wrong, so so wrong, the world not making any sense again. Except just as fast as the shock had overtaken you, soft understanding pushed it away in an annoyingly gentle manner that made a lump grow in your throat.

“You couldn’t have known,” your caught yourself whispering, a tug at your insides insistent as the realization started to take root; Steve felt responsible.

He felt responsible for your choices.

It was absurd. It was stupid. You had taken him for a noble jerk, but not a martyr – not this kind of martyr anyway. Not an idiot.

“I could have asked. But I assumed instead. I’m truly sorry,” he repeated, causing you to blink again, realization dawning to you anew, this time much more logical. That… he had a point in that. That was exactly what you had threw back at him earlier. He was quick to catch on; you less so. You were beginning to understand that despite the intriguing, terrifying and liberating conversation, your brain was registering your blood loss more and more by the minute. It had to be if it was so slow. “I’m sorry not only that it’s happening but for not being understanding of it.”

The thing was, you weren’t sure you’d tell him even if he had asked.

Scratch that. You knew that you wouldn’t.

“It’s okay. Apology accepted, Steve,” you echoed your words from the auction, a brief smile passing your lips as you did so. Your face had grown damp with tears again, you realized distantly; released pressure, dark secret coming to light. Relief.

He hadn’t yelled at you – not really. And he knewnow. You almost wanted to laugh. He knew.

His guilt was misplaced however, you we aware as much; he shouldn’t have to ask. Such thing was expected to be listed on file. Except you had made sure that it wouldn’t when erasing Andy’s records of your sessions.

The sudden urge to sooth Steve, feeling a physical manifestation of how he was beating himself over the fact he had made a half-wrong guess where he shouldn’t have, the burden on his shoulders having now grown another ton heavier as a consequence, slammed into your weary bones.

“It’s okay, Steve. I was hiding it. You simply couldn’t have known.”

“But why? Why didn’t you tell us?” he demanded, urgency bleeding over his shock, his investigative Captain mode activated again. Hadn’t it been that he was asking uncomfortable questions, you’d smile at the change. The man with a plan. A man of action and analytic mind. Steve Rogers, ladies and gentlemen. “You never took breaks after you got hurt. Not as Spectre anyway. If… if the pain lingers… if there is nothing that can to be done about that once it happens, why wouldn’t you let us know you needed time to heal?”

Because you’d take away the only thing I can cling to, your mind but breathed out weakly, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, hands flexing into fists, brief panic seizing your throat at the mere idea of thathappening. You’d take away the only thing I can do with my life. The only thing I know how to do.

You couldn’t tell him that. You had whispered too many secrets over this wall already, the majority of your defences down. But not this one. This one you had to keep in order to keep your sanity, to keep your place.

You were still an agent. There was no more place for whining; god knew you had already whined for enough to run out of a limit for years and years to come.

But you could still tell the truth. You should. Steve deserved nothing less; but you deserved to have some dignity left dammit. You scrambled to gather the last remnants of your pitiful shield and put it up, along with scraps of rationality.

“I’m an agent – I need to be able to handle pain, more than most. And I can,” you said firmly, ignoring the pull at your muscles as if your wounds wanted to confirm your words; or disprove them “Pain is a part of our life every day.”

“… it really shouldn’t be. Definitely not like this,” Steve protested, voice sounding a little weaker than before. You couldn’t tell whether it had anything to do with his physical state or whether he was simply struggling to protest when he actually agreed with you.

Pain was an undeniable and inevitable part of life; for some people more than others. He should know, shouldn’t he?

A hundred-pound asthmatic with a list of illnesses longer than your resumé in what probably felt like his past life; now, a proud sturdy shield taking punches and bullets left and right to protect others.

He’d know all about pain; back then and now. It suddenly barely made any sense that you had ever kept this from him if you looked at it from this angle. Then again, that was Steve Rogers.

Your life would be a lot easier if Steve Rogers and Captain America – your boss – were two separate people. But they weren’t. Looking back, you truly hated it as much as you loved it, every single day.

With a bittersweet smile on your lips, you wiped at your cheeks.

“I suppose it shouldn’t, but we don’t get to choose. You of all people should know that. You used to live it. You’re Captain America – you still live it.”

He a took a deep breath, sounding outraged and defeated at once – because you were right.

“True, but-“

“But nothing,” you interrupted him, indignant to make him understand. Without revealing too much. He was a smart cookie – he didn’t need all the information. “I have to handle it and I do. Thousands of people handle pain every day. What I have is no different from other chronic conditions, except it is. I have an advantage. Because to a large point, I can prevent it. Unlike other chronic pain, mine is simply an occupational hazard that occurs if I mess up as a spectre. And my occupational hazard is way kinder than any other agent’s, because when other agents get shot, they bleed. They die when they bleed out. I pass out. So really. I’m the lucky one.”

You expected it would shut him up; you expected him to ponder over your words.

You were wrong. Again.

“That is debatable,” he threw back in an instant, though not unkindly. A gentle reprimand rather than a challenge to argue. “And you can still bleed. And it doesn’t answer my question, not entirely at least.”

“I know,” was all you said.

You’d let him pick to which of his words it applied to. It applied to all of them.

“…I’m not… ordering you to answer it,” he continued softly, voice quieter again. “I understand you can have plenty reason to keep it to yourself, I just… I want to understand so we can adjust your schedule to accommodate your needs. You already give more than enough. This… this is beyond anyone could ask of you.”

You smiled bitterly, for once able to stop fresh tears from spilling even as his words struck you straight into your heart.

Of course he would think that. Of course he would want to do that.

Stupid big-hearted hypocritical dumbass.

And what about what we ask from you? What about you ask from yourself? you wanted to retort, but swallowed your rhetorical questions you already had an answer to, opting for a tired smile instead.   

“That’s not necessary, Steve. I’m fine.”

Most of the time. And when I’m not fine, I have to be anyway.

He repeated your name, somehow sounding both compassionate and pissed beyond belief; patient and insistent.

“Why?”

You almost, almost grinned, recalling Simmons’ words with stunning clarity, the words etched into your brain and bones, her British accent included.

An absolute marvel. You… you are a marvel.

And who wouldn’t want to be that? Even if for a while? Who wouldn’t swallow their pain, their cries, their blood?

A marvel.

It was embarrassing almost, to cling to it like that, you knew that.

And yet. Something about Steve’s voice, the gentle insistence, the genuine desire to simply understand you, pushed you to tell the truth. He’d understand. You had kept telling yourself he wouldn’t, because he had always put on this brave invincible face – or maybe you had believed he did, to make him even more unreachable – but the truth was that he truly was the one person who could understand all too well.

“I can’t afford to have a weakness. Not another one.”

I can’t show any weakness was written between the lines and you had a feeling Steve read just as easily as if it was written explicitly in all capital letters in your blood instead of in ink.

“You’re only human too,” he whispered, so damn quiet and as tender as his hands had been. “You’re allowed to be human. It’s no different than Bucky having a prosthetic, than people taking time off to heal and then rehabilitate after a physical injury to their non-astral body. We would never allow you back to field if-”

“I can handle it!” you exploded at once, a raging fire licking at your veins the second he implied you were unable to do your job properly, the job you had trained for your whole life, since you were a damn child, you were just fine, dammit! “I’m not a charity case, I don’t need any special treatment! I’m nothing less than-“

“But you don’t have to handle it, that’s my point!” he snapped in response to your shout. The authority and conviction his voice held, even on normal volume, had you shut up in immediately. And listen. “And it doesn’t make you less of an agent to be treated accordingly to your condition! I didn’t mean to say that we wouldn’t let you into the field because you’re weak, because I know you’re everything but that – but we wouldn’t let someone with a healing gunshot wound into the field either. All I’m saying is that if we knew, you wouldn’t have to suffer. You’re a person first, an asset to the team next. No one would think any less of you. You deserve to rest, you deserve having your needs met, you deserve to be treated like a damn human being!”

A sharp inhale and exhale; a brief moment to process what he said while he gathered strength to speak again. A brief moment for you to gather the pieces of the world he had shattered for you.

In that moment, a strange feeling of peace washed over you, one you imagined one might find in an apocalyptic world, a place when all that had been known was ruin and fleeting wistful pleasures, when the sun came of for the first time in centuries; so peculiar, incomprehensible and untouchable. But warm. And beautiful.

“Why--- why wouldn’t you--- don’t you-?”

“Not where I come from,” you whispered, smiling tight and bitter through the tears even as Steve couldn’t see you.

The metaphorical sight of that sun was beautiful and you basked in it. But it was as gorgeous as hurtful; tied to the knowledge it would not last.

A pregnant pause followed your words and you knew. You knew you had said too much. Shared way too many things that no one but your therapist should know – and that was already one person too many and she was aware of considerably less.

And then, creeping horror. Steve was quiet – for too long. Deadly quiet too – couldn’t hear his breathing.

Panic hit you like a ton of bricks all over again, digging into your heart with sharp nails, deeper than before with a profound knowledge of the universal truth.

This was how it went, didn’t it? You opened up to someone too much, you told them about your pain, about your most pitiful secret and they showed understanding and compassion – and then they died. One of the great reasons why you had kept it secret, why you had insisted on being in the field so much; if you weren’t there, if you weren’t doing what you were meant to do, people died. They would too if anyone learned and you got benched for your comfort.

Death followed your potential confession in so many ways. You knew that, always had, so why had you been so stupid again to-

You should have never told anyone. Especially not Steve.

“Steve?! Are you-“

“You deserve nothing less than having your needs respected and met,” he said slowly, every syllable carefully measured, unshakable despite the shaky breath he had finally released and you could kill him, your heart thundering in your chest at the brutal scare he had given you and his words alike. “You deserve better than that. You always have. And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.”

With me, said the steel in his voice.

The shudder running through you had nothing to do with cold, your breathing shallow and quick, something in his voice, something untouchable and so perfectly tangible and the realest thing you had ever touched, forcing you to listen and accept, and accept willingly, because what he said was nothing but the very essence of kind.

This was who he was. Righteous and fair. A vessel for violence to be unleashed, if necessary, but an infinitely kind man. It had nothing to do with you – he would do that for anyone, you were more than aware, because care was in the very core of Steve Rogers; but to have it aimed at you still felt like the warmest hug you had never known, one you got without working hard for it, without deserving it first for once.

It felt like Steve’s large hands gently cradled your heart, fingertips running over the cracks mended with concrete, smoothening the rough edges. It was terrifying because one second of his superhumanly strong grip and the hasty repairs would crack irreparably; but it came with a soft thrill and warm waterfalls of tears running down your cheeks instead, because every tender stroke whispered there was not the tiniest need for caution. Not if these were his hands.

Was it strange to still see them as impossibly strong even if you now carried the supersoldier abilities yourself?

He was waiting, patiently so, you could tell as much – but he expected a reaction. Of any kind. A scream, a scoff, a whisper. A protest or a confirmation, a vague hm. Anything.

What he received was a creaky voice and a bargain, a whisper sounding so shallow in comparison of how terribly profoundlyhis words touched you and rearranged your soul.

“I’ll remember that if we make it out, hm? But only if you take your own advice and allow yourself to be a human too.”

“Sounds only fair,” he whispered warmly. “Deal, Spectre.”

‘Deal, Spectre.’ Just like that. As if you two hadn’t just agreed to try to fundamentally change., but agreed what time the next training session would start.

But the lightness was deceiving; you were both all too aware. But what was a little promise when you had no idea how long you’d live, right?

“Deal, Cap. …but don’t you fucking scare me like that. Don’t you dare to stop talking to me or to close your eyes,” you said sharply and damn, you meant it. Hadn’t you had bigger thing to process, you’d smack the wall and imagined it was him.

Holding him damn breath, was he trying to kill you?

“Sorry. But one of the strongest people I know told me it doesn’t work like that. No amount of talking keeps someone awake.”

You gulped even as the corners of your lips twitched a bit as his sassy response – bless his observation that after dealing with such heavy matters, humour was the most welcomed reprieve. You wanted your reply to reek of snark, but probably failed. Because damn him, you were still too deep into processing what had just happened and he was not sparing a single opportunity to compliment you – the feeling it elicited inside you was foreign and difficult to contain.

“Sounds like a smart girl. But she fails to take into account that hearing a voice might not keep a person awake, but can be just… nice,” you said, not fighting the softness that crept into your voice anymore. “So unless the other person is being an ass… it can feel really good to hear their voice.”

It was too intimate to say that, scarily so; but the warmth that enveloped you when you heard his response was worth it, you thought.

“I like hearing your voice too.”

One of the important things agents were taught at the SHIELD academy was keeping track of time when there was virtually no way to do so; no watch, no phone, no indication of a day or a night. How to keep your head straight, when deprived of one of the basic stimuli – daylight. No training done purely in kid gloves ever worked, so this, being held captive in a room without windows, was how you practised.

And yet; you had no idea how long you had been in captivity. It was a fact that no training could have prepared you for everything – like getting shot twice, having your friend (colleague, Steve was colleague, a superior) shot in front of you, having your powers exchanged – but that made it no less frustrating to not being able to tell how long it had been.

You had a few indications, sure; there was only so many hours one could survive without water, but all that your parched throat, dizziness and occasional zoning out told you, was that it hadn’t been three days – because you were still alive. The water bottle the asshole who had shot Steve had thrown in was staring at you mockingly, your fingers twitching at weak moments of pondering whether you should simply give in; but since you could resist so far, you knew it couldn’t have been that long. Given the blood loss and the fact you hadn’t passed out, your rough estimate was that it had been a few hours.

But god, were they endless.

At least you had good company still; Steve’s soft check-in reached your ears again, a ghost of an exhausted smile passing over your lips.

“What was your favourite class at the academy?” he asked then, causing you to chuckle self-deprecatingly.

It was selfish. Self-centred. But it was the truth – but could anyone really blame a person for liking doing what they were good at?

“Gymnastics. I… I had a head start,” you admitted reluctantly, Steve’s voice warm as he hummed in response.

“That’s fair. It does sounds like you’re underselling though.”

Your smile widened, a small spark of a giddy feeling that was most definitely not supposed to arise in your chest flickering to life.

“What did you like the best back at the camp?”

“Hand to hand,” he replied simply, the smile in his voice puzzling you as much as his answer. You had purposely asked about the camp, thinking he might… tell you about what it was like before the serum. It was naïve, you berated yourself; this was nothing but small talk to kill time, while Steve no doubt kept working on any possible solutions to your shitty predicament. You were an idiot to think- “That is after I was shown that size and strength don’t always matter. That I could still win if I worked hard to improve my skills. And had a bit of smarts.”

Your shoulders sagged, the warmth in your chest spreading again. He was being honest. Open. And the vague image of a small guy kicking arse due to his brains and determination alone was most endearing and powerful. And you had it now to keep; because Steve had shared it with you.

While this was just a conversation to kill time while your hazy brain too vainly tried to come up with a way out of this mess, it was more than you had ever talked. More than you would ever talk in the future, probably. If you lived long enough for the future lasted for longer than another few hours.

You had right to feel like weeping, you thought briefly, to feel like someone had reached for the rug under your feet and tugged, causing you to hit the floor hard; but you had no right to feel an unfamiliarly powerful tug of longing for things that wouldn’t come. And yet you felt it anyway.

You were more than ready for this whole insanity of Hydra captivity to end – one way or the other. And yet, there was an unfairly large part of you, circling around your heart, that wished some things to linger. The delicate bond you and Steve had threaded together over the past few hours was precious beyond anything, as palpable as the wall between you.

Precious things never lasted.

And you already missed it.

You should never get attached, it was the number one rule, but you were the troublemaker sometimes, weren’t you?

When you spoke again, you hoped the sudden acute dullness in your ribcage couldn’t be heard in your voice.

“That’s fair,” you echoed his words, a brief intangible image of his smile flashing in front of your eyes.

He had to be smiling, right? It seemed-

Your heart leaped into your throat, back straightening as the sound of multiple footsteps coming from behind your door reached your momentarily enhanced ears despite the ever-present low whooshing of blood in your temples. 

“Steve-“ you whispered tightly, and that was how far you got before the lock was rattling and people started flowing into your cell. People, plural.

A man in an obnoxiously luxury suit. A three-man army with confidence of men with enough firepower to have a back-up weapon of a back-up weapon, Mr. Hydra Douche With A Twitchy Finger included. A man with a briefcase, in a telling white lab coat.

Instinctively, before you could think better of it, you scooted closer to the wall, instantly regretting it as a jolt of pain shot up your aching legs – and as a ghost a smile passed over the Mr. Hydra Douche’s otherwise blank face.

You swore that if you got your hands on him-

“Morning, Agent. Or should I say afternoon? How are we doing?” the man in the suit – clearly the Head Douche – asked with feigned politeness and had your gaze not moved back towards the doctor, you would have felt like spitting on him just for that. But it had.

And you recognized the man in white. You had seen him before, you were sure of it, despite the light fog wrapping around your brain tighter with every passing second of your heart racing.

You had met him at the Tower, you had no doubt about that and the fact alone caused goosebumps to rise on your arms, your stomach somersaulting.

You didn’t know his name; if someone asked about him, you probably wouldn’t have been able to describe him. He wasn’t any kind of conspicuous, yet he was here. He wasn’t memorable –then again, that was the point of undercover, wasn’t it? That was the mission of double-faced assholes. Be bright enough to get hired to the Avengers Initiative; be the right amount of ordinary to fit among all the extraordinary minds of the scientific department as to not stand out.

If you had enough strength to stand up, you’d punch his fucking teeth out.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” was what you settled for, earning a half-smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Rich, coming from the daughter of the ultimate All Work No Play Bitch,” he replied calmly, the vindictive tone like a slap to your face, causing you to recoil further.

That, and the mention of your mother.

You did not disagree with his assessment, you supposed; but she was your mother. Was she with them? Was she not – and had the hurt her?

Bile rose up your throat at the idea of either of those being true. It shouldn’t have – you didn’t care, you shouldn’t care, not anymore, god knew she certainly didn’t – but it sent a violent shiver down your spine anyway. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to supress the tremble.

Fuck him. Fucking fuck Hydra as a whole.

“Now, now, no need to call anyone names…” Mr. Head Douche said, even as he seemed rather amused by your exchange. “We have more important matters at hand. Doctor Barret?”

A low voice sharp enough to cut steel spoke before the doctor could take a single step in your direction, causing your heart to skip a startled beat even as it spoke in your favour; even as it was Steve.

“Leave her alone.”  

The suited man briefly looked as if behind you, a supposedly pleasant smile on his lips that came out as a sleazy one, condescending. It made your hair stand on its end. Then again, this whole room, this whole situation had done good enough job of that already.

“Patience, Captain. We will deal with you in a minute. No need to be jealous about your inferior getting the bigger company.”

Your gaze snapped up, alarm bells ringing for two reasons.

Steve wasn’t alone either.

And you were the one to get the welcoming wagon.

Why? Why you first?

You weren’t a complete idiot; Steve was the more valuable one in terms of intel and strategy. He was the one with supersoldier serum they had been trying to neutralize, even as now they could probably poke both of you like lab rats and get some ‘intriguing’ results for sure.

So why you?

Saving the best for the last? Did they think you were weaker, that you’d crack more easily? Did it have anything to do with you being Inhuman? Did it have anything to do with you being the one, momentarily, in whom the serum effects were manifested? Why-

When the man met your gaze again, calculating, it felt like an icy liquid injected straight into your veins, realization slamming into you with full force along with your panic skyrocketing.

You were the leverage.

They could probe you all the wanted, they could punch and kick and cut, and they would torture Steve – because they knew enough to realize he would not want it on his conscience, not him of all people, not after they had watched you interact – and they wouldn’t have to as much as touch their more valuable prisoner.

Your gaze involuntarily flickered towards the briefcase in Barret’s hand as he stepped closer to you, your chest suddenly too tight to breathe in.

Don’t let them see. Don’t let them see that you’re scared.

You weren’t naïve enough to think you managed to hold face despite the anxious chant in your head.

The boss beckoned wordlessly to two of his brainless henchmen as Barret set the briefcase down, opening it with the lid towards you, obscuring whatever was in from your vision; but it wasn’t necessary.

You were too busy gulping and measuring the two men who approached you and stood each by your side in a blink of an eye, large greedy hands already reaching out.

“Don’t touch me-“ you blurted out, hands curling into fists in an instant to ready yourself to what would probably be a pathetic fight but still a fight.

They gripped your biceps in a vice and pulled you up to your feet before your weary sweat-soaked body could take a single swing at them, holding you upright with your feet barely touching the ground.

And then one of them kicked the back of your knees the same moment they dropped you low enough to force you stand, sending you instantly to the ground due to the weakness in your legs, their hands but a thin rope keeping you from falling face-down on the floor.

The majority on your weight landed on your knees. The rest was held up by your thighs.

Your agonized cry got drowned in the blinding pain seizing your body, tears springing from your eyes as you felt like you were going to be torn from inside out.

An agonizing déjà-vu; except now you had no strength left to keep your pain for yourself.

It hurt. Goddamn fucking Jesus, it hurt, pain consuming all your senses, only leaving space for vague awareness of the dull sounds of Steve’s protests and loud cries of metal as he vainly fought his bound again.

Bless his soul, he was not about to give up even when it was clear there was no other option but that left.

You wished you were that strong.

As you hungrily gasped for air, Steve’s efforts having fallen silent upon a promise of catching another bullet, you blinked your eyes open. Vision blurry with tears, you noticed the doctor had put on thick lab gloves – and was now holding a part of the Kree artifact.

Of fucking course.

Through the white-hot pain still gripping at your brain, your felt a tiny part of you sigh in relief. You supposed it could be worse than being about to get exposed to the effects of the artifact; then again, at least knives and needles were predictable enough. You had no idea what this thing would do now. Send the powers back to their rightful owner? Pass them on? Or take them altogether, somehow absorbing them?

“Fantastic, fascinating thing, isn’t it? We knew the item would be valuable as soon as it appeared on the auction list, but to have such unforeseen properties… had we known, we could have saved ourselves a lot of work,” the boss pondered out loud, tilting his head to side a bit when you grinded your teeth and tried to meet his insane eyes even as your head was spinning and it was hard to focus on anything.

“What work?” you hissed, biting your tongue hard when one of the asshole henchmen tugged at your arm a bit, sending a fresh wave of undiluted agony through your wounds.

You didn’t know where you found the will to ask. You doubted he’d take the bait. But if you were about to pass out from pain and blood loss alike, you might as well be useful to Steve and whoever was hopefully coming to the rescue – and collect your body – eventually.

“That might be the oldest trick in the book, Agent. Tempting the supposed villain to reveal his plans… but frankly, I think you should know, if for nothing than for appreciating my genius,” he boasted, so smug and proud of himself you wanted to tell him to bite you.

But knowing Hydra were goddamn lunatics, you didn’t, because he might do exactly that – and you were not interested.

God, your head was spinning. You were sure that one rapid movement and you’d throw up.

“By all fucking means.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly amused. Fuck him.

“…cute. You see, you wouldn’t believe how troublesome you can be, Agent,” he said, causing your breath to catch in your throat and your thready thoughts to scatter. Huh? “We really counted on all of you to be much more capable, but in the end, forgive me, you especially turned out to be a real pain in the ass. A real disappointment.”

It was absurd – the most absurd thing of all, you supposed, despite the past hours being a complete funhouse – but being called a disappointment, by a Hydra lunatic, felt like a blow to your solar plexus, shame filling every ounce of your being for a moment.

How utterly useless a person had to be for a Hydra lowlife to find you disappointing, for whichever reason he was cryptically referring to? It truly felt like you hit a new low.

And yet. A defiant smirk somehow found a way to your lips, however weak, a little piece of pride at having made their lives complicated, even if unwittingly.

“My pleasure,” you said, pointedly ignored.

“The data was right there. You had them in your grasp and then you failed to deliver them to your base of operation. Doctor Banner’s and his team’s contributions to our uncomplete attempts to develop the antiserum would have been invaluable.”

…what?

“I mean, their motives for researching the scraps we left behind would obviously be of the purest nature, retracing the ‘big bad Hydra’s’ steps, developing the very antiserum we were working on themselves in order to find an antidote to it, believing we already had the substance in possession. And we’d have it delivered, a sample and a formula, developed and perfected by them. It was brilliant. They could have done all the work, found the solution we needed. But no. The data was planted for you team to find, the perfect bait… and you had to go and muck it up, didn’t you, Agent Spectre?”

Blank.

Your mind turned blank.

Your jaw had fallen slack, ears filling with a strange static noise growing louder and louder with every word he said. And yet you could hear him perfectly clearly, hear him paint an image so bizarre you would have had trouble comprehending it had you been entirely healthy, let alone when missing around two pints of blood.

The reality he described felt everything but real – but it made sense. Despite the plan being absolutely insane, it made sense. And you had to give it to him, it indeed was irritatingly brilliant.

But at the sae time, you could have laughed at the irony, downright wheeze at the cosmic sense of humour.

The data. They had planted the data which you had felt so desperately useless for having lost, the ones you and Steve had fought about.

The blankness of your mind was replaced by a rapid fire of thoughts, even as they seemed to come too slow as seconds ticked by and you were holding your breath in anticipation of his laughter, anticipation of his revealing he was just pulling your leg for laughs, a confirmation you had somehow misunderstood, .

But it didn’t come.

Because it was the truth.

You had messed up, but in a different way than you thought. Not by failing to deliver the drive. They had wanted you to find the files and deliver them; and you had taken the bait like a stupid goose, your instinct to protect the team, Steve in particular, flaring up.

Failing to deliver the flash drive had actually been a good thing. Because otherwise you would have helped Hydra to have the scientists with the AI do Hydra’s work for them instead of just offering vague scraps which doctor Banner and others could barely work with.

Screw exchanging powers, screw the existence of an artifact that caused the switch; THIS was a large mindfuck you weren’t sure you could ever wrap your head around.

Your failure had meant Hydra’s failure. And Steve, precious annoying Steve, having snapped you back before you could have delivered the intel, had actually been a hindrance in Hydra’s evil plans as well. He had been angry with you for taking a risk, he had cared, and so he had broken your concentration for it and you had thought that it meant he thus put himself at risk – but in fact, he had unwittingly got himself further from getting caught in Hydra’s bullshit.

You were stunned.

And rendered entirely speechless with both awe and absolute horror.

“Is that your impressed face, Agent? I can’t quite tell with all the panting for air and smudged black-tie worthy make-up,” the boss hummed mockingly.

You kept absently staring at the Hydra pin on the lapel of his suit, your mind still racing and trying to fathom the things that could have happened and hadn’t.

Hydra didn’t have an antiserum. They had wanted the AI to figure out what they couldn’t. They wanted to hurt Steve in a most effective and most painful way possible, no doubt. And you could have delivered that opportunity to them on a silver platter. You had almost assisted to Steve getting hurt, even more than he was now.

The idea made your ribcage feel tighter.

Fresh panic filled it instead of air when you realized that Steve was quiet, again. He had been quiet for a while now.

Why was he quiet?

You strained your ears despite the loud frantic thump-thump-thump of your own heart echoing in your head, slightly relieved you could still hear his ragged breaths.

“Well, that plan is obviously in the past now. We have something much more effective – a way to take all your powers, hopefully, and maybe even replicate them. Bless the Kree.”

Fuck the Kree, was your thought, but you bit your tongue.

Only when Doctor Barret took the other part of his artifact in his hand as well and rose to his feet, eyes unmistakably set on you, you realized how terrifyingly still everything and everyone had been. Almost robotic. Perfectly obedient; perfectly compliant with Hydra Head Douche’s wishes.

Had he made them comply? The brainwashing program? Was that what awaited you after?

Barret barely took a single step towards you. You immediately tried to move backwards, meeting the unrelenting resistance of the men who held you instead.

The only thing you managed was causing yourself more pain, the grip on your arms growing strong enough to bruise.

“Well, we’re nothing if flexible,” the Head Douche hummed, shrugging almost jovially as the other Trigger-Happy Hydra Douche stepped closer to you as well. “You see, it looks like now we have two supersoldiers now and that changes the game completely too. Generations of scientists thought replicating the serum’s effects was impossible – Doctor Banner being one of the few who live to tell the tale, but your DNA is… vastly different to the Captain’s and yet. You carry his abilities now – and he carries yours, without your bodies visibly changing. I wonder… if we start probing you, we could have a whole new set of data on how to synthetise it...”

You gulped. You had worried about them reviving Daniel Whitehall’s program of brainwashing people to make anyone do Hydra’s bidding; but the mention of the doctor’s other favourite pastime had a shiver ran down your spine.

You hear a soft rattle of chains and you knew Steve was fighting hard to do anything – and then there was quiet again, sharp one at that. Your heart hammered against your chest. Did he pass out now?!

Steven Grant Rogers, you open your eyes right fucking now or so help me god-

“And we can actually have Captain Rogers’ samples, even if tainted by your own… mutation? There are so many questions to be answered. I wonder… if I simply take this, and have you touch the other part, will that make me a supersoldier, just like that? A game of hot potato, so to speak? Is it that simple? To think we went through all that trouble and all we needed was a piece of an alien rock… or is it genetics too? How can we only find out, huh?”

You just glared, forcing your muscles to stop the tremble the man’s words fought to leave in their wake.

Somehow, the fact theydidn’t have a single idea what would be their next best step was so much worse than the opposite, bile rising in the back of your throat and burning.

They’d do anything to get their answers. They’d do everything.

And you were alone.

“Our brightest minds have been analysing this extraordinary piece of work for the past hours and came up with nothing conclusive, nothing that would tell us what will happen…” he said, eyeing you thoughtfully, beckoning to the Trigger-Happy Douche, who put on a single glove himself, taking one part of the artifact from the doctor without his skin making contact. There was no glow to the metal yet; neither of these men were Inhuman, apparently. Then again… were you? Still? “So we must resort to the old-fashioned trial and error, it appears. I wonder if the transfer will be complete… if we take that power from you right now, before you can heal, will it be lights out for you, darling?”

Your heart seized in your chest, the rest of your body outside your control; you attempted to tug yourself free despite the roar of pain it caused, not moving an inch.

That was one option you hadn’t considered yet. If it was this simple, as the Hydra Head Douche just said, if he stole the healing factor from you, you’d— right away. You had lost too much blood already, you had no doubt.

You’d be dead before you could as much as breathe in once.

The shudder that ran down your spine was violent and rattled your bones; you had no strength to stop it.

‘Will it be lights out for you, darling?’

You closed your eyes; and then there was a frustrated sound from behind the wall and you snapped them back open, a blissful flicker of relief.

Not unconscious, apparently. Good.

And then it finally dawned to you, the reason for Steve’s silence; and it made spite rise in your gut along with anger and completely unfair fondness.

Steve Rogers was still fighting; he was still fighting to help despite his unbreakable bounds. He was trying to focus and project, even though the pain.

He truly was stronger and more determined than the entirety of SHIELD together, wasn’t he? If he was about to go down – and you prayed he wouldn’t, you prayed he’d get home somehow, back-up arriving just in time for him to survive somehow – he’d go down fighting, taking as many Hydra lunatics as possible. He deserved so much better than he was getting. He deserved and needed you to get your shit together.

You weren’t dead yet.

There might not be hope left, but that didn’t mean you had to go down without a fight. If you’d die trying to make these bastards lives a little bit more miserable than they were, you could not only take fear and regrets to the grave, but also a fair amount of satisfaction.

You lifted your gaze to the Head Douche’s face with gritted teeth, eyes hard. You hoped.

“Nah, I hope not,” the man mused, eyes following Doctor Barret who now approached you with the other half of the artifact. His eyebrow rose along with your awe, as the artifact lit up with uncomfortably familiar symbols in your proximity. Still an Inhuman, it seemed, at least in body. Still capable of being a pain in the ass. “That would be sad, wouldn’t it? We’d like you to tell us how exactly your abilities work. Even if the Captain seemed to get a hang of it pretty quickly…”

“He’s trying to do it again, I think,” sounded from behind the wall, the new voice startling you despite your determination and making your stomach drop.

Hydra might have been reduced in numbers, but sadly grew in brainpower, apparently. Fuck them.

“Tsk-tsk,” the Head Douche licked his tongue, extending a hand towards the doctor, stepping to you himself. “That’s not wise. We don’t want to waste any more bullets, do we…? Really, SHIELD and Avengers need to work on teaching their agents not to get attached. It makes you all so weak.”

The gun was out of a holster you had missed earlier and aimed at your forehead before you could as much as startle.

And then the safety of it clicked, your view of the man’s face partly obscured by his hand and metal, forefinger firmly resting against the trigger.

Your heart jumped to your throat; your determination bled out of your body in an instant, horror replacing it.

One minuscule movement and you’d be dead.

It didn’t matter if you’d miraculously survived the power switch, if there would be no power exchange at all, since no one knew how the artifact worked, not really. For all you knew, it could have had a mind of its own, you had seen a monolith that changed into liquid seemingly at whim before, you had seen too much insane to believe you knew anything at all.

But that didn’t really matter anyway, did it?

You had thought so many times in the past hours that you would never seen the world outside of this cell, that you’d meet your end here – but it had never felt as tangible as the cold muzzle of the man’s gun hovering an inch from your head.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Captain. You try to project again and each of you gets a bullet. Equality is a virtue, after all, isn’t it,” he announced rather than asked, voice flat all the same as he threatened and mocked what Steve had fought for even since the damn 1940’s. “But I feel like I should inform you that the gun is aimed at Agent Spectre’s head, ready to make her open her third eye to eternity.”

You winced at the imagery and squeezed your eyes shut, a ghost of pain you had never felt circling at the centre of your forehead already.

“Where should we aim at the Captain’s body, what do you think, Agent Spectre?”

“Steve, please stop.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think twice, quiet and shockingly calm to your own ears.

And even more surprising was the soft sound of metal and fabric as Steve shifted and a single deep ragged breath of his – and the silence that settled after.

He listened to you.

It was as scary as soothing.

You’d get to live a few more moments. And hopefully, he wouldn’t get punished by another gunshot wound. It was a little naïve to believe Hydra would have had any morals and wouldn’t shoot him just to prove a point, but a girl could hope and send a last wish, right?

You had two of those. For Steve to survive and be okay. And for every single person who was in this room with you to suffer unimaginable pain. You weren’t as virtuous as Steve was; had it been a little more realistic than it was, you’d have even wished for you being the one who would be the cause of it too.

The gun lowered minutely, the safety clicking back on, the softest shift of the air telling you the Head Douche let his arm fall to his side. You allowed yourself to breathe in shakily, eyes fluttering open despite your eyelashes growing heavy with tears.

“Touching,” the man commented, unimpressed. “I guess the other shoulder will do then, Mitch. Be ready. Now, as for you, darling, you just stay still. I believe it’s time to proceed. After all, discovery requires experimentation.”

Another violent shudder rocked your body as you recognized the words; the man smiled slightly, a twinkle of vicious glee in his hard gaze when he noticed.

A fire of rage lit up every achy cell in your body.

Asshole. Revelling in suffocating people with fear. Smiling when he had his henchmen to do his dirty work. Feeling so powerful with brainless goons to protect him and do his bidding. The perfect stereotypical bully, all the worse for Nazis being his divine inspiration.

You had no chance of overpowering him whatsoever and he had aimed a gun at you just a few seconds ago and yet, you couldn’t but spit the words burning on your tongue, disgust dripping from your tone despite being aware you truly shouldn’t poke the bear. Or the ancient strange octopus they worshiped for that matter.

“You really should lay off reading all that Reinhardt’s crap.”

The Head Douche cocked his head to side, one corner of his lips rising as he stepped away to make space for Doctor Barret and the glowing artifact.

“That’s doctor Reinhardt to you, Agent Spectre,” he corrected you, the dark glee in his face shining brighter. “He was quite the visionary. I’m glad you’re familiar with his work. Because if this simple exchange doesn’t work as we hope, we’ll move on to his methods. I heard the last Inhuman he had in his care, while still carrying the name you just used, ended up in so many pieces they had trouble reconstructing her body to stitch her up. They barely succeeded, even with her regenerative abilities… I think bleeding out from bullet wounds would be the merciful route for you, wouldn’t it?”

You weren’t proud of it, not in the slightest. But as panic slammed into you, you trembled, your lower lip wobbling.

You had heard the story of Jiaying. An Inhuman who had fascinated Reinhardt, or Doctor Whitehall, as he had been known later. At the death’s doorstep himself, he had been freed from SHIELD’s prison and got his chance to finally examine the woman who hadn’t aged. To experiment. To cut her open, taking a sample of anything he could, and another and another, eventually succeeding at reversing his own aging process.

And dumping the remnants of her body, only for her husband to stitch her up; ironically, for both her to become a villain just as bad.

You supposed Head Douche had a point after all. A bullet would be a mercy, even as that was hardly a pleasant option.

You had no doubt they would shoot you one more time the second they’d find out they stole Steve’s power.

Then again, maybe they would take great joy in seeing you die slowly and in pain, digging into your wounds for fun and took a few samples anyway, in the name of science, despite already getting what they wanted. That was the kind of fuckery Hydra did, didn’t they?

And then, they would do the same with Steve.

But if he was the second, that meant he had more time. And by then, the backup might finally arrive.

The glow of the artifact felt warm, even as the metal still hadn’t touched you; an undeniable reminder of who you were. What you were.

Last flare of fight rippled through you, but it was gone just as fast.

You’d be too slow. You could eliminate the henchmen who held you, maybe, if you pushed hard through the pain, but they were still gunshot wounds. You had already seen and felt the results of standing up, the damage to the muscles too severe. And even if you by some miracle managed to get rid of the doctor too, there were still two other people, both of them with a clearly twitchy finger. Anything less than superspeed combined with superstrength was useless.

You were useless.

You closed your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you whispered, trying your best to block your hearing so you wouldn’t hear his reaction, whatever it might be.

You didn’t want to leave this world hearing his disappointment. You had had enough of it throughout your whole life. You were ashamed enough all on your own, but you didn’t have any strength, will, or chance to keep fighting.

So you slowly breathed in and out, vainly trying to relax as you felt the artifact pulse near your cheek, and you accepted your fate.

Had Steve been in your place, he wouldn’t have – you were sure of it. But you weren’t him. Despite what he had said, unlike him, you were only human. And the fact was that even if you did somehow neutralize everyone in the room, Mitch and whoever was in Steve’s cell would just… neutralize Steve.

And you couldn’t have that.

You squeezed your eyes tighter, feeling your body shake even as you tried not to give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared. You cursed the lonely tears rolling down your cheeks. You sent a quick prayer to whatever messed up God listening.

And then you realized it wasn’t you who was shaking.

It was the ground.  

And it wasn’t shaking – it was quaking.

In your mind’s eye, you smiled and then laughed – hysterically. These assholes should quiver in their boots. They had no idea what force of nature was about to hit them.

Agent Daisy Johnson had been a force to reckon with even since she had joined; but Quake would take them by storm.

Or more precisely, by an earthquake.

“What the-“

Before you could let the relief envelop you, a deafening noise swept over the room, the wave of sheer power seemingly shattering your bones.

When darkness pulled you under, it was with a weak, but real smile on your face.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

That’s right, folks, Quake is coming 👀

This chapter took a long time and I'm aware... life's been happening (and not always in a good way) and this chapter was a long one and heavy one to write, despite the oy it brought me. Please, consider leaving a comment if you can - let me know your thoughts, I love reading them!

FYI, I couldn’t resist Quake making an appearance and I couldn’t resist the heart to heart over the wall, it was actually one of the scenes I’ve had written down first along with the screaming match at the beginning of the series 🥹

I hope March is kind to you 💕

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #shield agent reader #agent reader #inhuman reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #back and forth #anika ann

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 7: Rogue Desire

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The library is dim except for the oil lamp casting its snug ochre radiance, illuminating the page you’re reading. The window here is forever shuttered and draped to keep the sun off the assorted books and tomes, making you feel safe. Well, as safe as you can feel while sharing quarters with Astarion. Your fingers rub the harsh, bumpy surface of the book's old cover as your eyes feast on page after page.

“What are you reading?”

You close the book momentarily to let Astarion get a look at the cover.

“Ah,” he smiles, “I lent you that some time ago. Did I not?”

You nod, “I never got to finish it.”

Astarion lays on the lounge beside you, “Well, what do you think of it so far?”

You cock your brow at him, and your nose crinkles, “It doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of book you would read.” 

He laughs, “Why’s that?”

“It’s well written, and there are gory bits, but it seems to boil down to a love story, and I can’t imagine you reading romance.” 

“Do you think me incapable of romance, my dear? I was romancing people before you were alive.”

You smirk at him, “I’m positive you can feign romance exuberantly. I can’t imagine you being truly romantic, though.”

He waves dismissively, “What’s the difference? It’s all a show, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but one has true feelings behind it, which makes it romantic. It’s not the “show,” as you say.”

He chuckles, “This is starting to sound an awful lot like a challenge, and I do love a good challenge.”

You frown, “I’m sure Elowyn would love a demonstration.” 

He scoffs, “You said there must be true feelings behind it.”

What does that mean?

Does he even feel anything anymore?

Questions you want to ask him but choose not to because you don’t want to know the answers. 

Astarion looks around the room, “Why do you read in here all the time? I thought you would be out in the courtyard, or at least in a room with a window. You used to love the sun,” he muses with a dreamy, faraway guise.

“I liked the sun. No one loves the sun more than you do." 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” his mouth twitches, “You and I used to watch the sunrise together often.”

“That was before,” you sigh at the memories, “This is now.”

He looks around anxiously while rubbing his hands together, “We could again if you wanted to.”

“I’m frightened that you will get angry with me, and in that rage, you’ll cease protecting me,” you retort bluntly.

His brows furrow with a resigned sigh, “Do you think you will ever trust me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

He sits upright and looks at you intensely, “Indeed, I do.”

Why? Why does it matter to him if I trust him or not?

Trust is a luxury I can’t afford.

“You have your work cut out for you then.”

He chuckles, “It’s a good thing we have an eternity ahead of us.”

Unless you kill me.

Biting your tongue, you swallow that retort. Astarion has been remarkably pleasant for several days and seems more himself than you can recall since he became the Vampire Ascendant. You’re not keen on upsetting him for something so silly and becoming reacquainted with the version of him that lurks in his ire.

“Why did you recommend the book to me?”

He glowers at you playfully, “I have no doubt you will figure it out sooner or later.”

So, there is a reason.

“You could just tell me,” you purr.

“Darling, where is the fun in that?”

Astarion stands and kisses the top of your head. Running his finger along the books, he picks one, “I will be reading in the courtyard, in the sun I love so much according to you, if you would like to join.”

You give him a curt nod, but once he’s left the room, a small smile meanders its way across your lips. Astarion having the ability to walk in the sun safely for the rest of his days after living centuries in the dark was one of the reasons you had helped him with the ritual. You didn’t want to be the one to damn him to an eternity of darkness as a spawn. As far as reasons go, you know it wasn’t a good one compared to the cost, but what’s done is done, and the reasons, good or bad, don’t matter now.

Letting your eyes roam the page of text, you try to distract yourself with the story, but your mind keeps drifting to Astarion, the courtyard, and the sun. Astarion asking if you could ever trust him again confuses you, and admitting he wants you to only mystifies you further.

Why does he want or care about my trust?

Could I ever trust him again?  

You’re surprised by how much you long to trust him again. There had been significant trust between you at one point, but that utter conviction got you to this spot. When Astarion had Cazador kneeling before him, he said he knew what he was doing and asked you to trust him, and you did so blindly. Thus, assisting in turning him into whatever it is he is now.

I should have known better.

Closing your book, you descend the staircase on shaky legs. The mere thought of going and sitting in the sun still strikes terror into you. You’re still adjusting to having windows again. More than once, Astarion has caught you attempting to slink past the window, staying out of the sun as much as possible, or just standing there staring at it apprehensively.

He would giggle at you and make his silly, taunting quips, but he would also comfort you and tell you that you were safe with him, at least when it came to the sun.

As long as he’s not angry.

The door to the courtyard is open, and the bright mid-morning sun washes over the dark wooden flooring. Astarion sits on a bench bathed in the golden light, eyes down, skimming the page of the tome. He looks at ease and happy, and you can’t help but smile to yourself and cherish that view. Glancing at the rays warming the floor, you swallow your growing doubt.

Trust has to start somewhere. He will have no chance if I never give him one.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” he coos without looking up from the page.

“Promise?”

Astarion stands, puts the book down and comes to the doorway with a tender smile, holding his hand out to you, “I promise. Come.”

Biting your lower lip, you slide your hand into his. Astarion coercers your body to move forward out into the courtyard with gentle force. Paving stones warm your bare feet as they pad along the ground, and the sun’s heat permeates your cold skin.

This is the first time you’ve seen this place in daylight, and it looks substantially less foreboding. At night, the courtyard’s high stone walls cause it to appear small and closed off. In this light, it seems open and pleasant.

A well-groomed tree towers off in one corner, providing some shade. The green leaves flutter in the slight breeze. Another bench sits under the willowy branches.

Astarion gently twists your arm, forcing you to pirouette as if you were dancing an elegant courtly dance, and you giggle at his playfulness.

He rests his forehead against yours, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gods, he’s so close.

As it often does around him, your ability to be rational and keep yourself grounded slips at his proximity. You can hear his heart beating and smell the bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy you’ve come to love.

You’ve felt frozen inside, numb, for so long, but his touch reawakens your purpose and thaws the ice that has solidified your fiery spirit and kept it subdued in the void his absence left.

“I missed you, you know. When you left,” he whispers.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes at the authentic vulnerability, and your hands grasp Astarion’s arms. Inhaling a long, shuddering breath, you attempt to regain the plummeting authority over your body.

Astarion holds your waist tenderly with the same firm protectiveness you remember. You keep trying to convince yourself the man you loved died that night, that Astarion is gone, but here he is, standing before you.

Is this him, though? I still don’t know.

Astarion uses his index finger to bring your eyes to the vivid scarlet of his, which are staring at you with a searing ardour. You’re paralyzed by that gaze, carried away by the deluge of instinct and longing coalescing.

“Can I kiss you, Astarion?”

He smirks, “Little love, I thought you would never ask.”

His lips meet yours, and your eyes flutter shut. Your body wilts into his as if drawn in by his gravitational pull. You let yourself drown in him. Your senses scatter, and you’re swept up in his undertow.

His tongue persuades your lips to part, and he skillfully traverses your mouth. You purposefully find one of his fangs, and you run it delicately over your tongue, causing a shallow wound that weeps blood. He growls as the taste of you detonates his hungering desire.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I love it when you do that."

You smile against his lips. You know it drives him crazy, and that’s precisely the point. You want to fill him with you; claim him as he has claimed you. You want him to be addicted to you so he can think of no one else.

Astarion bucks his hips into you, and you grind yourself against his hard length greedily. You clench at the delicious friction against your swelling flesh and whimper demandingly. A deep growl in his chest vibrates against you as his hand ravenously roams over the contours of your body.

You let your splayed hand coast from the taut muscles of his abdomen to his chest lazily, savouring his silky, soft skin on your fingertips. His chest heaves under your hand, and you can feel the rapid, excited thumping of his heart.

Astarion grabs your thighs and hauls you up. Reflexively, you wrap your legs around his hips, securing yourself to him.

“Perhaps we should take this indoors, yes?”

You giggle, “Astarion, are you shy? I thought you enjoyed being the centre of attention.”

He kisses your neck, “I plan to make you scream my name until your throat is hoarse. Would you like everyone to hear your wanton incoherent cries?”

Even though you’re more than accustomed to his alluring taunts, you still feel the heat rising to your face. Thankfully, you’re dead, and your skin can’t redden.

“And if I did? Perhaps they would learn something,” you tease flirtatiously.

He chuckles while putting you down once you’re safely hidden in the manor, “Darling, the prudes of the upper city would surely perish on the spot if they saw what I’m about to do to you.”

Gods, yes.

Your walls spasm and clench at the carnal depravity that courses through your thoughts in vivid splendour. You tug his shirt out of his breeches, and he pulls it off, anticipating your request. His fingers undo the ties of your shirt, and he slips it off. Those hooded red eyes brimming with lust consume the sight of you gluttonously.

“You’re perfect,” he purrs deeply.

Your chest swells and falls as you pant purposeless air. For so long, you’ve felt fear, loneliness, hunger or nothing at all, but right now, you’re high on the love and desire overflowing in you, and you refuse to give it up.

You throw yourself at him in desperation to keep this moment alive. His lips meet yours with the same dire need. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck while your other hand undoes the ties that keep his pants secured to his waist.

His thumb traces the lower curve of your breast, and you groan, feeling your nipple already harden in anticipation of his touch. His fingers graze the sensitive peak. Your body quivers, nerves humming as liquid lightning rolls down your spine, and your clit pulses in tempo with his teasing fingers.

“Needy thing, aren’t you? How long has it been since you’ve been touched, tasted?"

You were the last one to touch me.

This isn’t something you would like to admit to him. You don’t want him to know how hopelessly in love and devoted you are to him. Astarion knows love, and he knows how to play with it, and you don’t want to give him more ammunition to play with you like a toy.

Reaching into his pants, your fingers find them wet with pre-cum, and your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him again. You grasp his cock, and his hips jerk with a panting grunt.

“Needy thing, aren’t you,” you taunt mockingly.

His eyes narrow, hypnotizing and brimming with lust, “I know you’re skirting around the question, darling.”

Astarion’s fingers glide past your waistband and trail down in an anguishing slow progression that makes a whine slip from your lips. He parts your wet folds, skillfully avoiding the bundle of nerves that is howling for his touch.

“Hells,” he kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear, “I bet they didn’t make you this wet.”

You sag into him and sigh, “Astarion…”

He teases your swollen flesh, circling the aching border, “Did they make your body shake with need?”

The first direct touch sends a shockwave rocketing through you, and you whimper, knees buckling. You are forced to let go of your grasp on his cock and secure yourself by holding onto his arms. Astarion smirks proudly. The pads of his fingers stoke and massage, and you moan loudly. The coiling tension builds and intensifies as his tempo does.

A knock on the door startles you, and you try to jump away from him, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you in a steadfast grip.

“Ignore it,” he barks, “we’re busy.”

Another hammering rap on the door makes Astarion growl in frustration. His brow pinches in a dark scowl.

A pleading voice muffled by the door arises, “Master Ancunin! Master Ancunin!”

Pulling away from him, your body mewls in dejected objection at the discontinuation of sensation, “I think it’s for you.”

He groans and grins seductively at you as he sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you choke in a quick breath.

“As sweet as ever, my dear. My memories did not do you justice.”

The banging on the door resounds through the manor again with the same pleading shrieks from outside. Astarion rolls his eyes while he does up the ties of his pants. Not bothering to put his shirt back on, he moves to answer the door. You take quick steps backward to remain out of sight of the visitor.

“What is it?” Astarion sneers.

“Master Ancunin. Please forgive my intrusion, but your presence is urgently required.”

“We are not set to convene until tomorrow night,” Astarion snarls with an intensely domineering inflection.

“I know, saer. I am dreadfully sorry about this violation. I throw myself at your mercy.”

Astarion sighs, “And what exactly is so urgent?”

The man’s voice hushes significantly, and you can only catch small snippets here and there, but not enough to put together what’s happening that seems to require Astarion’s attention immediately.

“WHAT?” Astarion thunders.

Despite the booming shout, the intonation in his voice is dispassionate and unexpressive. You slink further back, knowing that whatever he was told has provoked his rage.

“Go. I will be there momentarily,” he slams the door harshly, cursing under his breath, “Fuck!”

Glancing around the room, you try to find a place to hide from him. You could go back into the courtyard, but if he’s angry and he decides you’re an easy target to take it out on, he might just let you burn. The stairs to your room lay too far away and would mean crossing paths with him.

Astarion turns the corner and jumps as if surprised to see you there. His eyes meet your face, and you’re relieved the crimson pools remain warm with liquid affection.

He must see the terror illustrated on your face because he frowns sadly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re angry.”

He nods curtly, “Yes, but I am me, for now - you have nothing to fear.”

You gulp, “For now.”

Astarion runs his fingers through his hair. Whatever that man told him, it agitated him significantly.

He clears his throat, “I must go deal with this.”

He bounds up the stairs quickly to his room and must dress at a breakneck pace because he returns rapidly, fully dressed in his overelaborate coat, looking mouth-wateringly dashing.

Astarion heads for the door and tugs it open but hesitates, pivots and takes long strides toward you. Reflexively, you step back, frightened that the anger won.

Astarion kisses your forehead and the back of your hand, “I will try to be back for your lesson tonight.”

You nod, “It’s okay if you aren’t. Be careful, Astarion.”

He smiles, “As you wish, my love.”

Once Astarion is gone, you quickly run around and close all the heavy curtains, plummeting the manor into darkness. Sitting on the floor with your back against your bed, you close your eyes and reprimand yourself for letting things go so far.

Your role here is to try and figure out what’s ailing him and see if you can help him remedy it, not to continue getting closer to him, falling more in love with him.

If that’s even possible.

You wonder, though, if, by some miracle, you can find a way to conserve whatever remains of the old Astarion. Would you want to be with him then, or has the damage been done, and your relationship is doomed and wrecked beyond repair? Could you ever trust him again?

Gale is out looking for the Wish spell for you, but you ponder if you could use it to save Astarion from whatever evil plagues him. Could it be used to restore him to his previous self completely? Could it be used to turn back Ascension entirely? Would you do that to him even if it could?

Would I give up my one chance to be alive again if it meant restoring him?

You need to gather more information on what’s ailing Astarion. As well as the capabilities and limitations of the Wish spell, but you can’t tell Gale or Shadowheart that your motivations may have changed.

Where is Withers when I need him? He knew everything there was to know about souls.

You have a theory about what happens to Astarion, but it needs to be confirmed. You wonder if the Rite may have stripped away some of his soul, whether unintended or on purpose, and now the soulless part of him wars with the version that still retains the remaining bit of his soul, each contending against the other, vying for control.

You imagine the only way to figure this out is by talking to someone who deals in souls, but who? You’re still trying to work it all out.

With Astarion gone, you can finally let yourself get some much-needed rest. Laying down on your bed, you succumb quickly to your meditative state and slip into the tributary of your trance.

The walls of the Crimson Palace moan as they settle, cooling off after the hot sun beating down on them. You’ve been locked in your room all day, and those solemn whines are the only indicator you have of time.

The door to your bedroom snaps open, but you don’t even bother to look. You’re lying in bed motionless, staring at the ceiling of your pitch-black room as you have been doing since he locked you in here in the first place. Astarion keeps you corralled in here like an animal. You are not to leave without his approval, and if you do, the consequences are dire.

“My consort,” he drawls as he lights a candle.

“What do you want,” you say monotone.

“Get dressed, darling. I have need of you tonight.” 

“No, thank you.”

“This is not a request,” he sneers, “You will come.”

“What are you going to do? Drag me there?”

“Oh, pet, I will do so much worse.”

“I’m not going,” you mutter scornfully.

Astarion grabs you harshly by the arm and drags you down the hall to the kennels, “You do remember this room, yes? Do not make me put you in here, strap you to that device, and teach you why you will obey me.”

He drags you back to your room as you pull and fight him with everything you have, but he merely laughs at your pathetic attempts. He throws you onto your bed.

“Get dressed,” he commands, “Wear the blue one I have laid out for you. We are going to a party, my treasure.”

Your fingers linger over the silky blue material he laid out for you. The dress is glamorous, you suppose, but nothing you would ordinarily adorn. The gown is far too low in the front and back and leaves very little to the imagination.

Whatever he has planned for you tonight, you don’t want to know, but if you disobey, he will put you in the kennels, and you don’t want to visit that place again.

You pull the dress on. The neckline hangs down below your belly button, and the back is just as low. A long slit up one side allows a view of your leg. You cringe at the idea of wearing something like this in public.

Astarion returns promptly, dressed lavishly and looking far too handsome, “You look exquisite. This will do perfectly.”

Astarion escorts you to some overly sumptuous estate in the upper city. The ballroom is packed full of the city’s nobles and high-ranking officials.

“Remember to smile, pet. They need to believe we’re a happy couple."

You scoff at him, “I don’t care what they think.”

Astarion grabs your face harshly, “You WILL smile, or you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?”

You rip your face out of his hand and glower at him, “Fuck you.”

"Maybe if you’re a very good girl tonight, I will permit it.”

He introduces himself around the room, using his practiced manipulations to make connections, but he never introduces you unless someone pays you any attention, which they generally don’t. The only attention they pay is practically undressing you with their ogling eyes, and it makes your skin crawl.

Astarion directs you to a quiet side of the room, “Do you see that man in the maroon jacket?”

“What about him?”

Astarion grins sadistically, “I need you to go over there and distract him by any means necessary.”

You gasp, “Excuse me. What?”

He snickers, “You will distract him by any means necessary. Take him to a bed for all I care, as long as you get him out of the way.”

He wants me to do what?

“I will not!”

You yell it loud enough to gain the attention of some of the partygoers nearby, who give you awkward glances.

Astarion scowls at you, “That was very naughty, pet. Go now, do as I ask, and I will consider letting that little display slide.”

If I refuse, it’s the kennels.

You lean close to him and whisper, “If you try and make me do that, I’m going to make a big scene and embarrass you in front of all your new, very important friends.”

He leers at you threateningly, “Last chance.” 

I choose the kennels over my body offered in exchange for whatever he’s planning.

You scream, loud and resounding, “No!”

The high pitch of your voice echoes through the entire room, thanks in part to the absurdly high ceilings. The once loud laughter and voices cut off into an awkward, hushed silence as all eyes in the room snap to you and Astarion.

Astarion plays it off perfectly with a warm smile, “Of course, my love. If you do not wish to go, we won’t.”

He’s going to have to do damage control later.

Astarion grabs your hand and squeezes it so hard you whimper while he walks you out of that damn party with the excuse that you are not feeling well. He trembles with anger, and you know you’re in for it when he gets you back to the kennels.

Back in the safety of the Crimson Palace, you burn him slightly and try to run to your room, though you know it’s little use. He disperses into gas and appears in front of you before you can make it even halfway there.

He grabs you, screaming in your face, “You dreadful little wretch! Now, I am forced to have to teach you a lesson.”

“Astarion, stop. You don’t have to do anything!”

He laughs like someone deranged, “How else will you learn to obey?”

“I will never obey,” you spit hatefully.

“We will see about that, my unruly, little spawn.”

He drags you through the halls while you scream, cry and beg him to stop. Your sandals skid across the wooden floor, shrieking as your feet try to find purchase.

The kennels smell like fetid blood, and you cringe as the scent assaults your nostrils. Astarion chains you to the wall, so you have no choice but to stand while he strips you bare.

He laughs menacingly, “You will learn to obey me, my consort.”

Astarion’s crazed laughing resonates through the room as he blows out all the candles, submerging you in pure, inky darkness. The door closes, locks and you’re left in silence.

You know you could get yourself out of these chains, out of this room, but the consequences if you do would be far more dire than being left in this miserable place naked and alone.

If you spend days, weeks or months isolated, starving, and stripped in the dark, you have no idea.

The sound of a beating heart starts to pulse on the outskirts of your trance, and the side of your bed depresses, rousing you from the memory. Your pillow is damp from tears shed as you were forced to relive that barbarity.

“It’s just a dream,” Astarion soothes, rubbing your arm.

No, a memory.

Does he even remember doing that or the many other similar atrocities he committed against you? If he does, he’s made no indication of it. One day, you will have to ask him, but you don’t feel like exploring that particular abyss of suffering with him right now.

You nod, “Yeah, just a dream.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Astarion glances at the wet spot on your pillow, “It seems to have upset you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. Did you deal with whatever you were summoned for, Master Ancunin?"

He smirks at your teasing, “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“You killed someone, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head and shrugs, “Perhaps multiple people. I cannot be sure."

“You don’t remember?”

He stares at his hands, “No. More often than not, I recall nothing.”

Does that mean he doesn’t recollect the kennels or the other horrid things he did to me?

“You lost yourself again?”

He sighs, running his hand over his face, “I think so.”

Glancing at his clothes, you register that he’s not wearing the same thing he left in, “You changed?”

“I did.”

He must have been drenched in blood if he bathed and changed before coming home.

“Are you okay right now, or should I be throwing myself at you?”

He giggles, but it has a crestfallen ring, “You can always throw yourself at me, love. But I’m fine. I’m not angry anymore.”

You wrap him in an embrace anyway. His demeanour is melancholic and subdued, and you wonder just what in the nine Hells happened when he was out to have him coming home so miserable.

Astarion leans into you, the corner of his mouth quirking in a small smile and sighs, “Thank you. Should we go out and continue your lessons?”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, “I am rather hungry.”

He pats your leg, “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

The forest is tranquil, with nothing but a light wind rustling the canopy of the lanky trees. A crescent moon hangs high in the sky, but not much of its light makes it to the ground, making the colours of the forest appear more subdued than usual.

“Gods,” Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “your footwork is truly an atrocity.”

You roll your eyes at him, groaning, “I’m trying!”

“If this is you trying, darling, the realm will end before I can even teach you this.”

“Well, maybe if I had a better teacher!”

He inspects his nails absently, “You’re more than welcome to try and find a more adequate educator.”

Ugh.

“Can you just tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“It would be shorter to list the things you’re doing right,” he quips.

“Astarion!”

He strolls a slow circle around you with his fingers on his chin. His studious gaze is so intense you can virtually feel his eyes stroking your skin. Shadows skirt handsomely, if a little forebodingly, across the angular planes of his face.

You watch him heedfully, eyes tracking his course as he stalks around you. You’re always on alert with him. It’s hard to know what will set him off and what won’t, and you can’t afford to be caught off guard. Even so, a part of you luxuriates in these moments with him, and you admonish yourself for it.

“Where did I say you should keep most of your weight?”

“In my heels.”

“Ah, so you have learned something,” he tuts, “and where is your weight now?”

Your eyes cast heavenward, and you sigh, “I’m guessing not in my heels.”

“Correct. You’re tottering on your toes. Again,” he scolds, “Shift your weight. You’ll have far superior balance.”

You focus on your body and how it’s positioned. Your centre of gravity is displaced, and you’re rocking slightly from your toes to the balls of your feet and back like a blade of grass in a gentle wind. With effort, you manage to transfer your weight into your heels. The stance feels unnatural to you, and you struggle to keep yourself in it.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “Now, lower your hips. You’re still standing too tall. Everything will see you coming a mile away.”

The muscles of your thighs groan as you try to descend further into the crouch. You’ve been at this for hours, and your body is starting to drone fatigue.

“Lower.”

“Hells, Astarion! How much lower?”

Astarion crouches behind you and places his hands on your hips. Applying a gentle force, he pushes you further into the crouch. The muscles in your legs begin to twitch and tremble, and your balance starts to wobble.

He rises and walks around you again before crouching down in front of you with a cocked brow, “You’re very unsteady.”

Astarion reaches out and pushes your shoulder, causing you to overcorrect and fall forward onto him, knocking him over in the process. Something tells you he allowed you to push him flat to his back on the ground. He could have easily moved out of the way and watched your face grind into the earth.

Regardless, you find yourself sprawled out on top of him while you laugh loudly.

“Are all Sorcerers this unlawfully graceless?”

You smirk, “Do all Rogues possess such a smart mouth?”

He lays his head on the grassy ground and rolls his eyes at you with a grin, “Sassy girl.”

You move to push yourself up, but his arm comes around your waist, bracing you to him, and Astarion pushes the hair out of your eyes, “I really did miss you when you were gone, you know.”

Can I believe him? Can I afford to let myself believe him?

You swallow your rising sorrow, “Do you still feel emotions, Astarion?”

His vivid scarlet eyes impale you and imbue you with a profound solace that spreads through your body like a cascading wave of warmth, prickling your skin.

“You make me feel,” Astarion’s sombre, earnest intonation causes a breath to hitch in your throat.

Feel what - Obsession? Possession? Dominance? You want to ask him, but you don’t, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer.

His thumb traces your lower lip, and that familiar rush of electricity jolts through your body and twists into your stomach. You trace his jaw with your index finger, leaning in and ghosting the velvety smoothness of his lips with your own.

Gods. I’m losing it.

Astarion presses into your invitation, and your lips mould together, charged with impassioned longing. His hand meanders into the back of your shirt, and you bask in the lazy, comforting strokes of his fingers against your skin. Using your tongue, you coax his mouth open, and he groans, giving you the access you crave.

You can feel your walls spasm and flutter eagerly, silently imploring him to fill you. Gyrating your hips into his bulging erection, he hisses as your swollen, aching clit, gorges on the mouthwatering friction. You whimper against him as your body cries for the release you were denied earlier.

Your eyes pop open momentarily and take in the forest that surrounds you. Memories of the forest the first time rush forward, and you push yourself back abruptly.

Astarion sits upright quickly and scans the surroundings, confused with your retreat, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Not here,” you pant.

His brows furrow for a second, and he looks around. Comprehension eases his features, “Oh, come now, was I that bad in the forest last time?” he pouts dramatically, “I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”

“Bad?” You shake your head, “No, Astarion. Those memories are sad.”

His brow cocks, “Sad?”

You run your fingers through your hair, “I should have known what you were up to.”

Once it rolls off your tongue, you wonder if you will regret telling him this. You’ve carried this guilt around since he confessed in the first place. He manipulated you because he felt he had to secure your devotion, thus establishing his safety.

If only you had been less infatuated with him, you might have seen through that guise and been able to stop him from putting himself through that again.

Astarion stands, concern creasing his face, “Love-”

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

You cut him off, “Not here, Astarion.”

He nods curtly, and you begin the walk back to the estate. Once you get to the Lower City, Astarion offers you his hand to hold. It comforts you that he will stop you if you try to hurt someone. You’re not sure if he does it for your benefit or his. After all, if you did lose it and kill someone, you could end up exposing him, a risk he is unlikely to take.

The city streets are mostly quiet at this hour. The only sound you hear is your footsteps thwacking on the rigid ground until a random heartbeat starts repeating in your ears. You don’t give it much thought until her voice drifts out of the darkness. You recognize that repulsively sweet, harmonic tone.

“Astarion, darling! It’s been ages!”

Elowyn.

The woman saunters from the outdoor sitting area of a nearby inn. Her mulberry hair is pulled back, revealing her dainty face and ever-so-increasingly tempting neck. She wears a green dress that makes the sapphire of her eyes stand out.

What is she even doing out here at this time? 

You clench your jaw. Something is off about her, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. She has an air about her that makes your skin crawl, but it could be the utter loathing you feel for her playing tricks on you.

Astarion smiles pleasantly, “Elowyn. How lovely to see you.”

Elowyn’s eyes fall to your hand clasping his, and her eyebrows pull down into a slight, barely noticeable scowl. She leans in close, puts her hand on his chest and kisses his cheek, lingering there for far too long.

Your palms warm, and your muscles tense as your jealousy ignites the raging inferno of your temper. Elowyn smiles at you sweetly, but a hint of hostility in her eyes makes you want to relieve her of sight.

“How nice it is to see you again,” she grins brightly, “You appear to be in better shape than when I saw you last.”

Astarion’s brows pull down, “Better shape? My dear, whatever are you talking about?

Elowyn’s cordial laugh fills the air and makes you want to rip her vocal cords out, “Yes, last I saw her, she was quite drunk and heading to see you.”

Astarion thinks for a second and then chuckles, “Yes, she was quite drunk.”

He shoots you a glance and squeezes your hand, telling you to play along. You roll your eyes and scoff contemptuously as if you were going to inform this weasel anything about you or your life.

“She was quite rude to me that night, Astarion dear,” Elowyn sighs dramatically.

Is this bitch seriously trying to get Astarion to hurt me?

Will he?

He smirks dubiously, “Was she? How utterly awful.”

Elowyn pouts, “I do hope you will teach her a lesson. She threatened to kill me after all. She must learn respect.”

Respect? Her? HA! Never.

The notion is so entirely ridiculous that a snide snicker escapes your lips as your face contorts into a threatening grimace.

Astarion stares at her, scowling, “Watch yourself, Elowyn. Do not make me remind you of your place.”

Elowyn’s carefree demeanour falters to concern at the warning intonation of Astarion’s voice. She swallows hard and forces her dainty face to dress in an overjoyed smile, and she’s back to her usual flirtatious facade.

I wonder if she’s gotten him angry yet. If she has, how did she live through it?

Her hand is splayed on his chest, and she presses herself further into him, “I have missed you so. I came by the palace the other night to see if you wouldn’t like some company .”

Company? Ugh. As bad as entertainment.

You scoff at her loudly and try to pull out of Astarion’s grip, but he only holds on tighter.

You frown at him, “Let me go, Astarion. I wish to leave."

“No, you stay.”

“Let. Me. Go,” you growl threateningly.

This is not a request. It’s a command. You may pay dearly for taking this tone with him later, but right now, you don’t care; you would rather endure his wrath a thousand times over than spend another minute in the company of Elowyn.

Watching her put her hands all over him stokes the fire burning in your blood to unfathomable temperatures. As your fury increases, so does the likelihood that you reduce her to a pile of ash.

Why do I care so much?

I left him.

“It seems your pet spawn would like to give us some privacy. Let her go, my sweet Astarion.”

Pet spawn?

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

PS: I hate Elowyn - excuse me while I go break something to get over writing her.

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

"i know you best."

↖ navigation: nct masterlist || main masterlist

pairing: best friend! jaemin x gn! reader

↬ tags: 3+1 friends to lovers, best friend knows best troupe, jaemin and reader are both pining idiots (respectfully), mentions of jeno + a small portion written in his pov in part 3,, mentions of someone getting handsy with reader but not explicit, a hinge to jealousy

summary: jaemin does know best, and that's you for him.

word count: 1.6k words

a/n: you know WHAT i think something sparked in me to be writing this much,, mayhaps this "lovesick" fool wants a go at romance, or it could just be that i'm trying to improve as a writer lol! please keep supporting me!

--1

"ah!" you yelped, a chilling sensation on your right cheek jolting you wide awake. there stood jaemin, a cheeky grin on his face as he pulls the cup of beverage away from your face. he watched as your eyes sparkled, entire being lit up as he hands you the drink.

"i got you your favorite drink. iced matcha latte. and also, your favorite muffin." jaemin holds up another bag and laughs at how your eyes seemed to nearly pop out of your head at his actions. his heart stutters rapidly in his chest at the thought of you specially waiting for him to end school.

"you did?" you gave him the biggest smile, and jaemin couldn't help but reach out to squish your cheeks, "yes i did."

shoulder to shoulder, you two walked out of school, jaemin standing protectively on your left as he guides you on the inside of the lane. "jaem, how did you know i wanted these?"

jaemin rolls his eyes as he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, "hey, if i were to reveal all these things, then it wouldn't be a surprise right?" he chuckles as you seem to seriously consider his words.

truth be told, you had mentioned wanting a treat at the beginning of the day, before you two parted for class. jaemin remembered you had wistfully pouted, before sighing when the bell rung and you headed off in the opposite direction. he also remembered how lovingly silly you looked, hair a little mused because you didn't have time to comb it, how you seemed to be a little more clingy because the sleep has not left your system. he sprinted to the cafe nearer to his block and got your favorites he knew by heart.

"you know what? keep your secrets!" you huffed, but still held out the drink in his face while urging him to try. jaemin purses his lips, grimacing at how sweet it was. you burst out laughing, fully expecting him to react that way. he wrinkles his nose at the overwhelmingly sugary taste--he thinks you're way sweeter, but doesn't tell you that.

"ugh, no thanks. i'd rather stick to my ice americano." he shakes his own cup, earning another round of giggles that wormed its way into his heart. "i'll treat you to something next time!" you promised, a skip in your steps as you bumped shoulders with him. he hums, satisfied with your answer.

--2

jaemin feels you move closer to him, the pitter patter sound of the rain soothing to his ears. the club leader droned on, over-explaining the upcoming events that were completely unnecessary. everyone was seated on the floor, you two purposely sitting at the back for a quick escape as soon as it ends. you lightly poked jaemin's side and he turns his head, mumbling a soft "what is it?" under his breath. he focuses on your sparkly eyes, seeming to always radiate warmth no matter the season.

"it's cold..." you gripped onto his sleeve, an embarrassed smile on your face. jaemin rolls his eyes: he had forewarned you today might be chilly, but you wanted to forgo comfort for fashion, hence the apologetic face. (jaemin does think you look really good in whatever you wore; you always looked stunning in his eyes.) he easily shrugs off his jacket, placing it on your shoulders, "i told you so."

jeno, jaemin and your good friend, softly mock gags beside him and jaemin smacks his good friend on the back.

he returns his attention to you and smiles when you slip your arms through them, relishing in the warmth left behind by pressing your sweater paws to your face, "much better. thanks, jaem."

the beam on jaemin's face grows wider as you huddled closer to him, hooking your arm around his and threading your cold hands through his warm ones. his chest puffs up in pride knowing that once again, you were relying on him.

--3

"you're sure that the two of you aren't dating? because it seems to me that you are. both of you are practically attached at the hip, you know." jeno, jaemin's classmate and good friend, mentions off-handedly and jaemin rolls his eyes in response. the mere thought of you could easily cause butterflies to erupt from within him, but he chose not to do anything about it.

a crush will remain just a crush to him. he doesn't even know if you saw him the same as he sees you.

"we're just friends, remember? two different peas in one pod?" jaemin shakes his head, but as soon as he sees you enter the lecture hall, the atmosphere turns electrifying and he sits straighter in his seat. you were running late, and as soon as you stepped foot into the room, you apologized profusely to the professor. you were dismissed with a wave of her hand and you made your way up the steps.

your eyes landed on the pair seated at the back of the hall and you perked up, quickening your pace. you slid into the seat on the left of jaemin, whispering under your breath, "hey you two. thanks for saving me a seat, jaemin." you hurriedly open the relevant textbooks, bending down to grab your pencil case from your bag.

wordlessly, jaemin flips it open and scribbles down the information mentioned when you weren't around. jeno watched this entire exchange go down and he really wishes he wasn't here at all.

"prof's at this part now." jaemin helpfully supplied and you thanked him silently with a pat to his head, finally settling down to take notes.

jeno stares in disbelief at the way you two were being chummy.

how could you not see it? and how could his good friend not come to terms with it?

jeno sighs in exasperation and out of good humor, choosing to ignore the way jaemin's seemed to be softer around the edges with an oblivious you beside him.

-- bonus

"get your hands off my person." jaemin glares, pulling you by the wrist closer to him. he protectively brings you behind him, his low threats to the junior became a buzzing sound in your ears as you tried to shake away that sensation that was overwhelming your senses.

dragging you out of the mansion where the party was at, he leads you away from the crowd, hand gripping yours tightly. jaemin stood in front of you, gently brushing away the hairs that were obscuring your vision. after the initial shock wore off, you squatted down at the porch, arms hugging your middle and jaemin knelt down too, worry painted across his features.

"tell me, did he try anything funny with you?" you shook your head. jaemin sighs, relief evident in the way his tensed shoulders finally sagged. he remained at your eye level, never once looking away from you. the night's event replayed in your head:

jeno was hosting a party for a select group of people, so of course jaemin was going. you weren't exactly keen and you didn't know anyone there, but knowing that he was invited made you feel a little left out. when jaemin brought up the plus-one offer to you, you greedily accepted it with no remorse. fast-forward to when you were left alone--nursing a badly mixed fruit punch--drowning that jealously bubbling within you. a junior had approached you and started chatting you up, but he didn't quite catch the context from your one-worded replies, and started getting handsy with you. jaemin who was across the living room had suddenly materialized before you, his fist hurtling into the junior's face.

"you're okay. you're with me now." jaemin softly stroked the crown of your head. shock was still in your system, and you shivered from the cool breeze of the night. he shrugged off his jacket and covers you with it. you let out a shaky sigh: you didn't want to be around him right now. you couldn't really be with him right now because of the consequences he might face. because of you.

"whatever you're thinking, don't." jaemin's voice dropped to a whisper, and you shook your head, willing this sinking feeling to go away. you sniffled and he hugs you tighter.

"i'm sorry."

you remembered that exact moment you felt your skin go cold and your hair stand on end when you saw jaemin talk to someone else, laughing heartily at something they said.

does he look like that at you, smile that much around you? why did it sting?

you glanced back up at him, and wondered if he could see the internal conflict happening all in your head. jaemin easily reads your discomfort and tilts his head to try and meet your gaze. "you can tell me anything, you know?"

"who was that person you were with?" you blurted out, the unease in your heart growing. he has been a little distant from you these days, not responding as fast on text, or skipping out on you two's usual weekly hang-outs. maybe it was that person that he was with...

"oh. them?" jaemin burst out laughing, earning him a weak punch from you. he exhales after awhile, gaze cast to the ground beneath you two, "can i confess something to you? i've been talking to them...about you because...i like you a lot and i needed some moral encouragement. i wasn't...expecting now to be the time and this wasn't my ideal situation where i'd tell you i like you, but i do."

your heart raced so rapidly, you found it so difficult to breathe in this moment.

"you like...me?"

jaemin nodded confidently despite your hesitance, his signature smirk replacing worry, "i know you best, and i know too that i want you very much. so...will you go out with me?"

in that instance, you felt like home with him.

"yes!"

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

#ppumeonae-bigvibe #nct #nct dream #nct na jaemin #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct jaemin x reader #nct scenarios

[ksspringfever]

Past submission deadline - but you can still post works!

Aaaaand we are past the official posting deadline!

A big, heartfelt thank you from the mods to everyone who managed to submit their work(s) on time. The cup of our 2024 collection runneth over with K/S goodness. 80 works have been posted so far!

"So far"? You ask. What does the mod mean by "so far" if we are past the deadline anyway...?

So here's the thing: you can still post to the collection. If real life kept you from fannish endeavours, or you ran out of energy or time, or the muse was just uncooperative, please do not throw away your idea or your half-written work, but keep working on it.

We have deadlines in order to make the mods' life a bit easier, and to ensure that there are enough works in the collection before it goes live on the 22nd, and also to give y'all a push to get things done. With the collection now flowing over with riches, we can afford to be lenient and actively encourage you to complete what you started, or to add one more work if you happened to stumble upon another inspiring prompt just now. (See the prompt list here.)

The works will go live on Friday, 22 March 2024, 12:01 AM UTC, with their creators still being kept secret at that point. Creators will be revealed at the closing of the fest, on Tuesday, 26 March 2024, 12:01 AM UTC. This is also the cut-off moment when the collection will be closed to submissions.

But until then... feel free to post your fic, art, poetry, podfic etc. Just make sure to have it complete and in its final version when you post it. If you have any questions or need help with anything (e.g. how to embed images, how to post etc), please get in touch with us here.

Thank you all so much for taking part in our event! <3

#space husbands #spirk #k/s spring fever #kirk spock #star trek #kirk x spock #k/s day #kirk/spock