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#the walls come down and you see the power of being believed in the pure RELIEF mobius' presence brings

scara-writes · 30 days

Text

sweetheart

Yandere Emperor X Consort! (F)Reader X Yandere Crown Prince(platonic)

милашка-sweetheart according to google correct me if im wrong!

CW: kidnapped, reader is look down upon by the nobles, infantilize, forced pregnancy, dehumanizing, mentions of attempt suicide, false rumor, power imbalance, worshipping, delusional(?)

NOTE: Crown Prince is at the age of 16. Reader is around 36-38. Emperor is two year younger than the reader. Also I don't speak russian everything is google (the empire is not based on irl russian empire but a fantasy world like the manhwas/shoujou isekai we read) and english is not my first language you can clearly see when you read the story. This is purely a fiction and I do not mean to offend anyone.

I DO NOT CONDONE ANY ACTION IN THIS FICTION.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Running is not ideal for a 5 month pregnant woman like you.

When you tried to seek help from your parents for the first time, they never helped you because who would believe an illegitimate daughter who was frowned upon by nobles.

You are an illegitimate child of the duke and a humble maid who passed away shortly after giving birth, but despite this, you are a physically and mentally healthy child. You even managed to withstand the attempts of your stepmother and your half-sister to discredit you in the family, and didn't even find a help to your neglectful father who busies himself of taking home many women from brothel.

That was in the past but you were desperate when you ask for their assistance. However, you never heard from them ever since you bore your first child, Ize.

Ize your son. Your lovely crown prince son grew up to be like your husband with his teachings. You tried to persuade him to never listen to his father but he only shook his head and told you that all his teaching that he was learning from his old man was to protect you.

Afraid that it will stress you even more in this suffocating high walls to protect you during your pregnancy and well being, Ize-the crown prince would be willing to act like a little kid for you. He would occasionally brew you a cup of tea that you enjoy or give you a handmade gift, such as an embroidered handkerchief, to show you that he was thinking of you and that said skill you taught him when he was a child. Knowing the child, this kind of acts is for him appease the worries you have;he is different behind closed doors of your confined palace where your eyes and ears can't reach; your crown prince son is a different person who will be willing to shed the blood of others just for you.

And it seems that the morals that you taught him must have been thrown out of the window thanks to your husband.

So here you are after escaping from the hundreds gazes of a watchful loyal hounds around your palace you escape, it wasn't easy since you are carrying the emperor's second child. You heard on a passing by servants that the two tyrants had a meeting with the other nobles and the neighboring kingdom, this is a rare occurrence that the two left you alone. It took you an hour to escape the royal grounds before exploring around the town till you found a port that would take you to another country. This is your only chance to escape that suffocating palace that those two tyrants confined you in. Your Husband, Yuri can't leave you alone not when he found out that you are with his child-a second child at that. Even before you were pregnant with his first child, his wary gaze and infantilization to you had multiplied tenfold.

Your husband spread the rumors about you being mentally ill. But why would he do such a thing? You reflected to yourself and it devastate you to realize it was his scheme to prevent you from seeking help from his subjects to escape. Only the royal physician and your husband were aware of this bogus illness. It felt betrayal that he has to make that action so he can confide you more.

Your husband's scheme worked. Even your own son believed the spewing lies coming from his father, and the nobles never gossip about you as if it was a taboo ever since you were married to the emperor. Speaking ill about the emperor's consort was just as good as the reaper visiting you by the second you speak those words. Only praises coming from their filthy mouths were allowed.

No one bats an eye on you, even the servants who serves under you. They will bathe you, serve you food, refreshments, but none of them will engage or start a conversation with you. When someone last made an effort to assist your escape, a kind servant at that. The lowest mining pit, which is worse than death, The emperor bestowed upon them to be sent the servant's family, including the said servant. High ranked criminals labour in a pit there for 18 hours with a maximum 4 hour break the rest of the hour are for necessities like sleeping, with much less food and income. In short, a death torture for them.

You implore your husband to kill them rather than send them there, the only thing he said to you that it wasn't your fault they were sent there. Something along the lines of—"you were acting like this because of your condition. That servant was attempting to kill you." He told you that in front of other servants. Everyone compliments his action for 'protecting' you. His cunning red eyes looks at you that none of the servants and nobles noticed but you did. It was a warning for you to behave or he will do worse.

Yuri has never harmed you, physically. but he will harm others who want to separate you from him.

The only time you regret your decision is when you met Yuri—he was about to meet his demise by the hands of his brothers if it weren't for you stumbling to see him in the middle of the night on an alleyway of the tsvetok village struggling to breathe from the deep pools of his own blood. So you drag his half dead body into your abandoned chamber—which is rarely visited by servants—that your father bestowed for you when you were born. Aiding his deep wounds, helping him heal up, befriending him, falling in love—

You purse your lips and gave a small wince feeling your belly is starting to ache, the kick from your unborn child thumps under your long dress.

My child please, Now is not the time! you gently brush your belly soothingly before leaning on the lamp post that dimly lit the night. You sigh in relief when you felt the baby inside of you cease on kicking. Although you were a little further from the palace when you looked behind you, you still needed to move quickly. Right now, you assume that Yuri or a servant that was suppose to serve you had definitely find out that you were gone this afternoon and notify the knights and some of high ranking mage to find you immediately, but the sun had already been sunk by the evening. They must have been having a hard time finding you. A little more 18 minute walk and you'll be able to ride on the ship that will help you travel to another empire, or any nation.

"ort---s--ing!" you turn to your left to look one of the vendors of the nights were gossiping. A woman with her husband was panting, assuming he was running to deliver a news to his family. His cloth headband on his raggedy hair is soaking. He took a deep breath before repeating what he said earlier. A dread of fear rise from your throat as he uttered his next words,

"The Emperor's Consort is missing! The Emperor's knights are blocking all way out!"

You heart felt like dropping when you saw a nearby knight were looking one by one at the women nearby, specifically women who are similarly pregnant like you. Speaking of the devil, they are already here!

Knights in horses, mages running around the busy street. Some of them stopping women who has similar hair color as you to assess if they found the right person.

"Oh my! I'm hoping the consort is doing okay! She must have acted such way due to her failing mental state. The emperor must have been worried sick, I can't imagine the devastion look of the emperor especially their son!" said the woman to her husband.

You hid your hair with your cape and quickly blend in with the busy road of the night town. Muttering, "excuse me!", "Apologize!" As you force your way around the crowd. One arm around your belly to protect child, while your hand went to sling your bag with clothes and some gold coins. as you bump so many people on the crowd. You look edges of the town, at the gate, to see all the possible exits were starting to get block by the imperials knights and mages. You bit your lips frustration as you felt the hope of getting your freedom back is slipping away from your grasp.

Your plan of getting to the port has been discarded after seeing a two mage and three knights were on their way there. Even if you did go in town's gate the gatekeepers will inspect people who are exiting and entering.

But...

You look at the old man who was riding a donkey with his carriage towards to exit of the gate, fruits were laying under the cloth. An Idea quickly pop your head but you are desperate to leave this suffocating country so you have no choice but to execute it.

Your silent foot falls went behind on a slow moving carriage before climbing up silently and quickly, in your haste and desperation movement, you didn't feel as though you had torn your cape at the wooden edge of the carriage before taking the fabric that was covering the fruits that keeps them from dust and dirt. You carried a handful of fruits before slowly sitting down beside it then covering yourself with the said fabric and the remaining fruit fast enough before the knights from the gate of this region would notice you. You wince when one of the fruit hit your belly but not enough to endanger the baby.

"Have you seen this lady?" A man in his mid 60s look at the paper, he squint his eyes as he held his old lightly crack glasses to take a better look. Your (e/c) eyes look at the gapping hole of the carriage and gulp fearfully when you saw your portrait on the paper holding by the imperial knight.

"O-oh...sa-aw her!" you held your breath when the old man spoke. The two knights look at each other before listening to the next word of what the old man would say.

He lick his dry lips before continuing, his voice's struggling due to his old age, "If I-Im..not mistake-en the lady in the p-picture look like the lady I saw by the lampost o..on the rozahk street!"

You exhaled in relief since you mistakenly believed that the elderly man had just seen you, but he actually noticed you five minutes' walk from the gate to roza street. However, this would also let them know that you are actually close by.

The imperial knights gave the elderly merchant a nod as they hastily walked around the city, alerting a nearby mage to use a spell to track you. They quickly tell their subordinates for a new command.

You felt the carriage starts to move. Hugging yourself for reassurance especially at your upcoming baby that everything will be okay.

You weren't escaping just for yourself but for your second child that will be born. You don't want your kid to become like their older brother and learn from their father. Ruthless, and doesn't have a compassion to another human. You want your kid to have a brighter future, away from the blood shed. You hope that if you got caught or killed by your husband in the future. You will tell your second child to run away and never look back, when you are gone.

You ignored how uncomfortable it was to sleep in the fruits. You close your eyes and see the farm neighborhood that the carriage passed as well as the slowly dissipating kingdom that was beginning to appear as a dot on the horizon.

The abrupt shake of your ride woken you up. You hear noises outside the carriage and glance through the hole to see that light was creeping through, signaling that it was dawn but sun has yet to come in the horizon. What is happening?. You peek above the cloth seeing that you don't have enough visual on what's happening. A dusty road lay in front of you, and woods surrounded you. You turn around to look behind you and realize that the palace is no longer in sight. A sense of relief that you were indeed far from that prison.

A bunch of voices caught your ears, you turned to look to your right.

Your whole body went pale.

Your son-the crown prince was chatting with each of the roadside merchants who had just exited from their vehicle not far from where you were. The imperial warriors and mages that were conversing with the other sellers the same task as your son was doing just behind him.

You curse yourself, how did they come here to fast?

You need to leave before they notice that you are inside this carriage. Just as you swiftly escape your imprisonment. You carefully stood up, removing the fabric that was covering you and the fruits, ignoring the woozy and aches from your muscle pain for not moving too much from the entire night.

A creak was heard in your vehicle when you tried to climb down. Snapping your eyes back at them, to witness if they heard the mistake you made. To your relief, The prince and the other guards were still busy interrogating.

They didn't hear me..

You reach down and starts to stalk away from them, your hands were trembling. Stepping back to reach the wood just a 5 meters behind you. It didn't matter if you get lost in the woods, as long as they don't catch you.

No, you would rather live in a woods, in a forest where no one can reach you.

As you step forward carefully in to the woods, you didn't notice from your cautious and anxious state that your boots crack a twig, just like the cliché you previously read. The nearest knight snaps his head at the sound. He was perplexed before realizing that the woman from the paper in his hand resembles you.

"Her majes-"

You dash toward the woods. The imperial knights sought to catch up to you, as you heard him behind. You grab a nearby rock and shot it directly to his skull, and it hits him.

You ignored the yelp as he yells your honorific causing the nearby knights hear him and went for his aid, before they realize what he was yelling and starts to chase after you.

You felt the dress that was getting stuck on some of bushes and dried branches, resulting to have your dress to be ripped.

Heartbeat were thumping agressively, adrenaline were rushing around your body. One of your hands went up to your belly protecting it from getting injured despite your legs were now full of scratches and bruises from the twigs, and sharp edges of these woods. You feel your legs ache.

"Mother!" You faintly hear a galloping horses along with your son's voice behind you.

Your mistake was to look behind you while running away. You saw how your son and his guards were starting to gain just to bring you back to that hellhole. Your son Ize was reaching up his hand to take you back, his red orbs were full of concern and anxiousness.

"Mother! It's me,Ize! Please, slow down you will hurt yourself!"he yelled."Mother! Think about my sibling! Your child! Listen to me! Don't let this illness take over you!"

Poor child, he thought all of this nonsense that you are doing was because of your bogus illness.

You were about to stop when you saw a nearby cliff but a trunk made you tripped.

You screamed feeling a misstep when you realized you are falling, instinctively cradling your pregnant belly, protecting it as you roll down from the ground. A piercing scream was heard—from your son. Your head colliding to the three and it felt like your head would split open.

Your eyes were blurry from the impact. Touching your belly if there was injury. Atleast trying to feel your lower part if there was bleeding through your thighs other than your legs.

You look up at the steep cliff to see your son was sliding down, crying out your title as his mother. You saw his red orbs were full of tears as it glides down to his cheeks. The last thing you saw before your vision was consumed by the darkness was his hands reaching up to your head.

You were awoken by the sound of the chirping birds coming from the balcony.

You coughed, feeling the dryness from your throat. You eyes were blurry for a few minutes before clearing to see that you were back to the same imprisonment.

But....

It wasn't the same room you shared with your husband. Are you...even in the palace?

You took your time to assess your surroundings only to realize that the room has similarities of the royalties room that are exiled but it looked renovated, one of your husband's brothers used to live here before taking his own life. You felt grim about the thought of it.

After his brother's passing you heard from one of the maids that he turned it into a vacation palace for royalties.

It was different from the last time you saw it. It was much more cleaner and better. It looked good after it was renovated.

Wait, the baby.

THE BABY!

You eyes quickly gaze down to your belly. Hands quickly feeling around them, you exhale in relief when you felt a small kick from your stomach. You felt your tears at the edge of your eyes. It was a miracle that the heavens hadn't take your unborn child away.

I'm sorry baby...

They would have died from the stupidity you'd done!

You laid down to your right side of the bed and cradle in your stomach muttering a soft apologies and starts fluttering your eyes to go back to sleep.

But somethings not right. You felt like a pair of eyes watching you, looking at you.

Observing you.

You opened your eyes and look up only to see your pair of red eyes staring down at you.

Your husband, the emperor sitting on a wingback couch, his face resting at his hand while the elbow is resting at the arm of the couch beside him is a kettle with a cup that rest on top of the bedside table.

You feel your body tense up, you tried to get up and turn to look at your husband.

"Y-your majesty." You called but it sounded like a whisper. You don't know what he will do to you. Sure, he never hurt you physically but this is the first time you'd gotten far away from the place he imprison you in.

You gulped, will he hurt you this time?

"I-I'm... I.." you cannot come up a word,an excuse, what if he gets sick of you? What would happen to your child?

You felt your breath shorten. Tears are starting to swell up in your cheeks.

A rough hand brush on your cheeks before cupping it. You found your partner is already beside you on the bed.

He didn't speak he just let you weep as he brush away your tears. You stammer your words wanting to apologize. The emperor handed you a cup of water and you took it quenching the thirst from your larynx.

Once you drank it all, you hiccup trying to stop your tears from coming out. You felt his hands caressing your belly. "H-husband.."you gulped.

"hush,милашка."he commanded and you held your tongue and closed your eyes when he leans on your cheeks before engulfing you with his arms around you. You felt suffocating around him like a snake coiling around your body.

You feel tensed as he starts peppering kisses on your shoulders and neck before resting his lips to your earlobes, you shudder when he kissed it.

His right hand from your waist slid up under your loose sleeve before sliding it down, your emperor leaned down giving your shoulder a hickey. You whimpered trying to push him away but he hadn't budge an inch. Once he was satisfied he let your skin go with a pop before looking at the red mark he left.

The same hand went to brush your hair, tuck it behind your ear before leaning his forehead against yours. His red eyes held adoration, affection, but most of all obsession.

"милашка." He muttered closing his eyes sighing, he brush his lips against yours before deepening it.

He kept calling you, held you in his arms gently. The same arms that has full of blood that slay so many heads to get to the top of this food chain.

He laid you down before kissing every finger tips of yours and then clasping it with his rough hands as he called for you.

"милашка...."

".... my милашка..."

He pressed one kiss on your collarbone. "None of this is your fault..." He told you.

"... This illness will be the death of you."

Your heart broke for him. He really delude himself that everything you did to get away from him was because of your 'illness'.

"... Everything will be fine, darling. I will take care of you." He dampened his lips one last time to your lips before leaving you in your new confinement.

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jennifer-jeong · 2 months

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[Fluff] [Genshin Men x Reader] What Made Them Fall For You?

Xiao, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Diluc

CONTENT

Headcanons on what makes the genshin pookies fall for you <3 Fluff, gender neutral reader, men falling for reader, reader is not traveler but is friends with them, mentions of character's trauma, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOUR NOTES

I hope to eventually write about all the men >:) it will probably take a while to get to it but I’ll try to keep each one short to encourage myself to finish them all hehe.

XIAO

I think Xiao would start to fall for you because you see through his tough, mean guy act. You can tell that even though his words are harsh and he’s telling you to leave him alone, he’s just protecting you. You might not see it at first, but as you understand his condition, his karmic debt, you understand him. Your realization makes you feel warm knowing that Xiao is really just an innocent soul who wanted to keep you safe. He wants so badly to never hurt anyone ever again and “repent” in solitude even though he has nothing to really repent for; he was forced to kill by his previous master and his karmic debt only comes from killing the remnants of old gods and absorbing their debt.

You start to hang around him more as a result and, much to Xiao’s dismay, he doesn’t hate it. In fact, he actually enjoys how you reignite the warmth in him, the warmth he hasn’t felt in so long since his fellow Yaksha have passed. But did he want to let you in? Shouldn’t he push you away? He’s been alone for so long, why change that now? He felt like he didn’t deserve to enjoy company again, that he didn’t deserve you and your kindness. But maybe just this time… just once, would he allow it.

WANDERER

I think Wanderer would start to fall for you because you make him feel human emotions like he’s never felt before. He’s always searched for a “heart” in the form of a gnosis, thinking it would make him human and make him feel loved and wanted. But even when he had it, it didn’t feel right. Even now, with his anemo vision, he feels more, but still not what he wants. But with you, it feels perfect. Others would probably describe what he feels as something like “butterflies in my stomach” but since he probably doesn’t really experience physical things like that, being a magical puppet and all, he thinks about how you make his vision glow. When he feels a surge of emotions, it feels like he’s using his vision. It feels powerful, happy, strong, and warm, like how a light breeze feels on a sunny afternoon.

You know about his past, what he did, and how the world wronged him. He’s been so traumatized and can barely comprehend his emotions. So when you reach out to him after he regains his memory and a new anemo vision, you try to help him through his emotions in the gentle way that you do. You’re so soft with him and it makes his vision heart ache. He believes he doesn’t deserve you but you try your best to show him otherwise. As you two get closer, you never really notice, but the wind always picks up just a little bit when he sees you.

DILUC

I think Diluc would start to fall for you because you don’t just see him as “the young and rich son of the Ragnvindr family estate.” You see him for him: Diluc. You see a beautiful soul with a broken heart that has put up walls that he intends to never break down again. Others might think that Diluc is just cold, but you and the others close to him know that no matter how cold he may seem, the pure fire that burns inside him always spreads its warmth to those around him. He’s believed for a while now that barely anyone can see what he’s hiding underneath, that people want him for his money, his property, his material things. But you prove him wrong time and time again. You sweetly say hi to him every time you see him not because you want to put on a facade to get on his good side. You don’t help him break up a fight at the tavern and clean up after because you want a monetary reward. You don’t bake him an adorable strawberry cake for his birthday because you want something back. No, you do it because you care, because you have so much love to give, and Diluc feels so lucky to be a part of your life.

He feels his feelings grow for you as time goes on. He feels you getting closer and he barely hesitates to let you in. You didn’t break down his walls, you politely made a door for yourself to enter and it makes you both laugh to think about it that way. He stays reserved around most others but always holds the door open for you, physically and metaphorically.

Thanks for reading!

Part 2 (will link whenever I finish it!!)

|| MASTERLIST <3 ||

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juiles · 8 months

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Sticking out sucks.

Summary: You are taken in by the Avengers at 13 and the first four months are hell until after one fateful mission, Wanda and Natasha really step up the moment you need parent figures the most.

Age: 13

Warnings: blood, gunshot wounds, broken bones, fever, fever haze, hydra, red room, a little mean Nat but she comes back quick, asshole Tony mentioned, surgery drugs

Important questions!!!

Type: angst, hurt/comfort

Here is the masterlist!!

Here is the request form!!

pic credit to the amazing jaylerdoodles

———————————————————————-

I sat in a daze, my world tilting just slightly as i listened to Steve ramble about something after a rough mission. Tony had messed up but somehow got everyone else to believe it had been me. Now here i sat, staring at the table, my hands folded, placed there. I gently picked at the skin around my thumb.

This is how it’s been for 4 months. 4 months of someone messing up on a mission and then me getting blamed as the youngest member. 4 months ago, Steve rescued me from a Hydra cage at 13. I’ve spent half my life being raised by Dreykov to be a perfect widow but at 8, Hydra got a hold of me. Turned me into the perfect weapon. Years of abuse and torture makes you older than you are. Something that Natasha and Wanda don’t like. They’ve never liked me.

I squirmed in my seat, wanting to escape the yelling. As soon as he let us all go, i stood from my chair and made my way up to my room concealing a limp. As soon as my door closed behind me, I grabbed the first aid kit i kept under my bed and changed out of my dirty, bloody suit and into a tank and bike shorts. The gauze on my thigh was already bright red, despite only being on for a couple of hours.

Slowly I peeled it back and winced at the gaping bullet hole. I fished around gently pulling the bullet out, knowing it was a very shallow wound, i gave it a few stitches and wrapped it up tight with a sterile gauze and some ointment. Looking down, I sighed and gently got up. I cleaned the blood off my leg and took a look out my door, creaking it open slightly. It seemed empty and the bucket and mop i would need to clean the blood up is only a few feet away. I glanced down at my bandaged leg then back at the bucket that i could see. Using my powers would only alert Wanda so I slipped out of my room.

I limped over to the bucket and grabbed it, accidentally knocking over the mop in the process. I flinched and whipped around to run back to my room but with the bullet wound, a concussion and a few broken ribs, I got dizzy and instead of running to my room, i fell face first on to the floor, i managed to catch myself before i could hurt myself but at the same time i heard a bedroom door open and could basically feel Natasha rolling her eyes at me as Wanda gasped.

“Don’t baby her Wands.” She cooly said to the girl standing beside her. “She tripped after waking us up. She’ll be fine.” I winced as I crawled up the wall. I looked over my shoulder to see them standing in their bedroom, Natasha leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, Wanda holding one of her arms, her face twisted slightly in concern.

“Why is there blood on your leg y/n?” I heard a small whisper before i glanced down at my leg and winced seeing blood streaming from the gunshot wound, the stitches must have opened when i fell.

“It-it’s nothing…” I muttered and tried to mask my limp to make my way back to my room but was stopped by a red wisp. I glanced back over my shoulder to see Wanda stalking towards me, I flinched out of habit when she got to me. She turned me around by grabbing both my shoulders and a gasp echoed around the hallway when she saw the red gauze, the blood trickling down my leg.

“Y/n! It’s clearly not nothing!” I took a glance up at her and almost immediately melted when I saw the look of pure fear and care in her eyes but pulled myself together. “It is! I’ll just stitch it up and then clean up my mess.”

“Baby you’re not stitching anything up. You and I are heading down to see Bruce to get you checked over.” I froze and turned properly to face her. “Since when do you care?!” I snapped making her flinch slightly before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking back at me. “I’ve always cared love. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to show you it but I can’t let you do this on your own.” I sucked in my breath and closed my eyes.

“I didn’t do it… Tony wasn’t paying attention and I had to jump in front of him. He knocked the switch over, I’m sorry… i’m sorry…” I could feel my chest tighten and i tried to push Wanda’s arms off me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Wanda simply pulled me closer in her arms and slid down the wall, pulling my head to lay flat against her chest so I could hear her heartbeat. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Natasha crouching down in front of me or feel her hands rubbing my back until my chest started to loosen and the knot in my throat slowly released, i gasped in breaths which merely just cause me to sob harder due to the broken ribs. “Baby breath. Take a deep breath. Come on baby. Follow my breathing okay?”

I could feel myself calm down slightly as I listened to Wanda’s heart beat, feeling her fingers massaging my scalp while Natasha drew shapes on my back lightly. My eyes slowly drooped as my fingers tangled into her sleep shirt. “No baby. You can’t sleep yet. Stay with us okay?” I groaned sleepily and fluttered my eyes open to look up at her with a slight pout on my face. “I’m sleepy…” I muttered sniffling slightly.

“I know sweet girl but Wanda is right. I’m going to pick you up and we’re gonna bring you down to Bruce okay?” Natasha murmured shifting me into her arms, making me look up at her. I smiled sleepily before breaking into a coughing fit. “I feel gross…” I felt a cool hand on my forehead before Wanda cooed. “Oh darling you’ve got a fever… you’re sick too…”

“You look like me Natty…” I mumbled staring at her green eyes. “I wish you could be my mama… but you don’t like me… i’m sorry for whatever i did…”

“Darling… you did nothing wrong and I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you did… but i’m here now okay?” She said placing me on the bed, Bruce walking up next to us. I smiled slightly up at her giggling slightly. “Okay mama…” I muttered, to out of it to even realize what i had said.

Wanda’s POV

Both Natasha and i struggled to understand why a 13 year old needed to be on the team. She’s way too young. We haven’t treated her the best, hoping she would quit. Keep her safe. That was until today.

When i heard the bang on the floor in the hallway, i got up and opened the door leaning into Natasha. I watched y/n scramble to get up and i saw the blood trickling down from a bandage wrapped around her leg. I gasped, instantly frowning when Natasha scoffed.

Honestly the next few minutes were a haze, the next thing I knew Nat had a fever hazed y/n in her arms and I was checking her forehead. “Oh darling you’ve got a fever… you’re sick too…”

“You look like me Natty…” Y/n mumbled slightly staring up at the woman. “I wish you could be my mama… but you don’t like me…” My heart shattered at that, we had been so awful to this little girl that she thought we didn’t like her. Her little pout breaking my heart more. “I’m sorry for whatever i did…”

“Darling… you did nothing wrong and I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you did… but i’m here now okay?” Natasha said through her tears as she brushed the hair out of y/n’s face. “Okay mama…” She mumbled before she fell asleep. Bruce quickly shuffled us out of the room. Natasha plopped down in a chair in the waiting room with wide eyes filled with tears. “Natty?”

“She called me mama… she- god i messed up Wandz… she’s so young… she doesn’t deserve any of this…” Natasha broke down, i quickly pulled her into my arms as she buried her face into the crook of my neck.

“We’ll talk to her when she’s more awake… for now shen she gets out of surgery she’s going to need us to support her… she’s got a gunshot wound to her leg, some broken ribs, a concussion and a nasty flu.” Natasha stiffened. “She got shot… how did none of us notice?” I muttered as Natasha sat up slightly and cupped my cheeks. “We were stupid but we’ll do better Wandz.”

We both looked up when the door opened. “She’s fine. She’s awake and still a little loopy.” Bruce said with a small smile. “She called me Brucey.” He chuckled slightly. “She’s sleepy but asking for her ‘guardian angels’ by the way.”

We all let out a soft chuckle and Nat and I made our way into the room to see y/n trying to rip the IV out of her arm. “No baby…” I mumbled taking her hands into mine. “You need to keep them in for now okay?” I looked at her face and her big green eyes looked up at me, brimmed with tears.

“I don’t like it…” She mumbled. I cooed kissing her knuckles gently. “I know but it’ll help you get better okay?” A small whimper came out of her mouth before she turned to Natasha.

“Mama… hi…” She giggled sleepily up at Natasha who smiled softly and she brushed her fingers over the girls cheek bone. “Hi detka… you aren’t going to remember any of this tomorrow huh? Well i’ll soak it in while i can hmm?” She asked softly sitting next to the girl.

“Mama don’t leave…” Natasha chuckled.

“I’m not detka…” Y/n scooted over slightly looking up at Nat with the biggest puppy dog eyes I had ever seen. “Mama cuddle…?” Natasha hesitated, making the girls eyes water. “Mama…?”

Natasha instantly laid down next to the girl and pulled her small frame into her arms petting down the auburn hair. “Mamas here detka…” I sat down beside the two of them and started playing with her hair. She glanced up at me and smiled sleepily. “Hi momma…” She mumbled burying into my hand.

“Hi malyshka. It’s time to go back to sleep for a little okay?” She nodded a little and buried into Natasha, arms wrapping around mine. I chuckled and looked at Nat who stared at the girl in her arms, her eyes filled with love.

“Goodnight Detka. I love you.”

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jimmy-j-james · 1 year

Note

Price x venom male reader

Price finds reader on a mission and decides "You're coming home with me" and surprise adopts them, and at first the reader is not trusting price at all, lashes out a lot and overall acting like a scared animal, but price is patient and slowly the reader warms up to him and at some point he sticks to price like a cat and is protective of him

Please and thank you

PARASITE

- M!venom!reader x Price

- Proofread:

- Genre: Fluff

- Synopsis: On a lone mission, Price finds himself in a lab. Abandoned and dark, he’s unable to see the terrors that lurk, finding himself infected with some sort of parasite after mistaking it for a wounded animal.

- Warning: Partially descriptive gore(?)

- Do note that I do not own the venom concept, the marvel franchise does. I simply own this piece of work.

════════════════

“Hello?” John calls out, his voice echoing throughout the deserted building. His gun is raised idly as he walks, the light attached being his only form of sight in the generally pitch black building.

A few objects glow within the dark; buttons, screens, old lamps. All of which flickering or slowly draining of power. It’s eerie, of course, giving a chill down the man’s spine.

He swears something moves in the corner of his eye, but when he turns it’s nothing but a glowing button. Bright and tempting, one of the only buttons on the control panel that seems to work.

Slowly approaching, the Brit holds his finger over the switch, hesitant to see its reaction. With a deep sigh, he presses down. It clicks, and something within the area opens, followed by a strange squelching sound.

“Bloody hell..” he mumbles, shaking his head before going back to investigating. Something to his left crashes, and once his light shines towards that area he’s founded with something strange.

Within the darkness of a corner, there’s a strange shape. It appears breathing and alive, and John can’t help but take it for a scared animal. His expression softens, approaching the desk. “Poor lil’ lad,” he coos, relying on the strap of his gun to hold the firearm, he holds out his hand.

Shockingly enough, the slimy creature crawls into his hand. He hadn’t expected the creature to be so.. cold and wet. A pure black blob of nothing, though it seemed to be living. “The hell ‘re you..” he stays quiet, not wanting to startle the creature, though it seems to fail as it spikes up and rapidly moves.

John panics, immediately trying to brush off the hostile creature, only to shout out as it merges within his body. The moments are painful before all goes calm, panting and sweating from the exertion of the infection alone.

Panicked enough, he opts to leave the premises in a haste. “Laswell.. the fuck was wrong with that place?”

════════════════

A day passes, and John feels like he’s dying. Always hot and hungry and even paranoid. He feels insane the first time he hears it. A voice low and raspy, causing him to desperately search for the cause. There’s nothing when he looks, but he hears the voice again.

“Hungry.”

It’s demanding, losing patience clearly, though John can’t find the source. Instead, he fists into his hair, shaking his head and muttering curses to himself.

“What are you??” He calls out mindlessly, not expecting any reply from the voice he claimed to be an auditory hallucination.

“Not what, who.”

It replies, still seemingly irritated. John shakes his head once more, squeezing his eyes shut. “No.. no.. it- you’re not real.”

“I am (c/n).”

And then he sees it. That black liquid like form, taking shape of a head beside his own. It’s smiling, one of sadistic and cruel intents as it practically drools over the man.

“And I am hungry.”

The Brit is then shoved against the wall by an unknown source, groaning in pain as his head makes contact.

“You feed me, I will keep you alive.”

John can’t believe he’s seeing.. feeling this. Connected to the strange parasite, feeling it’s hunger, seeing its form.. it’s surreal.

“Mm- fuck- okay.. I’ll feed you.” He grunts, holding his head before the pain seemingly vanishes. He doesn’t bother questioning it, making his move to the bases kitchen.

He’s thankful it’s late, opening the fridge and illuminating the dark area with the cool light. “The hell do you eat anyways…?” He mutters more to himself then the creature.

A slimy tentacle of sorts appears, reaching into the fridge, tossing things around before spotting it’s prize. A simple chocolate bar, marked with a sticky note reading ‘Gaz’ do not eat’. However, the creature ignores the note and happily holds onto the candy.

“That’s not yours, you can’t take that.” Price lectures, trying to take it from the symbiote.

‘Mine.’

It snarls, smacking at the host before carelessly throwing it into it’s large mouth.

════════════════

Their hostility continues throughout the next few weeks. The parasite threatening and taking while John can only scold it for it’s careless behaviour. Their bond is pure rivalry, but something further underlies beneath.

John feeds the creature, and in return he’s kept alive and safe. It almost feels like having cat. The same ignorant sense until it wants something.. he’s never been much a fan of cats, but a symbiote? He’d have to deal with it..

It wasn’t until their first mission together that things grew more serious. Price had been shot in the shoulder, and based off the looks of it, it wouldn’t be likely he lived.

Of course, unknowingly to him, the symbiote worked to heal his body. The bullet dropped loose from his skin, the area quickly healing over.. he thought it was the effects of an upcoming death. Of course, his thoughts changed when he noticed that familiar black inky texture cover his arms.

It slowly travelled, working to shield his whole body before (c/n) was in full control. The symbiote was beyond pissed. How dare they hurt his human.

There wasn’t much John could see or hear throughout the chaos and protection of (c/n), though he was able to make out the faint screams and shouts of pain and terror.

He could make out the sound of someone choking out on their own blood, sobbing and begging for help through the gurgled cries. The tearing of flesh that followed with a scream, a metallic smell growing overwhelming as it continued.

There were pleas and gunshots, though John was never injured by these as he relied on the symbiote. Of course, the creature let it’s rage freely flow.

No mercy shared between the enemy soldiers as he ripped and tossed those who dare tried to harm his John. He fed of their terror and flesh, drinking their blood and basking in the screams. There was no stopping him as he continued his massacre.

It wasn’t until everything was silent.. all enemies dead, none left untouched. The 141 circled around the beast, their guns aimed and ready if any threat showed. But.. nothing was done as the symbiote respectfully retreated back into the comfort of John’s own skin, leaving the male to his own petrified team.

“I can explain?”

════════════════

“You can explain?” Laswell argues, pacing back and forth as John sits in a chair at the end of the table. “John, how do you expect we explain an alien creature using you as some.. host, to do God knows what!?”

“He hasn’t hurt anyone!” He argues, earning a glare from the woman.

“It absolutely did! Did you not see what that thing did on the field? What happens if it targets us next, John?” She continues, staring down at the man, brows furrowed in a look of stress.

“She does not like me?”

John groans, holding his head in his hands. “That’s not true.. she’s just confused…” he mumbles, having not expected for the woman to hear.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Laswell scowls, eyeing the male with a look of anger.

“It- he talks to me.. he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.” John informs, feeling stupid, considering it was unlikely she’d believe anything he said.

“And you’re just going to trust this thing?”

“He saved my life, Kate. Why else would he do that?”

“It just needs a host.” She grunts, taking a seat of her own.

John sends a glare of his own, “He could take any host he possibly wants!”

“I do not want a different host. You are mine.”

“He um..” he pauses, unsure if he should tell the woman “he said he doesn’t want another host.. just wants me.”

Laswell sighs, calming herself before looking John in the eyes. “And how do we know we can trust him?”

“I have been good! I helped!”

“He helped us on field. He saved me, and no one on our team was injured by him.” The captain informs, speaking out for the symbiote.

Kate pauses, sitting silently as she thinks it’s over. “Fine.. we’ll keep it on the down low. And- just keep the damn thing under control?”

“I like her! Feisty!”

John rolls his eyes, though a smile tugs at his lips “He appreciates it. Thank you, Kate.”

════════════════

do not copy/paste, claim as your own, post on different sites, or translate without prior consent from me

#cod x male reader #price x male reader #captain price x male reader #john price x male reader #price mw2

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 month

Text

Setting: The Kingdom of Xophena, Realm of the Pure

Though it is famed the world over for the piety of its people and the bravery of its knights, this kingdom holds a dark secret at its heart. If you were to see the scattering of fortress cities surrounded by horror haunted wilderness it would be all too easy to believe the legends: brave warriors sallying forth to do battle against the corruption that besieges them from all sides, slaying great foes and making great sacrifices in the name of defending the innocent. If you looked closer though you would see Xophena for all its faults, the fear by which its elite drive and dominate its populace, a tradition of martial glory that justifies any action or abuse of the warrior caste, a population forced to endure toil and abject subjugation or be exiled outside the walls.

Adventure Hooks:

While travelling through the realm of the pure as part of an ongoing quest, the party run into a retinue of outrider knights on their way to destroy a rampaging aberration hiding out in a gold mine. Some of the knights scoff at the party for being common sellswords, while others recognize them as fellow doogooders-at-arms. There's glory to be had if the party join them in their mission, and more importantly, potential reward and bragging rights.... if they can keep up, the mounted cavaliers aren't going to slow down on the party's behalf.

Xophen emissaries have made an appearance in the party's homeland, courting alliances, making trade deals, and generally putting their finger on the scales of power. Distrustful of too many good offers, the party's patron is planning on a visit to Xophena in the near future and would like them to come along as extra sets of eyes and ears. Renegade heroes have a habit of seeing through the haze of political bullshit.

Xophena would make a fascinating backdrop for a campaign, as Arthurian myth crashes into lovecraftian weirdness. The best place to start would be with the party as castoffs and exiles, eking out a living in one of the few hidden hamlets built by those outcast from the social order. How do they survive? When circumstances demand that they enter one of the fortress cities do they trick their way in, or beg favour from the sanctimonious powers that be? Can they last long enough to discover the secret that has bent the world into its current cruel shape?

Background: Only a few centuries ago Xophena was just like any other kingdom, periods of prosperity and stability that dissolved into infighting as the local warrior elite squabbled for position. That of course all changed when monsters known as the Delnbrood began to wriggle out of the earth like worms after rain, causing untold devastation and forcing a societal retreat to the increasingly fortified settlements dotted about the mountainous foothills. The fear and chaos of these years restructured Xophen society into a rigid hierarchy based around tradition, faith, and survival, which has only grown more ossified as time has gone on.

Both Xophen scripture and legend will tell you that the horrors that beset them began with a treasonous sorcerer Delndrek who sought to take the throne for himself through dishonorable means and darkest sorcery. He was opposed by Tanria brightspear, a saint of the everlight who foiled his every sly attempt to seize power, until at last she cornered him and forced his surrender. Ever the coward, Delndrek sacrificed his humanity rather than relinquish his ambition, becoming an indescribable abomination, that it took the bright speared saint five days to vanquish, dying in the process. It's said that the aberrations that beset Xophena today are born from where his tainted blood struck the earth.

Like many of the tales told about the realm of the pure, this story is a lie, gilded with just enough truth to make it stick in the people's memory. Delndrek wasn't just a sorcerer, but the sorcerer of the royal family, tasked with magicing away all the problems that backwoods dynasty couldn't solve through bloodshed or political marriage. The kingdom's goldmines had always been its lifeblood, and most of the fighting in those days about who could profit from what claim. Trouble was the royal family's mines were drying up, so they threw their pet mage at the problem said that if he didn't find a solution they'd torture him till they did. Dying mines and mounting stress forced Delndrek to look deeper and deeper for an answer, and eventually led him to communion with the outergod Jysh'parun who holds dominion over the secrets of mountains. A pact was struck, the mountains ate people and spat up gold, until eventually the saint found out and decided to put a stop to things.

Cut to today, and the dependants of that very same royal family are still trying to wriggle out of the pact they instigated, spending their people's lives to fill their coffers and fight back the creatures the outer god sends to assert dominion over the realm he was promised.

Setting Details:

The church of the everlight was always strong in Xophena, dating back half a millennia to when an adherent of hers was lost on a stormy sea for months and was only able to find land when the mist parted and he saw the dawn first alighting on one of the region's seaside peaks. The mountainous temple city of First Alight still serves as the heart of the region's faith.

That faith has become just as gaudy and hollow as the rest of the kingdom: Somewhere along the line it was decided that gold was the best way to demonstrate praise to Sarenrae, both in decorating her icons and paying to erect ever grander structures in her honour. While the common people pray for the hope and strength to lead them through lean times, their tithes go to fund an increasingly bloated clergy who spend their days finding reasons that the peoples' sinful nature forestalls their goddess's promised salvation.

You don't compose ballads calling your homeland "Realm of the Pure" unless you've got some hangups around cleanliness. Delndrek's corruption has touched more than the land, as aberrant sorceries and otherworldly mutations have begun to spring up among the populace. Those with influence do their best to hide these marks, those without are scapegoated, exiled, or made an example of.

For all their privilege and brainwashing, many of the realm's knights really do believe in the cause, having largely abandoned the ways of petty armed gentry and settling instead into martial orders. While they all compete to slay the most beasts and earn the most gallant reputation, it is a deepset longing among the knights to be able to find St. Tanria's lost spear, which in the right hands is said to be able to rid the land of its blight once and for all.

Arcane magic is viewed with suspicion in Xophena, as any rogue mage could be just another Delndrek waiting to happen. Exceptions are of course made for those spoken for by the nobility.

Art 1

Art 2

#Jysh'parun #setting #campaign #press start #mountain #lovecraft #occult #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #sarenrae

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yanderestarangel · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓!𝐁𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

TW: Sinful context, smut, masturbation, poetic language, angst, poem, priest!lbi han, corruption of values, unreliable narrator, cock warming, dom!reader, extreme worship, bi han's mind is distorted, nsfw, catholic context, inspired by edgar allan poe, angst.

Always following the heavenly orders, written by ancestral men, an ancient prayer said in choir. The collective echoed off the walls of the church Bi Han was accustomed to as a monotonous future and present written by the god he dedicated to his mortality.

But you were anything but ordinary.

For Bi Han, you were perfection, not even in sacred verses did he see such perfection, but not on a carnal level but, yes, in the soul, as if your soul called and cried out the submission of him, the priest without any error in years of priesthood , you made him question his faith in some divine being, an unreachable and implacable being or perhaps, you made him redirect his worship towards you.

The priest struggled with deeply buried desires.

His eyes, once pure, now lingered and yearned, while forbidden flames within him burned.

He was on his knees daily, his sore flesh was proof of Bi Han's failed attempt to divert the sensations of desire for you.

The weight of sin pressed against his chest, what was right or wrong?

Bi Han didn't know what words to say, a sigh and whisper was heard through the piercing stillness of the space once sacred to him, but now, there was no logic shelf.

The only god he wanted to worship was you.

Your eyes, your lips, your face, your body, every imperfection and perfection drawn on you, your mistakes, your sins...

He needed the worst thing he had in you.

With trembling hands, he clutched the rosary, seeking redemption for the sins that kept him captive, nebulous and vivid fantasies entered his mind, the bitter taste of a pleasure denied by ties he himself chose.

Fool, lost in vain.

He wanted you, he wanted to adore you more than he adored everything about the breath of life he had.

Like a glass house, about to break, this was the real Bi Han.

The vows he took, a solemn oath, now he threatened to collapse, because his spirit was torn apart, by the lust you awakened him, and he...

He just wanted to accept all of this.

Through the stained glass windows the moonlight streamed, Enlightening a soul in turmoil, it seemed.

The priest, torn between the call of pure requiem and earthly lust. He looked in the moonlight at the silver bath that entered the dark fortress that should be full, far from iniquity and lasciviousness.

But that was a counterpoint, an illusion.

Bi Han's hand guided itself to his own throbbing member, while he used his other hand to muffle the sounds from his mouth, all of them, coming out your name, like a prayer, a prayer he was used to directing to another lord, but now, his lord... It was you.

Throwing his head behind the messy linen sheets, his black cassock now open between his legs, he shed tears down his face, tracing painterly lines that could be read by someone as some kind of regret.

But not.

He had found his lord, something perfect.

𝐘𝐨𝐮.

The thick, pearly ropes shot out of his thick shaft, making him completely dirty as he fell to his knees, smiling, thinking about you.

If he believes in hope, Oh Lord, he well believes!

His source is most divine, most sacred, you.

He looked at your hands, he wanted to kneel and kiss your feet at that moment, grab your legs and never let you go, spread the veil of power that you had on your head, because the pleasure.

It's the most splendid thing you brought and the thought of serving you was much greater satisfaction than continuing that farce.

Bi Han was madman devoted, but it was for you.

Hands tangled in two sweaty bodies, sculpted by perhaps divine perfection.

He lowered himself to you, his priest's cassock, completely rumpled by your brutal and rough movements on Bi Han's poor hole, skin-to-skin sounds echoed with each passage of time.

𝐁𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

Bi Han's round, pale ass, now marked by your hands, was a worthy tomb.

"-Please, please my lord-"

As he always did on the nights he lamented about being a weak man, and taking pleasure in thinking about your body dominating him.

But there he was... A delicious sin, a sin of Eden.

There was no regret for him, you were everything he needed and if there was a divine being, a delicious chill, with each thrust stronger and stronger, given by you.

He dirty the church floor, the image reflected in the marble was of a submissive Bi Han and a mess, a angelic mess.

"-Don't stop, please, Oh Lord-" He screamed at you, his hands and legs sought some relief from the lack of support in your body, he reached release, staining both bodies moments after begging and worshiping you.

And it was, at your feet, the world, all luxury.

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈. "𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐄𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧."

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anika-ann · 4 months

Text

Back and Forth - part 3.2

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 14000

Chapter summary: In which you have to survive the charity auction and it's not easy... for several reasons.

Series masterlist

Warnings: overthinking, self-doubt and issues with self-image, A+ parenting and its consequences, mentions of (in)human experimentation, alcohol (briefly as a coping mechanism), SPOILER armed assault, language and charming Steve, because he is most definitely a warning

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: Second 'half' of the 3rd chapter. As you might have noticed, this is a long one. But with hints of fluff. So…yay? 💕 If you wish/need to split the reading, I recommend to end a reading session at the second in-text divider 😊

Daisy Johnson, despite being the legendary Quake, did in fact have a moment – which was enough of a shock to stop your headache from getting worse, even if your hands seemed to get a little clammy as your phone lit up with her response.

You would have done just fine without anyone’s input, you considered yourself competent enough to choose an evening gown, thank you very much. But after the day you had had so far – you could hardly believe it wasn’t even noon yet – there was a small traitorous voice of hope in the back of your head. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach weighing you down, a dull reminder of being alone in this world, it urged you to reach out to the one group of people that once made you believe that you could share more with someone than workload or more than lust that turned into ashes and smoke once the fire had been lit up too strong. Daisy had been in the centre of it – she and maybe Coulson.

It was a dangerous game you played, indulging in the one thing you knew would come back to slap you in the face; entertaining the idea that there was someone who genuinely cared for you regardless of your abilities was setting you up for disappointment. But there was something about Daisy, so honest and sincere, that had wormed its way through the walls you had sworn to keep up for support, several inches thick and vibranium-strong. And that didn’t change, even as you had been given, not for the first time, the evidence of how volatile a faith in friendship can turn just short of two hours ago.

Knowing that Daisy didn’t turn her back to people, not even to her father after all he had done wrong, knowing she chose to see the good in people and to put her heart into nurturing it in them despite the risk of getting hurt in more ways than one, left you defenceless against her powers that had nothing to do with her genetic code. She was, even if distantly, the closest thing to a sister to you, older, due to her experience with Inhuman powers and in Coulson’s team, and younger, due to her pure heart and excitement about new things; once she had managed her powers which she had got about a half a year before you did, she became your guide and confidant; though you hadn’t dared to taint her with the knowledge of your pain.

While you had started search for the dress without her, she texted you barely a half an hour in; fresh out of a meeting, apologizing she’d only have twenty minutes before they’d be in the drop-zone for their current mission. Twenty minutes. And yet, she had made the time for you. Somewhere, thousands of feet in the air, in between preparing her mission gear, she had decided to sneak in a few minutes for you.

The knowledge alone eased the pressure in your stomach and gave way to a wholly different feeling, equally dizzying. She cared. Yes, you could argue that since she had been tasked to lead the division of Inhuman agents of SHIELD, it was her duty to respond – and at times, you reminded yourself of that, that you really weren’t special – but the fact was that she was. And she truly did care. You hadn’t been wrong to call her a friend yesterday; and Daisy-the-teenager couldn’t have had picked a better role-model in life. For most part anyway.

It didn’t matter in the slightest that Daisy Johnson had barely squeezed you into her schedule; it still carried meaning. And it would be enough, because she could be very efficient, sorting through the dresses you had considered so far as easily as if she had been slicing through the security system of the Pentagon – for a person with her hacking experience anyway.

A set of easy questions you yourself had been asking was her effective tactics.

Mission or fun? she had asked first, no doubt already knowing the answer as she went through the early picks. There was a reason why no dress had bare back, while all of them had necklines designed high enough to hide at least a strapless bra.

Me: They call it a mission to have fun, but I’ll be damned if I go without being ready other kind of mission.

DJ: Fair

DJ: Charming or sexy?

Your lips twitched in a small smile, your mind conjuring the image of Daisy’s face when she was typing the question. She was one of very few people – probably the only one – who could make you feel the teenage-like excitement about challenging authority. There was always a reason to the madness of doing so, but there was something about her attitude that always whispered of poking the bear for the sake of fun only.

Charming, you replied, almost regretfully. As much fun as it would be to see brains of some of those pretentious jerks you were about to meet short-circuit just because they were seeing an extra silver of flesh on a young woman – a thing that would make for as much of an icky feeling as hilarity – your mission was to represent, not cause havoc or seduce.

Blah. Colour-coordinating with anyone? she asked then and you chuckled at her poorly hidden attempt to fish for gossip – and at the idea of actually trying to do what she was suggesting. No. You were not going to go and ask Rogers what colour he was about to wear. Less so since chances were high that he was about opt for a traditional black tuxedo suit with a white shirt.

Me: Nope.

DJ: Come on! At least tell me who you’re going with?!!

DJ: You know this is a much of a secure channel as it gets

DJ: And you said it wasn’t really a mission, so it can’t be classified

DJ: …and I can’t find it within the system.

I’ll tell you if we survive it, you replied simply, even as laughter already bubbled in your chest, cheeks beginning to hurt from disuse and the sudden exercise as to stop you from grinning.

You should have known that she’d hack the system and go straight for the mission database unless you told her the details. Tony, bless him, threw a tantrum whenever she did that – which wasn’t too often, but it had happened before. On days when you allowed yourself to ponder, you wondered why he never told anyone – as far as you knew, that was, because no one came down on you, raining holy fire of wrath, despite it being obvious you were the cause of Daisy’s hacks – and why he tolerated it. Some days, you thought he was amused by it and felt bad for you, seeing you missed your former team, granting you connection with Daisy even if the way she went about it drove him absolutely nuts. Other days, you were sure he simply enjoyed a challenge and this was as good one of those as any – and he’d be caught dead before he’d admit in front of anyone that someone was able to crack into his system. Most days, you were content not to look given horse in the mouth.

Like clockwork, FRIDAY’s mechanical voice interrupted your thoughts:

“Agent Spectre, Mr. Stark would like to know if, I quote, you know anything about some punk kid sneaking into the mission logs again, maybe Little Miss Richter Scale, end of quote,” she stated, causing a snort of laughter actually escape you at Tony’s new and dead-on nickname. You’d have to tell Daisy that later – she’d have a good laugh at that

Me: You’re getting better and better.

Me: He’s onto you now though.

DJ: He should, he’s slacking, took him forever to notice

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if Tony Stark and Daisy Johnson found themselves in one room and she’d tell him that to his face; but that was a thought to entertain another day.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Mr. Stark to relax. We’re safe, it is just Daisy.”

“Very well. Apologies for interrupting your free time, Agent Spectre. However, I was also tasked to inform you that Sergeant Wilson prepared enough lunch for an army and extended the invitation to join him to everyone on the team. Even to those who are currently on a mission out of state, which I find odd and, frankly, despicable.”

Even though the corner of your lips twitched at FRIDAY’s comment, your heart skipped a startled beat, a fist of cold feeling squeezing your stomach. The invitation was a nice gesture, even if not meant for you. You could read between the lines: the family the Avengers team had built themselves into, even if the second strangest you had ever seen, did not involve you. You were barely a part of the team, a temporary loan, so to speak, even as you had signed a contract. Extending the invitation to the team meant extending it to friends, to that very family. As kind and welcoming as Sam seemed, you certainly did not belong to that category.

The vibration of your phone startled you; the message as amusing as bittersweet.

DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger

Right. Ms. Avenger. Case on point. You might be one, technically, on paper, but in spirit… hardly. At best, you were determined to try and prove that the way you controlled your abilities could be at least Avengers-adjacent. The harsh truth however, was that if anyone from your old team would have had it in them to become a true Avenger, it was Daisy herself. Alas, she was too busy running and flying the world with another team, protecting, teaching, and recruiting Inhumans... and saving the world in the process.

DJ: Crap gotta run

DJ: Number four is the one I think

Whoever you’re going with is gonna lose their shit when they see you, she added, once again making you snort, this time without humour.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If chances of becoming a friend to an Avenger were astronomical, chances that Steve Rogers would be impressed by you dressing up to the nines were outside of all the realms known to Thor himself. But it was a nice sentiment, you supposed; the flicker of affection towards the optimist in Daisy was a testimony to that.

Me: Thank you for the help. Stay safe out there.

DJ: You too

DJ: But from what I saw about yesterday, you got it

DJ: …Ms Avenger

Shaking your head, this time unable to stop the smile taking over your lips, you set the phone down and ordered the dress to be delivered express, and moved onto shoes and a handbag; you ignored the growling of your hungry stomach and distantly couldn’t but wonder if maybe there’d be some leftovers of Sam’s pasta to have for lunch later.

Tony was not exaggerating when he was talking about the charity auction being a mission. A mission required preparation; having documents land in your inbox along with an alert of high-priority intel relevant to your mission lightning up your StarkWatch yesterday evening, you had never been more grateful for being obliged to read up on something.

As you were putting the last touches to your make-up in the quinjet bathroom, you sent another mental thank you to Tony, because the extensive files on all expected guests, besides having potential to be useful to you during the event, gave you the perfect excuse as to why leave last preparations to the flight.

Naturally, the intel itself was a message with a bitter aftertaste, because it highlighted your role and tasks. Represent. Make small-talk. Show interest. Compliment a healthy amount; meaning bootlick a bit, if necessary. You knew the dance and it had always made your head spin in the worst way. To show enough admiration and knowledge about the world’s finest to look professional and a bit of a fan, but not as a stalker, even as there were people among the attendees tonight who would have probably appreciated a stalker-level interest and considered it a compliment.

But despite the slight nausea hitting you when leafing through the files, you had appreciated the out Tony had given you, whether it was intentional or not; because with an excuse of mountains of intel to try to learn by heart, you didn’t have to sit opposite to Steve in the quinjet in awkward silence. Or worse, trying to make small talk with him, just as awkward. Or, in the worst-case scenario – which would be in the direct conflict with one of the mission’s laughable objectives, specifically trying not to kill each other – fight with him.

And you probably would have done exactly that because there was no way Captain America himself had been wrestled into this the same way you had. They might have had to twist his arm to make him go with you, but not to go. He had been given a choice and chose to attend, despite the concerns you had voiced. And you probably hadn’t been the only one, which meant Steve had to be hyperaware of the potential security issue and he deliberately ignored it. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was Mr. Captain America and nothing could ever happen to him; be it because he thought there was no danger and you were allegedly making it bigger deal than necessary or – which drove you all high up the wall and made you want to punch him into his damn perfect teeth or at least punch his stupidly firm pec – the threat was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Goddamn him.

You crumbled the fabric of your dress between your fingers in a firm grip as you breathed through the rush of pure indignation with him being a brave stubborn dismissive dumbass and breathed in slowly; you held your breath for a few seconds, and only then released it along with the grip on your dress. You blinked at yourself in the mirror and repeated the action, arranging your face into a neutral expression at least.

Tony might have as well come up with the idea to send the intel solely to prevent you from attempting to strangle Steven Grant Rogers before you even landed, so it would be polite to honour his efforts.

When you finally exited the bathroom and entered the main space, you found Steve in one of the seats with a tablet in his hand, the screen dimly illuminating his face. He looked up as you approached, rising to his feet almost as if on instinct, his lips slightly parted for a brief moment. His gaze glided over the dress from where it brushed your ankles, over the line of the skirt, the slit reaching mid-thigh opening and closing as you walked, revealing a silver of your leg tastefully and covering you again, then over the waist, V-shaped neckline ending mid-sternum, short sleeves with delicate frills. For a moment, the intensity of his gaze surprised you; but then you realized that he was committing the dress to memory to find you easily in the crowd in case any Avengers-related business came up.

Then, an obtrusively gentle thought nudged at your mind; he was an amateur artist. You had got a glimpse of him several times, a sketchbook and a pencil in his fingers, look distant or extremely focused on the paper in front of him. He could appreciate beauty – and the dress you chose was without doubt an embodiment of it. The glimmer of it was subtle and the sparkles sparce; in the rich dark blue blending into a purple just as dark, it resembled the sky just after dusk, with the first stars coming out. Whether he had a sense for fashion or not wouldn’t matter – the dress was, at least in your eyes, gorgeous. Not flashy, not too shiny to attract too much attention, but with an idea making up for the otherwise simple design.

When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.

It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.

If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.

Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.

And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.

As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first. You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.

Right. The mission.

Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.

You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.

“You were going through the files on the guests?”

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.

Small talk it was.

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”

Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.

Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.

What was wrong with you today?

“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.

You blinked, neurons firing in all directions, heart leaping to your throat. Surely, he didn’t just—the two remaining objectives. That wasn’t--- that didn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t receive the same documents, his mission package different from yours as he was one of the original Avengers, the strategist.

And yet, a worm of curiosity had already chewed its way through to your brain, an itch you needed to scratch otherwise you’d go crazy. Certainly, he couldn’t have implied-

He stepped out towards the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by your impulsive words.

“Can I borrow your tablet for one more moment?” you blurted out, clearly taking him by surprise; but not unpleasantly. “I just… I just want to check on some of the guests again.”

“Sure.”

With the same faint smile adorning his absurdly handsome face, he took a few steps back to reach for the tablet, unlocking it for you and opening the file with individual documents for you to browse before taking his leave.

You weren’t sure why you needed to check – if you were a sucker for pain, needing to know your assumption he had only received three objectives was correct – but you opened the mission overview anyway.

A lump grew in your throat as you skimmed through the document, your stomach suddenly unbearably warm.

He didn’t mean it. He forgot there were four not three objectives, a sharp voice in your head argued, instantly opposed by another, even if less insistent, reminding you that Captain Rogers was believed to have eidetic memory and you had seen his impressive memory indeed in action before.

It didn’t matter. You were making a big deal out of nothing; and ocne you came back from this excuse of a mission, you needed to have your heart checked, because the irregularities in rhythm and the palpitations upon simply reading had to signal an underlying health issue.

But it was right there, in his device, in one of the documents he had just been reading through. The overview.

Location.

Time.

Two names.

Four objectives.

Four objectives which were no doubt written down by Tony, given the choice of words and their existence to begin with, because no one else would have treated an official document this way.

Make Avengers look good; Look good; Have fun (includes using Stark/Avengers card in the auction); Try not to kill each other.

You felt your cheeks heat up even though there was not a single reason to feel that way. You were a grown woman. You had been complimented countless times before, in much more flattering ways, though less playful ones. Steve was just being… polite. And a little teasing, trying to put you at ease, probably thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, having been informed about your… reluctance to attend the auction. His niceness was in overdrive since he had been literally given orders not to treat you as if he wanted to kill you. He didn’t mean it and even if he did, you had no business reacting this way.

But still. It seemed that Steve Rogers decided that for the sake of the mission, he would more than just leave your differences of opinions behind for the night; he decided to truly work hard on the one single objective that did not come easily to him. There was no other reason for that, but despite your better judgement, it brought a ghost of a smile to your face, one that felt a little stupid.

As you heard him open the door, you were quick to close the document and tap on a random one concerning the guests, just in case Steve would want to check. You pretended that you were too immersed in reading to address him as he walked to you, but there was no need.

The gentle swing of the quinjet slowing down made you forget about whatever he had been trying to imply alarmingly fast.

You were almost there; in the lion’s den. It was time to pull yourself together, be the picture perfect this mission required even if you were not. Just because your idea of a useful mission was different, you wouldn’t treat this one with any less focus or professionalism; even if you’d rather find yourself tied-up and gagged an abandoned warehouse in a middle of nowhere, with no back-up in sight, than kept a fake smile plastered to your face for hours.

Avenger or not, your task was to represent. And so you would, conveniently with the man who represented the goals and values of the team better than anyone else ever could. You’d do your best to support him in that, and you’d do so while fulfilling all the objectives of the mission indeed, even if you doubted that you’d be any better than an accessory the size of Steve’s cufflink. You doubted that Steve Rogers would need the slightest support in charming rich people and the staff alike.

Just for that, you mentally added a fifth objective, an objective anyone drawing up the document should have added themselves. For Steve, it would be not to be a dumbass and not to get himself hurt, hit by anti-serum, kidnapped or killed. For you, not to let any of these things happen to him.

It wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if it was anyone else with you, but since Steve goddamn Rogers had decided to--- no. Not today. He truly was trying to be bearable. You’d meet him halfway; but you’d be damned if you didn’t keep your eyes open.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you murmured as the quinjet touched down on one of the rooftops on a nearby hotel, courtesy of Tony’s negotiating skills – his irresistible charm, as he would say – earning you Steve’s startled look. “You clean up well too.”

His shoulders sagged, eyebrow arching subtly, but his surprise melted into a slight smile again. “Thank you. Shall we?”

Like the gentleman he had been raised to be, he offered you an elbow as the ramp of the quinjet opened for you to step out. There was no need – you had walked on far worse surfaces than this in heels before, you had been forced to run and kick in them too – and you had to physically swallow the remark that would inform Steve about that. But you’d be an idiot to not see that he didn’t offer you an arm to be condescending; he did so to be nice. You could work with nice.

“Thanks.”

And with that, you stepped out, counting steps until you’d walk into the lion’s den indeed.

To say that functions, balls and auctions were not your scene would be a serious understatement. Not in the sense of you being unable to tackle them, no – you had plenty of experience – but in the sense of you absolutely despising them. Specifically, you couldn’t stand what people pretended to be when in that environment; and that included you.

It hadn’t always been like that; visiting events like this started off pleasant. People in luxury robes with wide smiles and subtle laughs echoing in glimmering halls were a thrilling environment before. Before you could fully understand what was happening, before you could read the room. It was only much later when you’d identify these events as necessary evil when working for SHIELD and the time between the two points was a long journey.

Your father would have sneaked into these, either in his own ways or through your mother’s alleged renown status; and you, naturally, went with them. She’d often leave you and your father to your own devices, charming guests into adoring her, speaking of her dedication to both her work and her family, particularly to her daughter, her tone speaking louder than her words in the case of the latter; contempt.

Meanwhile, your father was the complete opposite. He had you joined at his hip, a crutch for when his own tactics of pretending to be someone truly indispensable to SHIELD failed. If people roaming higher circles of society didn’t recognize him as the god’s gift to humanity he hoped to come across as, you’d come in; a charming young lady ready to take the world by storm, his beloved daughter, his pride and joy. Errors made that day, that week or past months didn’t matter – they didn’t exist at the moment, your performance always painted as perfect for the sake of the bragging.

It was a divine experience to receive so much praise, him sounding so earnest in front of all those people; it got sicker and more twisted the older you got, seeing the mask slipping on and off as it suited him, knowing that in the discomfort of home, you were none of what he described you as that to him. And yet. To be finally loved and seen as exceptional by your own father, the one person who had always believed in you and told you so; who wouldn’t want that? Just a taste; like melting hot chocolate on your tongue, thoroughly warming your very being, the softest of blankets that turned scratchy the moment you left the room, snatched away to leave you out in the cold reality of being born a hope and growing up a failure. But those moments, those moments you craved as much as you hated them. Because you knew they would never last.

It was one of the many contradictions of your childhood and adolescence, one of many topics of your therapy sessions that seemed to have no end. It reminded you of what Lincoln always said – that every Inhuman had a purpose and that every Inhuman’s power reflected, to a point, who they were. The way you felt you were often being pulled in two directions, loved and despised, dotted on and ignored, obedient and rebellious, to be exactly who your father had always intended for you to be and find your own path – or pretend you could, for a bit at least, to give him a glimpse of a real disappointment; all goals in direct opposition to each other. You were surprised your ability wasn’t the same as Alisha’s who could literally split herself into several images of herself. But you were hardly an overachiever, were you? You had learned long time ago that perfection was out of your reach, no matter how much you’d cry and bleed and clawed your way through to it, only to see the top of the mountain move when your fingers had almost touched it at last. And on top of that mountain; people like Steve Rogers. The man who could shove it into anyone’s face that it wasn’t that the summit was too high; it was just that they were too small of a person. That you weren’t enough.

It wasn’t fair to despise him for it. But it wasn’t fair that some of these people could insult you to your face and imply you were a lesser Avenger – while representing them nevertheless – and you had no chance to truly fight back without somewhat proving them right.

About a hundred and then some boring conversations later, encounters in which you felt your skin crawl because you hated rubbing elbows, facing fake smiles and carefully crafted politeness with veiled insults weaved between the words of those who could afford it, you were ready to take a break and you were afraid it was beginning to show too.

Captain Steve Rogers, of course, did not seem tired of pleasantries in the slightest; the golden boy still roamed among the crowds, more than willing to engage in any conversation, shaking hands and rubbing elbows indeed as if he had been born to do exactly that. Crowds loved him and that was a fact, whether what Tony had insinuated was correct or not and Steve couldn’t stand this kind environment either indeed.

You had to give it to Steve, however – and truly, you should have expected it, because this was Steve Rogers, originally a little man who could not stand people looking down at others, less so diminish someone’s worth, and he was the protector, the ultimate good guy, the perfection personified – the encounters you had handled side by side with him did not see you neglected. Quite the opposite. If someone didn’t recognize you, which applied to the majority, he was happy to introduce you, or, as it had been in most cases, he had you introduce yourself and only then he highlighted your importance to the team if anyone seemed less that impressed.

Contrary to what you would believe, his words and demeanour, however, pushed the icky sensation of the scene away rather than intensified it. Unlike your father, Steve didn’t have you trail after him. He didn’t belittle you to lift himself up. He didn’t boast about his brilliant decision to reassign you to the team since you were so useful When he spoke of you as the new addition to the team, he didn’t highlight your most recent accomplishment either, not with a condescending or patronizing tone or words that would make it sound as if he as saying oh she saved a few people just two days ago, including Natasha Romanoff, someone give her a candy.

Steve didn’t speak of you as if you were hisachievement, didn’t speak of letting you join the team, of the cooperation being his or their choice.

“We are honoured to have her join the team,” he’d say instead.

“With every mission she takes on, she proves how fortunate we are that she is one of us.”

“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”

“She is an essential part of our team and we are thankful she continues to make this world a safer place with the rest of us.”

On one hand, it was almost sweet; on the other, it was irritating. You didn’t need him to earn you their respect and it should make you livid he was trying to do that, to play the hero who’d rush to your rescue. To a point, it did, because you could fight your own battles; but this battlefield tended to make you slip into a mindset you hated – made you slip into a skin you hated wearing. Still, Steve’s tendency to make it his personal mission that you were not overshadowed by him – a futile effort truly – should make your blood boil, because there he was, the world’s mightiest saviour in action again.

But the way his body language changed when someone eyed you as if you were an unwanted addition to the conversation seemed to whisper of other things than self-proclaimed white knight needing to sweep in; it expressed itself as a personal insult to him that your supposed brilliance was not acknowledged. It seemed almost as if he was gesturing to you wildly with his large palms, his voice as if demanding from the people he spoke to: do you really not see how amazing she is? Are you an idiot? Naturally, he was doing so in much distinguished manner, but that was how it felt.

You were certain someone must have got to you before Tony did back in the park, landing a hit to your head or two, causing a microtrauma that only now manifested in your entirely skewed perception and hallucinations. They must have, there was no other plausible explanation. Or maybe you had actually died; laying your life for Natasha’s would have certainly been a worthy cause. Or perhaps it wasn’t so dramatic and you had simply slipped into a coma and this was some weird manifestation of your brain recovering.

And yet, you had a feeling that if you pinched yourself, you would still feel as grounded in this strange reality as you did now, the intense surge of affection for the man still overwhelming, the satisfaction of seeing the swellheads meek and slightly embarrassed at Steve’s tone upon them dismissing you curling hot in your core. You needed to stop revel in it so much.

But be as it might, despite trying to carefully shield yourself from the effect of Steve’s very public words of appreciation due to knowing it wouldn’t last, you felt yourself grow taller than you ever had been in an event like this. You didn’t feel as obliged to smile politely just for the sake of pleasing others, even as you did smile. Despite the presence of Captain America, larger than life, you felt confident and powerful, even if this kind of feeling normally only came when you were on a mission with the target already in your pocket.

And yet, this surge of courage – and all the wondering about what an alternate reality you had entered – didn’t make the game of social chess less exhausting or brought it closer to your ideas of fun. After almost another hour of wandering on your own, tending to every conversation necessary and even those less necessary, you did find yourself in a need of a break and you liked to think you deserved one.

Naturally, fate – if there was such thing – did not grant you such courtesy.

When you finally did find yourself at the bar, it was one godawful encounter later – a single polite conversation that had sucked all life out of you, all of the little glow you felt you had gathered swept away with a single snap of fingers. It was unfair. It was unfair that your mother still had such hold on you after a lifetime of you being nothing but a bug on her windshield as she tried to drive into the sunset of her own glory, even months and months after her final abandonment.

The matter was only worse since it wasn’t even her. Just a distant colleague – her superior, no less. A few minutes, every second dragging since the moment Doctor Franklin had mentioned your mother, and you were ready to hit the bar for something far stronger than champagne.

“Ah, I knew I saw a resemblance. You must be so proud to wear your mother’s features and name. A strong woman, a survivor, truly dedicated to science, exploring the wonders of the nature of Inhuman transformation. Examining her own genetic code to be able to share fascinating facts of the uniqueness of her case. Even the draft of her study was most intriguing… pardon me, what was it that your abilities are after you, unlike her, simply acquired powers like everyone else?”

It shouldn’t have affected you; but it did. With what felt like chunks of metal in your stomach, the tickle of nausea in the back of your throat, you were almost proud you managed to hold somewhat of a smile, actually uncertain if the woman was clueless in the matter of politeness and tact or whether she was making a calculated insult.

“I’m afraid the exact nature of my abilities is classified, ma’am,” you replied. The words, even if they should feel full of vindication, tasted bitter on your tongue.

Trust your mother to finally find her exceptionality and built the pinnacle of her career on a flaw in her genetic code. Of fucking course. Making herself the centre of attention while being the primary source of that attention at the same time; what a brilliant move. Someone should give her a damn Nobel. You really were doing something wrong in your life.

So truly, you felt like were entitled to a breather as you walked away with a polite nod, trying not to throw up in your mouth as the world got slightly blurry at the edges for a moment, your heart pounding, knees feeling a little weak. You felt the sticky remnants of Doctor Franklin’s words linger on your skin, resisting the urge to rub it off.

You deserved a shot of something stronger. You weren’t sure anything weaker than absinth would do the trick and help you snap from the strange haze your body slipped into; but facing the man behind the improvised bar, you couldn’t make yourself ask for that however.

Well-aware that you needed to keep at least some face since the mission of the evening was to represent, you opted for vodka, small shot only. And despite the weary conversations, you didn’t forget: in addition to representing, you wanted to be ready to fight whoever could possibly go after Rogers. As much as you’d like to get wasted to feel actual nausea instead, something tangible and real like the burn of the strongest alcohol known to mankind, you couldn’t. Vodka it was.

You turned the shot bottoms-up, focusing fully on the hot trickle down your throat, the fire dampening all your other senses; and for a few second, it was bliss.

Until your nostrils were hit by an unfairly familiar cologne and aftershave, a deep timbre soaking into your bones whenever spoken despite how much you tried not to let it do exactly that.

“Having fun as we were ordered?”

You froze, shame, indignation and the alcohol lightning you up like a wildfire.

Great, Mr. Morality is here, you thought darkly, setting the glass down, turning to Steve with poorly masked annoyance. Annoyance which was quickly wiped out, the flames licking at your gut put out.

You expected his face to be full of judgement, anger and disappointment; but much like his voice had been, you realized, it was free of any bite or sting, simply showing light amusement and compassion, a slightly worried crinkle between his brows.

His voice had been quiet, purposely so, as not to attract lookers-on. It was a little naïve – to think he could walk in anywhere without at least ten pairs of eyes following him – but it was nice of him that he was trying not to embarrass you by publicly calling you an alcoholic.

But the gentle mix of emotion adorning his expression only made your stomach twist. It was a great paradox really; it would be so much easier to deal with tonight if he was being insufferable and judged you. But that bastard, the irritatingly handsome bastard, was being simply amazing. A much greater person you could ever be. And he didn’t mean to, probably – but he was just screaming exactly that to your face with every little action he had opted for tonight.

Not his fault, not his fault, you tried to remind yourself as he continued to watch you, curiosity sneaking into his gaze now.

Make Avengers look good.

Look good.

Have fun.

Do not kill each other.

Do not kill each other. Got it.

“Guilty as charged,” you said finally, the light tone you had hoped for not coming out quite right; but he didn’t hold it against you.

“Nothing to be guilty about,” he said, shrugging subtly. “I… might have gone for one of those myself had it had any effect on me.”

Right, you realized. Supersoldier. Accelerated healing, fast metabolism. You did happen to know he burned off most things even faster than other men built like mountains. Shorter and less broad mountains, that was.

You felt you head instinctively tilt to side a bit, contemplating what he said without spelling it out. He didn’t seemlike he needed a strong drink. In fact, he seemed perfectly like a fish in water among the sea of piranhas of people – and yes, you were aware that was a harsh judgement on some of them who were indeed rather pleasant to talk to – but Tony’s words echoed in your head.

He’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it, he had said. Steve was exactly that; but apparently, he was also pretty great at hiding his distaste.

Of course that he was, you thought bitterly, even as a hint of compassion nudged at your mind; just because he was good at disguising it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel just as sick filling the role of the most excellent companion.

“You could do it just to feel the heat,” you suggested half-heartedly, regretting the words as soon as they left your mind.

You had to phrase it just like that, didn’t you.

Steve watched you with unnerving intensity for a moment, before he seemed to shake off whatever dark thought had occurred to him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“That is true, but somehow it’s even more disappointing if that’s the only consequence, you know?”

“…right.”

He cleared his throat, your gaze falling to his bowtie as he released you from the trap of his gaze.

“Either way. Would you like to dance?”

Your head snapped back up, shock no doubt painting your face, rendering you mute. He wasn’t--- oh he was.

Despite your expression – one painfully resembling of a deer in the headlights of an off-road SUV coming at it at hundred miles an hour – he seemed unfazed, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye barely noticeable in the otherwise genuine demeanour. You frowned, suspicion dying out as fast as it had arisen.

Whatever motive he had to ask, it couldn’t hurt the mission, you supposed. And it would be impolite to decline. You had promised yourself to meet him halfway in his attempts to be civil; and he had gone far beyond that. For the past two weeks, not having confronted you about either the flash-drive situation nor the went-full-spectre-in-a-public-park incident, that had been him being civil. Tonight, he was courteous even. Pleasant. Kind. You had no idea why he hadn’t sought you out to get answers or scold you, nor why he went this far out of his way to treat you like this tonight, but you had enough common sense not to poke even as it had been eating away at the back of your mind.

You just needed to accept it and be thankful, and needed to aid the common goal; and maybe, just maybe, revel in it and store the memory for later, even if such luxuries only burned with emptiness once they were gone.

But how could you do any different?

“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”

How could you feel any different when his lips smiled half-heartedly, but his eyes showed true warmth? A startling warmth almost; but it was nothing in comparison to the heat of his body when he offered you his elbow and led you to the small dancefloor in the adjacent room with only a few high tables lining the walls; it was nothing in comparison to the soft jolt of electricity that ran through your nerves all the way down your spine when his hand took yours carefully, eyes fixed on your face, checking for any sign of discomfort when he pulled you close at the first notes of a waltz.

Up close, without either of you screaming into each other’s faces, he was painfully beautiful; you knew that. You knew that already, because you had played the forbidden game of imagining what it would be like to see his face from this distance; but the reality of it was startling, a tingle of a thrill and pain at once. Inches close and miles away from reach. To be at the receiving end of the look in his eyes, painted partly by delusion and the aforementioned hits in the head you had probably suffered, was the sweetest torture.

It was impossible to ignore his firm but gentle grip, his confident lead; a wall of perfectly controlled muscle, hard planes of his body and yet its surprising softness and warmth, leaving your head spinning and sending your thoughts to an indecent dangerous direction; what would it be to feel him even closer? What would it be like to—

You’d never know. For a large part, of your own doing; for another part, of his own, because you had never met a more irritating person in your life and you had met a quite a few. He was impossible in his very unique different way – even as you knew that was tainted by your own perception – he was impossible in a way you couldn’t but want anyway.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, snapping you from your useless musings back to reality.

Yeah, thanks, I was signed up for ballet class about as soon as I could walk, because it should have helped my posture and body coordination in preparation for working for SHIELD before I could attend martial class lessons. Because a kid younger of six years getting punched would have been a bad image for my parents. Not that I knew any of that at that time. Anyway, I had to rediscover my love for dancing much later on-

You cut off your train of thought, swallowing the unnecessarily hostile and dark truth. Instead, you reciprocated his easy subtle smile, something inside your quivering at the casualness and sincerity of the compliment.

“Depends on the lead, right?” you murmured.

Mentally, you sighed, cursing yourself for your loose mouth.

You could have said something along the lines of you too, and it would be an understatement; Steve’s lead indeed was firm but not forceful, elegant ease without a shred of indecency, his sense of rhythm impeccable, which was much more than you could say about some of your companions on the dancefloor. But no; you chose to mention his leading skills, instantly circling back to what was bothering you – you having standing up to his lead as a Captain before and him not mentioning it. He had kept blissfully quiet and here you were, dangling the topic you should have been glad had been put to rest in front of him as if you wanted him to take the bait no matter the cost.

You really must have been hit in the head; or perhaps you were finally returning to normal yourself.

But Steve Rogers was a man of many faces and surprises up his sleeves, apparently. His smile only widened briefly at your note, eyes flashing with amusement, before a little frown creased his brow.

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

You gulped. Again. He complimented you with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; and it seemed like he meant every bit. The way your heart fluttered at that ached pleasantly. Hadn’t it been for the sober voice in the back of your head, telling you were on a borrowed time of this kind of treatment, it wouldn’t ache at all. It almost, almost didn’t.

Because the one word you had left out when thinking about his lead on the dancefloor, having avoided it on purpose, was safe. You entered an uncharted territory tonight; you knew Captain America’s lead from your numerous missions you had been chosen for under his command. And even as you had challenged his leadership before, you trusted him on that front. But tonight was a very different thing; and still, he somehow emitted the same aura, in a considerably more intimate way.

It was terrifying.

But as much as you were taken aback, with no clue how to even respond to that, your instincts – probably all over the place, because had you been in sound mind, you would have run for the hills before accepting his offer in the first place – whispered you were safe indeed.

And if you’d turn it into a joke, you’d be even safer.

“If that was a reference to my height, I’d like to point out everyone is short compared to you. And that is with all the extra inches--- that my heels have.”

Oh for god’s-

Your fingers flexed reflexively on his arm; your hand in his would have twitched if he hadn’t held it so firmly. You did not just say that, did you? Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face burn hot, the furnace of Steve’s body suddenly feeling like ice in comparison. Why on Earth did you talk about inches? First feeling the heat, then this, damn Freudian slips, damn his well-fitting suit and handsome face-

Bless him, his chuckle was good-natured and not in the slightest dirty – then again, you should have expected nothing less from the golden boy, shouldn’t you? He wouldn’t hold it against you and had it been anyone else, you would have been grateful, much like in any other situation. But this was him and tonight your mission was literally to avoid this kind of embarrassing phrasing.

“You know what I meant,” he said, not unkindly – much to your relief and irritation.

You hummed noncommittally, still processing this was somehow a reality you had found yourself in. A reality in which Steve Rogers was a pleasant company, kept you close and safe enough that you had spent several moments with your eyes closed while dancing without fearing you’d end up with a broken ankle, a reality where-

“I wanted to apologize.”

-he just said he was sorry.

Your eyes snapped open, your step, a second nature you barely needed to think about, faltering just a fraction. You found your footing with the very next step and perhaps not even Steve had noticed; but he for sure must have noticed the undiluted shock that overtook your features.

Yet, he held calm in the face of your awe and bewilderment, gaze fixed on yours whispering of nothing but sincerity and regret indeed.

He was apologizing.The sudden lump in your throat was the only thing in physical reality that felt real at all; the rest truly must have been but a fever dream. That and the frantic beats of your heart.

“For what?” you asked quietly.

You weren’t trying to be petty, if he truly was apologizing. You meant it.

Naturally, you had a good idea what he was referring to, but that was part of the reason why it was so puzzling; more so since he now knew what the intel was about, since he was aware who exactly you put in danger by failing. Then again, the fact you were both here despite it told you all over again that he didn’t let that bother him too much.

But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…

Yes, he had not acted very thoughtfully, but whether you liked it or not, he wasyour superior, he had put together that mission and so you understood the frustration he had felt at the moment. Hell, you had felt it yourself – you would have yelled at yourself too. And looking back, you knew that some of your momentary view of his behaviour and attitude, of his actions, stemmed from the fact you had been disappointed in yourself too; and that most time, he did in fact realize he could do wrong and that he in fact did care for every single member of the team. He probably did give a damn about the fact that you – your spectre anyway – got shot. He probably cared about the fact that two days ago, you left a big damn opening when you projected in public without making sure you had someone in your corner.

You weren’t sure that there was any need to apologize, even with him yelling at you in front of everyone to the point where you hadn’t been able to stand it and a few tears had escaped you – because damn, did he touch a nerve – even if he had been a bit of an asshole.

Most people apologized because they felt the need to ease their conscience, to keep up appearances; but seeing Steve now, the soft and strict lines of his face, told you that he was apologizing for your benefit mainly. It would be sweet if it was so irritating.

Golden boy. Shoved straight to your face. You could never be as good as him, because he simply wasn’t human – and you were the Inhuman from the pair. God, he had his hands on you and he didn’t even try to cop a feel or anything for crying out loud. He was being kind and respectful and so damn beautiful and tall.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said slowly, gaze intent as if he wanted to make sure you absorbed every word. “I shouldn’t have done that to begin with, but the witnesses made it even worse. And all you did was making a quick decision in a difficult situation, according to your best conscience no doubt. I might not have agreed with it, but you still didn’t deserve such treatment.”

“And you’d do the same,” you added.

You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words were out.

This was what happened when you felt safe. You talked back. Dammit.

You could see – and feel, because his chest was practically brushing yours, something you were hyperaware of even as you tried your best not to be– him breathe in to retort.

You really needed to have your head checked out. You should have just taken the apology and cherish it, like any normal person, even if it irked you that Steve Rogers was capable of self-reflection and had enough strength to admit his shortcomings. He was simply better than everyone else. It was easy to see that with no emergency in sight, but that didn’t make it easier to accept that and act accordingly every second of the day.

Yet, you tried at least now.

“Sorry! Sorry. Don’t push it, Spectre. Got it,” you blurted out, fixing a quick smile and you would have sworn you had seen a sparkle on mischief in his blue irises under the indignation. You cleared your throat. “Apology accepted, Captain.”

His relaxed his tense jaw, gaze softening further; painfully so.

“Thank you. And I thought you knew you could call me Steve.”

Golden boy – case on point. You swallowed, unable to keep the swirl of warmth in your chest from creeping into your voice even as you knew you were diving into dangerous waters with reckless abandon by following his request.

“Apology accepted, Steve.”

If your voice was warm, his smile was half the power of the sun, heating your very bones, your heart stumbling in your chest. You should run; you should run because you were never going to receive a gift like that again and the longer you basked in it, the worse it would be when it was gone. But you had already established that sometimes, you couldn’t help but throw caution out of the window despite knowing how much it would hurt later when you’d have to go and scramble to gather it again, hadn’t you?

And so when the song blended into another, the smallest squeeze to your fingers a wordless question, you nodded against your better judgement.

Steve’s smile grew a fraction, feet quick to adjust to the new rhythm, the air around you warmer another few degrees. It was hard to let his apology and kindness linger in the air and not react to it; even as you needed to breathe in and out a few times, eyes examining his face carefully as to predict whether what you were about to say would come back stabbing you in the back.

“I’m sorry for my outburst too. I… acted emotional.” As you recalled the traitorous tears that had escaped you, you thought that to say that was an understatement, but Steve didn’t seem to hold it against you. Instead, he listened with unnerving intent to all you had to say. “Which isn’t an excuse, but I’m still sorry. I… didn’t exactly watched my tongue. I mean, I didn’t-“

-I didn’t mean what I said, you wanted to say, your voice dying in your throat at the startingly gentle blue of Steve’s eyes, your breath hitching at the sudden vice squeezing your chest. This moment, whatever it was, was becoming overwhelming fast; and you found yourself unable to force the words out.

Because they weren’t true; you had definitely meant a few things, your anger with Steve snapping you back when you had been this close to gathering intel on something that threatened, without exaggeration, his life, just because he had been outraged at… whatever, that was very real. Much like him, you had had a reason for your outburst; and for that itself, you couldn’t apologize. Not when you wouldn’t mean it. Not when he was looking at you like he’d trust anything you said. You couldn’t but reciprocate his honesty even if it should earn you an official demerit from Captain America himself.

“…I didn’t mean at least half of the things I said.”

Steve’s welcoming expression shifted in an instant, your heart already startling in reaction to the change, muscles tensing in an instinctual fight-or-flight response.

And then your brain caught up.

Steve was grinning. He was grinning with mischief lightning up his face bright, humour dancing in his eyes – good-natured humour without a single trace of offense, but maybe with a little speckle of surprise; and if you looked close enough and entertained the thought, pride.

And by god he was breath-taking, leaving you feel like you had flown too close to the sun for a moment unaware that the inevitable fall would kill you.

“Well, as long as it was only a half,” he hummed, his amusement audible in his voice too. There was a strange but not unpleasant tilt to it; almost as if he knew that if he simply accepted your apology right away, the situation would have had you run for the hills indeed. “Apology accepted, Spectre.”

You gulped, taking a wavering breath, flying just a little higher. “You know you can call me by my first name too, right?”

That was only fair, no? That was what you told yourself until Steve smiled softly and repeated himself slowly, this time with your name indeed. That was when you realized you really had caught yourself in a foolish indulgence, because the feeling washing over you was… nice. Very, very nice. His tone, his words were both indescribably nice, and so was the way he held you to lead your through the room without an ounce of indecency, and so was his proximity and his warmth. It was dangerously nice and you felt your chest, having briefly be filled with that tender fragile feeling, tighten instead.

And then Steve spoke up again.

“…and you’re probably right.”

Your eyebrows shot up, gasping; and had you any different company than a room full of important or at least self-important people dressed in black-tie attire, you wouldn’t have stopped your jaw from falling.

Did he just-

Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.

Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?

What peculiar kind of an alternate reality had you entered indeed to see Steve Rogers admit he had been a hypocrite?

This was simply too satisfying to be true.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m the best example,” he added.

You found yourself chuckling through your shock, earning a glare that might have no anger in it, but certainly emitted indignation and gravity. Except the corners of Steve’s lips were twitching.

Damn him. Damn him and his charming side. Since when did he have a charming side and engaged in self-reflection so deep?

Since always, an annoying voice whispered in your head, reminding you that at certain times, you were, in fact, very well aware that Steve Rogers was just as golden as people claimed – even if in way they couldn’t hope to fathom and neither could, not fully.

“Nah, I think it’s one of the very rare traits of yours that should definitely be copied,” you retorted cheekily, never having time to wonder if you went too far since Steve simply kept him mouth shut.

It was a good thing he did, because if he didn’t, you might get tangled in your lie; and might have to admit that you believed that while there were a few of those that shouldn’t be copied in order for the world to maintain some shreds of sanity, there were many more of those which, should they be replicated, would make the world a better place. He probably knew that anyway; he strived to be the example to all. He didn’t need to hear it from you, didn’t need to know that despite your disagreements, you felt everything but contempt for him, with respect on top of the list. And then there was the fact that you were not blind to him being literally meant to be built like the peak of man and looked precisely like it.

And still, his silence surprised you. Despite what you thought of him on better days, it was still a wonder he didn’t try to disprove you; he was full of surprises tonight.

Then again, that was probably the point.

“You know, Tony and Pepper would probably have had no problem coming here tonight,” you spoke lowly into to the silence that settled between you. “They just pushed us together to do something like this.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped a bit, a brief smirk passing his lips.

“Well-aware. Does that bother you?” he asked, head tilted to side slightly.

You pondered his question for a bit, not sure why. You could have easily said anything, the first or the second or third lie popping up in your mind. But his genuinely curious gaze observing you as he waited for your response, his demeanour the whole evening, and his surprisingly open expression made you want to tell the truth again.

“Not that much. You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” you teased him lightly, feeling your lips permanently stuck in a smile now.

His own smirk melted into a smile again as well, soft crinkle in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you. I know I said it before, but you do look beautiful.”

You blinked.

There he went again, driving his point across; he wanted you to think, to believe perhaps, that his compliments were genuine, not a turn of speech. Why? And what could you even say to that when he kept looking at you like he meant it, the world around you blurring a bit, falling into but a background noise, years of training and his confident hold on you leading you through the dancefloor with ease still, even as the song must have changed again. Had it?

You wished conversation would come just as easy, even when emotions swirled in your chest wilder than your skirts around your calves.

“…thanks. Uhm, Tony said to buy something nice-“

“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“

“-I think he was probably sick of us clashing a lot lately,” you added quickly, almost speaking over him.

He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for – after all, he had brought up the topic of your fight in an environment where it would have been rude of you to flee just in case you wanted to and he wasn’t called a master strategist for nothing – so he caught your attempt to deflect. And he graced it with brief silence, not pushing, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. Golden boy. Perfect. Too good.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he hummed, one corner of his lips rising higher, his smile almost boyish now. “Did I mention I was sorry?”

“Yeah... did I?”

“You did.”

“Good,” you muttered, blissfully lost in his gentle gaze, even as you had to crane you neck a bit.

The moment was sweet. Slightly electric. Surprisingly comfortable. Peaceful.

Peace.

That was a specific word. With a pang in your chest, it occurred to you that was precisely what it was that Tony intended to achieve when he assigned you to this. To begin to renew the peace that had been within the Avengers family before your presence disrupted it. And Steve had accepted the invitation with you attached to it because he saw the importance of the team holding together from the strategic point of view.

Tonight was a mission. Necessary networking, even as Steve had tried to make it feel like anything but, and necessary attempt at smoothening the relationships within the team. Yes, it was beautiful, but Tony himself had called you a Cinderella. This was but a fairy-tale. An illusion. A projection.

The very spectre of you and Steve, of you being a full Avenger.

Once tonight was over, you’d have to snap back, like you always did. And like always, the pain of what you had lost as a spectre, be it blood or a warm embrace, would linger too. Back in your cold aching reality.

But not in Steve’s; Steve would remain who he was, to the world, to his team, to his friends. To you. It had been a sweet sentiment, a good-natured attempt; and for the night, it lasted. Once again, you felt played by your own naivety, already feeling your waxed wings melting and slowly prepared yourself for the brutal landing.

You kept up your smile, even as you felt the pleasant hum in your ribcage fall silent, your eyes not burning, because there was no reason for it, was there?

“You have good friends, Steve,” you whispered, the blue of his gaze warming up with fondness as he no doubt agreed. “They might be nosy, but they mean well.”

“And they are your friends too,” he replied softly, the pang in your ribcage stronger this time. He believed that, he genuinely did. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; he had seen the worst of the world and believed in the best still; you could read it in his actions, in his expression right now.

But you couldn’t bear it anymore, your gaze falling to the smooth fabric of his bowtie, contrasting with the pristinely white shirt indeed, just as you had known from the start he would wear. Pure. The symbol of all goodness in your culture. Just like him.

You heard what he was saying and yes, it was a tempting thought you had fallen for before. That you could be friends with the team, that the others cared – but you could count the number of people who cared for you on one hand and still had fingers left. People cared for your abilities, admired them maybe, sure. But you were a realist. Even before the Natasha incident – which truly was just her doing her job – you knew and you kept repeating it to yourself, because entertaining any other possibility was dangerous: your abilities, your results or the lack of them, those were what truly mattered. To everyone. To your father, eventually your mother too, to your SHIELD team, to your fellow Avengers. To Steve too. Had those powers come in a different meatsuit than yours, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were just a casing for what they needed.

It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.

The thing was, you couldn’t make Steve admit that – not him. He was a good man – infuriating one, yes, not without fault, yes, but incredibly undeniably good in his core. All the Avengers cared for people too, you would be an idiot not to see it, but if there was one person who would try to look the furthest beyond the abilities you carried, it would be him. Perhaps that was the scariest part of tonight – of him being not only civil, but perfectly pleasant and meaning it. Because he was just that perfect.

And perfect was never in your reach.

“Sure,” you replied absently as you looked up again.

You could tell his own gaze never left your face; and he no doubt noticed the change. His eyes were roaming your features, searching, wondering and seeing; you found yourself slipping into a neutral mask, your way too relaxed stance straightening, muscles tensing.

You only tensed further when you recognized softness and understanding creeping into his gaze, his voice quiet.

“You know-“

You thanked your lucky stars when the song ended and you were allowed to step back from him with an awkward smile.

“I’m going to find the restroom, excuse me.”

You swallowed heavily upon seeing something akin to disappointment and exasperation on his face; but when you pulled away, he didn’t stop you, didn’t use his strength to keep you in place, leaving the choice – as much as he clearly not approved of it – to you. You tried to force your smile further, grateful for that if not for nothing else.

“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”

And with that, you disappeared to the crowd, well-aware that if he wanted, he could have followed, because even in the sea of robes, his eidetic memory told him exactly what yours looked like.

Getting a fifteen-minute break from people, one in particular, was more than generous and yet you granted it to yourself; because putting yourself back together took time. Not for the first time, you sent a silent thank you to Agent May for having taught you her ways of accepting your emotions as they were, locking them away for later and channel them in the right direction when needed.

If you counted your dances with Steve – even as you tried very hard not to think about them – it added up for almost half an hour of the breather you had planned when getting the drink. You needed to go back to work, back to networking, because it was getting late; you had no doubt there were still people to talk to, no matter how efficient your colleague had been.

As you walked the halls with a smile arranged on your face, nodding politely at people admiring the various pieces of art of all forms, from drawings and paintings to sculptures and installations, your gaze fell on one of auctioned objects.

You smile slipped, your steps faltering along with the steady beat of your heart; and then you forced the corners of your lips back up, nails digging into the back of your hand as you folded them in front of your abdomen, to stop yourself from running to the glass stand where what seemed like a very old artifact was laid proudly on display.

And by old, you meant thousands of years old. And you really, really prayed that you were wrong, that your mind was simply playing tricks on you to avoid the emotional turmoil of today, to-

“Son of a-”

Three more steps closer and the curse was on your lips before you could swallow it completely, heart thundering in your chest against the sudden tightness. You didn’t like to be wrong; but in this particular case, you really wished you had been.

But apparently not.

See, this is why we can’t have nice things, you thought to yourself as you released a wavering breath and took off in the search of Steve, as if you hadn’t run from what seemed to be particularly nice things yourself only a little over ten minutes ago.

You swallowed the panic rising in your throat as you caught a glimpse of him talking to an elderly couple, telling yourself that your discovery was the only reason for that. Because that would be plausible and completely valid; an appearance of what SHIELD called an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin, was never good news.

Except you were rather certain of its origin and that only made it worse.

Steve spotted you now, a small smile lighting up his face as if you hadn’t just taken an escape from when he tried to convince you were a part of the team in the friendliest sense of the word, gesturing to you lightly so the couple turned to you as well.

You smiled wider, squeezed your hand stronger. Too bad – the Lewises – had seemed nice enough when you had read up on them, were one of the rare attendees who were here for their genuine interest in art.

“Good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis,” you said sincerely, introducing yourself as the lady already extended her hand to you, followed by her husband’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you and I would be very happy to talk to you if you’d be willing, but I need to borrow Captain Rogers for a little bit-“

“By all means, Agent, don’t let a couple of old folks keep you two,” Mrs. Lewis chuckled, gently touching Steve’s forearm as she smiled at him almost motherly. “Thank you, young man, it’s nice to see bright young minds interested in conversations about thought-provoking art. Do find us if you can spare another minute later.”

“I would personally use the words lovely couple, Mrs. Lewis,” you said warmly before turning to Mr. Lewis. “I promise to bring him back as soon as possible.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve added as he covered her feebly hand on his, squeezing gently. “Agent?”

“Just a small issue, I’m sure it can be dealt with quickly,” you assured him in front of them, your face growing more serious the second you turned away, your voice falling so low only his enhanced hearing could hopefully catch it. “Thought-provoking art indeed. There’s an 0-8-4 on the items list.”

The way Steve’s back straightened, a sign of him turning mission-alert in an instant, would have been a treat to watch in any other circumstance, you supposed. But not in yours. And not in this case.

As you walked away, he followed your unhurried tempo, stopping by the displays briefly when you did, as if you were simply admiring the art. His face gave away nothing unusual happening beyond a minor inconvenience; you weren’t sure if he believed you were making a big deal out of nothing or if he was that good of an actor.

“Anything you encountered before? Potentially how dangerous are we talking?”

His voice had dropped too, but barely enough for you to hear. To an untrained eye, it probably looked like a normal hushed conversation, a couple – of friends – sharing opinions on the auction items indeed. Good. You didn’t need to spread panic on top of barely containing your own.

“Yes and no, I only recognize the symbols. And I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t underestimate it,” you uttered as you gradually moved closer, the artifact now in sight.

Steve stood diagonally beside you, barely a step behind your shoulder; he could keep his voice very low that way, practically whispering to your ear, while you could keep talking almost soundlessly.

“Should I recognize this? I’m not familiar.”

You bit back a bitter smile, stepping in front of the display together at last. The item itself looked unassuming; a stabile built of plates of metal, interwoven and reaching out of the tangle like tentacles. Except the surface of the plates wasn’t smooth; an intricate pattern of lines and circles rose slightly above it, a geometrical masterpiece only a few people on Earth knew the meaning of. Outside of Earth, well; you wouldn’t dare to guess.

The good news, hopefully, was that the sculpture meant to be in one piece was broken into two; that meant that if the effect was, like with many others you had encountered, tied to breaking the casing of whatever weapon it could be hiding, it had been out for a while and thus might not pose danger anymore. But you weren’t willing to take that chance.

“I’m not sure,” you whispered, almost choking out the words, wary of one word in particular as not to alarm anyone in vicinity just in case. “It is mostly Coulson’s team that handles all the… Kree mess.”

Short silence followed, only for Steve to draw in a shaky breath.

“…are you positive?”

It probably wasn’t meant to be a challenge, but you took it as one anyway, a flare of anger rushing through your veins, because was he serious? That was genuinely insulting. You spent practically your whole post-academy service to SHIELD with Coulson’s team following the trail of artifacts left behind by the lovely alien race Kree were – in fact, artifacts uncomfortably resembling this one. So yes, you were pretty bloody positiveyou were right.

You turned to Steve and took a step back to throw to his face – in as calm manner as was socially acceptable despite wanting to just spit it out – that you were pretty damn certain, because one did simply not forget a single thing about the literally blue aliens that indirectly gave them powers. Except you never got to make a single sound, because Steve’s eyes widened all of sudden, gaze still fixed on the display you had just turned your back to and his fingers closed around your wrist and tugged you closer to him again with surprising force given how gentle he had held you when you-- so not the time.

“Alright, point proven,” he whispered hastily, stepping back and releasing you before you could question him just turning from a gentleman of the year to a lout who just… grabbed a woman and manhandled her.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see a faint light of the symbols dying out, your panic skyrocketing and making you forget all about your exasperation.

Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.

It recognized you. It sensed the Inhuman in you as you had unwittingly moved closer to it. It was reacting even sooner than the Diviner had, the first Kree artifact your team had encountered, whose symbols only lit up upon being touched by an Inhuman, or a person carrying Inhuman markers in their DNA yet to be turned into one.

“Sorry for-“

“It’s fine,” you interrupted his apology, appreciating it nevertheless. Yet, your smile probably turned out to be more of a grimace, bitter sarcasm bleeding into your tone. “Well, Tony said we should bid on something anyway, right? I’ve got my pick”.

Steve’s eyebrow twitched without a hint of amusement, but he didn’t disprove you, moving to scan the room for any vendor to start bidding indeed; you automatically reached for your black-tie-attire-friendly StarkWatch, to alert the HQ.

You never got to finish the message.

Steve never got to even step out.

A tell-tale metallic sound, a clink of a grenade hitting the tiled floor had both of you snap your head to the source, losing two precious seconds by looking for where exactly it landed, startled intakes of breath taken before a scream could gather in your lungs to warn people to get down.

There was no time to react. The screams aligned with the eardrum-rupturing noise of an explosion, a blur of a movement to your right and a force to be reckon with slamming into you.

Even without his signature weapon, Steve automatically threw himself between you and the grenade, pushing you down and shielding you with his body at least. The heat licked at your skin just as the pressure wave slammed into you both, sending you flying and crashing hard into the glass cabinet, Steve’s arm taking large portion of the brunt of impact.

A jolt of electricity rushed through your nerves along with the pain, a dull crack in your head, the edges of your vision blurring. You barely registered the stream of agents in black gear cutting through the clouds of smoke and vapour tear gas. Smell of copper and iron hit your nostrils, strong enough to make you nauseous; blood and fire. Steve’s cologne; then more blood. Lights and shadows bleeding into one, the former too bright for your smoke-filled teary eyes. The noise was deafening too – shouts and shrieks of terror you knew you should respond to, because it was your duty as an agent and as a half-baked Avenger.

But you didn’t seem to control your body for long enough to as much as lift your hand to check if the sharp pain in the back of your head was an open wound or not, let alone to climb to your feet as Steve’s voice echoed in your ears, warm hands firm on your waist, prickling sensations like thousand needles piercing through your skin all over.

The pain tore through every single cell of your body without warning, but you didn’t have time to find the cause or wallow in it; darkness enveloped you completely and you sank into its thick waters without a chance to fight it, until it swallowed you whole.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hope you don’t mind a little cliffhanger, hehe... as a treat for reading! I wanna say I was really excited about this chapter, sneaking in something soft and fluffy in between the angst, but I’m excited to share everything so... yeah.

I would like to take a moment or two to thank you, again, for your comments. They give me a rush of joy and I read every single one of them more than once; they give me strength to continue even when sudden feeling of ‘this is meh’ attacks me and the thoughts you share ground me back in the story when I feel like I’m slipping away from where I wanted to take it. I cherish your feedback, no matter the form, so much. Thank you 💕

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #agents of shield #inhuman reader #agent reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanficton #back and forth #anika ann

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elizabethtudors · 2 years

Text

I have a lot of thoughts about episode four and gender/sexuality

from the opening of the latest episode of house of the dragon, we are primed for a story about marriage. rhaenyra begins the episode in a sort of christina rossetti’s goblin market where eligible suitors are paraded out in front of her. she rejects them all. we then see a shot of daemon flying back home. during his welcome home reception we are reminded that rhaenyra is now 18 and mature (almost old for westerosi standards, GRRM I AM IN YOUR WALLS). we have a scene between alicent and rhaenyra where rhaenyra says she wishes to not end up in the situation that alicent is in: a glorified breeding mare for a king. alicent laments her loneliness and how all everyone sees is her role, the queen. rhaenyra’s conversation with alicent is then repeated in her conversation with daemon. she expresses her fear of ending up like her mother and her desire to be more than just a political pawn in her father’s game, that men won’t want her for herself but who she represents (an ironic parallel to the beginning where she is offered protection but what good is protection if you have a dragon?).

it’s when rhaenyra and daemon leave the castle that the show really starts to get interesting when it comes to gender, class, and expectations of sex and sexuality.

disguised as a man, rhaenyra wanders the streets with daemon. intercut with scenes of her looking in awe at the magic tricks, sexual freedom, and common plays are scenes of alicent tending to viserys’ wounds. viserys believes she has a gentler touch than those treating him, a reinforcement of traditional gender roles of wife as nurturer. rhaenyra and daemon watch a play where the common folk recount her being named heir to great disappointment (a chorus of boos repeat) while aegon, who the play explicitly reminds us is named after a conqueror, is met with cheers because he has what rhaenyra does not: a cock. rhaenyra tries to gain control of the narrative cheering when her name is mentioned but it is no good. when she asks daemon why should she care about what they think, he reminds her that she will be queen of them one day. it serves as another reminder to the message the show has been building since episode one: can a woman be accepted on the iron throne? even disguised and given the authority of a man, rhaenyra is powerless to change the tide.

once we get to the brothel is where things get very interesting. We get cuts of daemon and rhaenyra journeying deeper into the depths like a sort of journey to the underworld. They are interspersed with alicent being called to perform her wifely duties with viserys. we get a shot of alicent below viserys (both literally and in terms of the power play in this sex scene), her eyes vacant as if no pleasure can be derived from the activity but only duty. meanwhile, we see daemon telling rhaenyra that chamber in the brothel is a place where people come to take what they want. we see many people of varying ages and sexualities in the throes of pleasure. and daemon and rhaenyra join them. the scene is deliberately vague. did they have sex? rhaenyra ends the scene with her pants down. one thing is very clear, the encounter was purely driven by pleasure and lust, something lacking in alicent/viserys scenes. for now, it seems rhaenyra has access to that kind of power, in spite of her sex, something she takes full advantage of when she returns home and sleeps with cristian cole. in that sex scene, rhaenyra is the one who initiates it and she assumes the top position her father had, the position of power. we have two ideas at play here: sex as duty and sex as pleasure. and in this moment, it seems like maybe rhaenyra will be able to overcome her gender’s fate to genuinely enjoy sex for what it is both in disguise as a man and with someone who calls her princess and sees her for what she is.

of course, as the second half of the episode shows, that kind of power is an illusion. otto hears from his spies that rhaenyra and daemon went to a brothel and tells viserys. while viserys puts on a show not believing him (we will later learn that this is a farce), it becomes very clear that there is no power to be had for women when it comes to sex in this world. alicent confronts rhaenyra and here is where we reach ultimate Gender Fuckery™️ in this episode. rhaenyra denies anything happened. however as the conversation progresses, rhaenyra realizes that her protests are not enough on their own. so rhaenyra takes the gender expectation and roles in her denials. daemon was her escort. she could not leave without him and he took advantage of that and her. she swears on her mother that she is a maiden, the same mother who quite literally bled out for the westeros gender expectations and roles. it works. alicent believes her and will even go to bat for her with viserys.

meanwhile, viserys confronts daemon. this is perhaps the show at its most blunt and least subtextual (I know writers who use subtext and they are all cowards!). daemon rightfully points out that at viserys’ age, they both making their way through the brothels and in response, viserys says, “we were boys, she is a girl.” (or something to that effect). unlike rhaenyra, daemon does not have to hide what they did. he is proud of it. viserys rightly points out that he has ruined her and daemon plays his card: he was promised anything for his service in the stepstones, and what he wants is to marry rhaenyra. yes he is married (will the artist known as rhea royce please stand up, girl we need to see you) but it doesn’t matter. aegon had two wives after all, why shouldn’t he? again, the callback to the conqueror but this time, despite having a cock, he is denied for a different reason. viserys thinks this is a play for the throne that daemon has coveted. is it? we don’t know. we have certainly seen that he cares for her and she him (again when daemon tells viserys it was better he fuck her than another man, the idea that it be someone she desires rather than politicking).

finally, viserys and rhaenyra have a conversation. again, the prince that is promised prophecy makes an appearance, something that viserys uses to remind her that what is at stake is greater than the throne. the word blood in the prophecy takes a new meaning when we consider how many times we have seen women bleed for the targaryen legacy and the ways pregnancy and blood have been linked throughout the episode. viserys says that she will marry leanor, bringing together the two houses and conveniently fixing his sea snake problem. rhaenyra rightfully calls this out as the political play. once again, we are back to where we were at the beginning of the episode with rhaenyra being used as nothing more than a pawn. she has done all this learning about sex and pleasure and her gender still traps her. daemon can find sex freeing and empowering but she has had power taken away from her throughout this second half. she does manage to eek out a minor victory in getting otto hightower out by rightfully pointing out his ambition but the victory ultimately feels hollow, especially when in the final scene, rhaenyra is brought a tea with abortive properties. daemon may be able to walk away from their experience (quite literally) but rhaenyra is left with nothing but consequences. women may get pleasure from sex as men do but cost is always great.

#house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #my meta #v stream of consciousness but i need to get my feelings out #this episode was directed by a woman and you could tellllllllllll (in a good way)#anyway gender thoughts make my brain go vroom

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vioartemis · 1 year

Text

I'll die with you (part 4)

(Tara Carpenter x fem! reader)

Summary: After Chad's death, you decided you had to do something. With Mindy and your mom's help, you come up with a plan to trapped Ghostface. Little do you know that the price to pay will be high... Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 Warnings: blood, death of character (I swear this time it's for the plot, don't kill me it hurts me too), angst a/n: I drew a little plan so you can see the location (even for I needed it at one point so...) hope you can read my handwriting lol (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

"We're safe now, right?" Lexi asked, breaking the silence

You didn't know how much you slept that night, but certainly not enough to talk about that right after waking up.

No one answered her question, only sharing a knowing look.

"With him we're never safe. Trust me, I know"

"But Damian's in jail!"

"Chances are there is more than one killer"

"Okay then, we just have to hide until the other one gets caught" Lexi shrugged her shoulders

"It's useless, he always finds us"

"... Maybe we could use it against him" everyone turned to look at you "We lure him, and we lock him up"

"It's risky, very risky" your mom warned

"It is, but it could work. We just need a bait..."

"And how do we decide who will be the bait? I don't want to be the bait" Lexi complained

"If we figure out Ghostface's next victim... we have our bait" Tara intervened

You all stayed silent a moment, trying to think of the next victim.

"... Do you really think he wanted to kill me that night? I mean- okay he stabbed be and everything, but if he really wanted to kill me, he just had to slit my throat, right? So why didn't he did that, to be 100% sure I would die?"

More silence. You took it as a sign to continue.

"What if... what if he had something against me - like Amber and Richie with Sam - and wanted to hurt me before killing me?"

"Why do you make it all about yourself? Chad doesn't have anything to do with you"

"We're friends since forever, he's very dear to me"

"Okay but what if you're wrong and it has nothing to do with you? And you surviving the attack was just pure luck? 'A painful death' isn't a term you usually use when you don't want to kill someone"

"Maybe he wants to make us believe that to muddy the waters. I don't know okay, I'm trying to figure out why this is happening"

"Yeah well, I your theory's wrong we could all die"

"At least I'm trying, me. You're not helpful at all, just being rude like that."

Tara placed a hand on your thigh to calm you down and kissed you.

"It's okay baby, she's not worth it, I know you're doing your best" she whispered against your lips

"To be honest, whatever we do, we have a chance to die" Gale started "I have an idea for the where. The how, however..."

She tried to explain what the inside of the building looked like, but none of you really understood so she drew a quick sketch of it. It was way easier to understand that way.

"Now as I said before, how we can trap him is another story"

"I think I know"

It was the first time Mindy spoke since you woke up. She looked determined to do everything in her power to avenger her brother.

"Give me a paper, I'll show you"

Your mom obeyed and gave the girl paper and a pencil. She started to draw, and a few minutes after, showed you her plan:

"Let me explain in details" she said, seeing your confused faces "So the doted lines are the retractable glass windows / walls. According to Gale we have to buttons here, and one here. Those two activate this wall, and this one activates the two others. Did I lost anyone?"

You all shook your heads. For now, it was pretty clear.

"Okay, good. Now this is the first floor, right? I think you said at the ground floor there was other glass walls? Okay we'll see that later, but that's where Sam, Lexi and I are gonna stay"

"Wait, I want to be with Tara too" Sam protested

"We can't have too many people at the same floor. Don't worry, Y/n will be there to protect her." Mindy turned back to her plan "So, Y/n and Tara are the bait, they're going to try to lure him at the first floor, so Gale will be able to trap him with the glass walls and separate him from the girls. The other wall is the safe escape."

She gave more details after that. It was a good plan, much better than anything you could've think of.

"Any questions? No? Great"

"Anyone wants a coffee before we put our life in danger?" Lexi sighed

You all nodded. A coffee wouldn't hurt after all.

"Okay, I'm gonna get them, I'll be right back"

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

Now that you were there, you weren't so sure it was a good idea after all. What if it went wrong? What if Tara was hurt? You glanced over to your girlfriend. She seemed as nervous as you were.

"That's a bad idea, maybe we should-"

You were interrupted by your phone ringing in your pocket. You took it, hands shaking.

Probably: Damian Walker.

You looked at Tara and nodded, the signal for her to text the others to get ready. You picked up hesitantly.

"Hello?"

"Y/n, Y/n... It's a shame I didn't get you last time, really. For you I mean. If I had killed you... you wouldn't have had to watch her die before your eyes."

"O-oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

He hung up, leaving you even more nervous. Suddenly, a tall figure appeared. As expected he was here. Watching you from the other end of the corridor.

You back up slightly, taking Tara's hand to tell her it was going to be okay. Ghostface didn't move, he was just watching you, analyzing the building.

"We're here! Come and get us if you can, asshole!" you provoked him to make him follow you

He tilted his head to the side before taking a knife out of a pocket in his costume. And then he threw it in your direction, cutting your arm. You hissed in pain, putting your other hand on the wound.

He took a step forward then another one, faster, and in less than a second he was rushing towards you.

You started running, Tara by your side. She opened the stairwell's door and started climbing up the stairs, making sure Ghostface was still following you.

You kicked opened the door to the second floor and ran to the glass wall behind which your mother was, ready to push the button.

"Where is he?" she asked, voice muffled by the wall

"What?"

Out of breath, you turned around to look behind you. He was not here. When did he stop following you?

"Shit shit shit..." you mumbled, panicked, blood running down your arm

All of a sudden, Tara screamed.

"Gale!"

You turned around at the same time as your mother and felt your heart drop immediately. He was here. On the wrong side of the wall.

Your first reflex was to rush to the button to open the glass window. You pressed it, but nothing happened. You tried again, panic rising. Still nothing.

On the other side, Gale tried to press the button as well. It was not working. Ghostface tilted his head to the side. You knew he was smiling under his mask.

Tara tried to press the button too, but it was useless. You ran to the stairwell's door. Going back down and to the other side of the floor was the only available option now.

You tried to push it, but it didn't move. Not even an inch. Someone blocked it from outside.

"No no no no no... come on please..."

You kicked the door, threw yourself at it, in vain. Tara was fighting with the button desperately as Gale was fighting Ghostface with almost as much despair.

You took your phone and called Sam, covering your screen with blood. You started talking as soon as she picked up, voice shaking.

"Sam he's with my mom! We're stuck on the other side! You have to help her or she's gonna- she's gonna-"

"Fuck." you could hear her run with the others "We're here in a second" loud noises, as if they were hitting something "Y/n t-the door is locked... we can't- we can't-"

"Try to open it!"

You ran back to the glass window and hit the button, but it still wasn't working. You couldn't do anything.

You couldn't do anything while your mom was fighting for her life on the other side of this stupid wall. From where you were, you could see the stairwell's door shaking. The others were trying hard to open it.

You watched in horror as Ghostface stabbed Gale in the leg, in the stomach, in the arm. She was fighting back as strongly as she could, but she was no match.

You were desperately trying to make the button work, even if you knew it wouldn't.

He threw her to the ground, but she kicked him off her and stood up with difficulty, going in your direction. She didn't see him behind her. She couldn't do anything when he grabbed her by the shoulders and sunk his knife in her chest.

She tried to fight his grip, but she weakened with every passing second.

You had abandoned the button and were now hitting the glass window in hope to break it, screaming her name, but only managed to stain it with your blood.

He looked at you in the eye, challenging you, before taking the knife out of your mom's chest and dragging it to her throat.

"No..." you backed away from the window, tears in your eyes "Please don't..."

He nodded slowly. Yes. I'm gonna do it. And you can't save her.

She knew. She knew she was going to die. You could see it in her eyes.

"I love you, I'm sorry" she mouthed to you

You watched, helpless, as he pressed the knife against the flesh of her throat, slicing it opened. Your heart shattered.

The scream that left your throat as you fell on your knees was heart wrenching.

[Previous part] || [Next part]

#scream #scream 5 #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x reader

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tanglepelt · 1 year

Text

Run ghost run 2

first

Link to A03

This chapter contains experiments and vivisections. I personally don't think its extreme or very graphic, but everyone sees thing differently. So, proceed with caution.

Constantine felt a pulse of magic throughout the air. Death magic, from the infinite realm. The one that housed all realities and afterlife’s no matter the belief. All life and death would eventually cross through the realm. Very few make it as residents.

King Pariah the previous had been known for destroying planets and races for fun. He had been sealed centuries ago. The day he was released was the same day he lost his crown. The new ruler was unknown, now within three months of gaining said crown a war was brewing.

“Bloody hell” Constantine muttered to himself. He was going to need a drink or two after this. This was either a desperate attempt to stop a war or a taunt. He’d need to meet up with JLD to see what they could do.

Danny’s eyes opened. They were heavy and it was a fight to keep them open. Maybe it would have been better to keep them shut.

Arms and legs strapped in place with glowing green cuffs keeping him in place. Around his waist and chest some sort of tight strap. Still in his human form. With the chill on his arms, it was probably a metal table. Transforming wasn’t working, he couldn’t phase, go invisible, absolutely nothing was warning. His heart race begins to race, panic starting to creep in. Trying to call out, unable to speak. Pain running down his neck whenever he tried. Yet he couldn’t feel anything holding his head or neck down.

Looking around the room it looked like some lab or operating room. The back of the room was lined with machines and gadgets. Screens filling every inch of the wall directly in front of him. Directly above him was a light attached to the ceiling, several adjustable monitors were surrounding it.

It was not his parents’ labs. No glowing green portals so not the fruit loops either. Purely white, only one glaringly obvious choice. Guys in white, it makes sense their lab would be white. He was right the GIW just has no self-control. It couldn’t have even been 24 hours since the warning.

With a click the light above turned on. Causing in him to squint and turn away.

A jolting shock went through him. It was as if he was back in the portal as it turned on. He let out a scream of pain. The scream sending the same pain down his neck as when he had tried to talk.

“Mads I hit the ghost with newly improved minified ecto-stoppo-power-o-fier” Jack yelled out to Maddie “make sure it can't use its powers to try and escape. We only have an hour or two.”

Since when did GIW and his parents ever work together.

“It’s already trying to trick us with that scream, don’t bother spook. Not wanting to hear your excuse and try and trick us we injected you with anit-ecto-talko venom. While we aren’t silly enough to believe any claims of pain we don’t want to have to hear our boys voice from your mouth. Forcing any sound should send an electric wave through your throat in theory it will stop you.”

A cart was pushed up next to him, metal hitting against each other. Likely medical tools and equipment. His dad pulled several machines from the back to where he was strapped down.

“It’s a good thing we needed to up the ecto scanners at home” she looked down at him as she continued “If it weren’t for that attack Technus did we never would of noticed all the unapproved security settings. Messing with our computers stealing our tech. You’ve also stolen specimens from us only for them to come back and destroy our city. The worst thing you did was stealing the form of our son to mock us and prevent yourself from being detected. We know you’re not our baby boy. His face won’t protect you.”

“There is only two thing we wish we could get you to answer. When did he die, and why you steal him from us. He would never have come back as a ghost. He hates ecto scum as much as we do, always running away from you things.”

Him being scared of his rouges. That’s new, he just thought they were annoying. Technus being indirectly the cause of his parents finding out fits the bill. He should have listened to Jazz she had been concerned that random objects in the house had been attacking him. She wanted tucker to check it out. It hadn’t been high on his priority list.

They put a machine over him. A flash of light, then the monitor above him showing a picture of his skeleton. Most of been an x-ray machine. “The scans show a perfect human anatomy. It’s just so fascinating.” Maddie was writing in a notepad while speaking “The question is why it looks so real. There are not noticeable flaws all the bones seem to be there. Even the tiny ones, its just proof it took our boys body.”

So, Danny was a grave robber now. Great, even more bad press.

“As much as it will pain me, we should open it up. Its phantom after all. Danny would understand how important our research is”

No, he would not. He would like to say as much.

“Your right sweetums”

“Let's see what makes it tick. We still have an hour left before the GIW yank control. It’s too bad we couldn’t keep it. Letting jazzicans see a former shell of her little brother wasn’t something we could risk. Just better to turn it over”

They were going to open him up. He needed his guts if he ever wanted to be an organ donor. Both his parents started to connect him up to various machines. No IV or any numbing agents only recording equipment.

His mom grabbed a scalpel and began,

Pain flooded him. He could feel bits of him move and feel the cold air. It was an awful sensation. Any sound leaving him only causing his throat to burn. Straining against the restraints, trying to pull away. He was stuck in place. Whether he was out of energy or the lack of blood he couldn’t fight anymore. No one in his family was a medical doctor how would he know why his vison was fading. He kept trying to call out. He just needed them to stop.

“it’s me” a light quiet whisper, more burning. One final word managed to escape before the burning was to much “STOP.”

With a sigh of disappointment Maddie spoke “This study is getting us nowhere. Everything seems to be in order, blood veins the muscle even the ribs are all correct. Nothing points to any inhuman features. I see no point in continuing. The GIW can take over from here” she finished what she was writing and clipped her pen in the rings of the journal. At least they bothered to close him back up.

When Jack and Maddie left the room. Agent K and O entered the room soon after the two were gone. He could feel the effects of the ecto-stoppo was wearing off. His core slowly hummed to life. Temperature in him and the room slowly getting lower.

“I’m surprised they stopped so soon. They had another hour or so before we planned to intervene and begin our experiment” Agent O stated walking towards Danny “well no matter officially they were never here. Working them would make our agency a laughingstock. Getting approval to get you open would have taken far too long so there was no harm in letting them have their fun. We at least will get their notes and they get all the blame should it backfire.”

Agent k took over from their “don’t bother trying to escape. Even with your powers those cuffs won’t allow you to phase through them.”

“One thing I can’t figure out is the pathetic attempt at stopping us yesterday. Gathering up a fake governing body and threatening a war” he chuckled “as if they would care about you. That not how you things function and we already know it”

“We know freakshow was able to control you. When we figure out what aspect of that stone caused it, we will never have to worry about any retaliation. You’ll just be weapons on standby.”

“Unfortunately for us we’ll have to let you heal up just a bit to measure your rate of healing. So today we’ll keep it light to not de stabilize you yet.” Agent O injected something into his arm “Blood blossoms do affect you lot, but what happens when they’re ejected directly into you?”

It felt like he was having his dna ripped apart and put back over and over. Even as the cuffs and straps were removed, and someone was grabbing him he couldn’t move. His core kept dying and coming back. Being on the table was the better option.

It was new agent who had come in to collect him. Some girl with blonde hair. Decked out in the standard white suit. Why not add girls in white to the mix. If he didn’t know any better, he thought he saw a look of disgust. But he knew anyone with the GIW were the ones with no feelings. It was probably just the pain messing with him.

“So, these are the non-sentient beings I’ve been hearing about. He looks pretty human.”

“They disguise and mimic as humans. This is why we keep their existence on the need to know. We can’t risk any involvement from the league. They could take one look without reading the evidence and proclaim we are wrong. Don’t let it fool you it can’t feel any pain. It just doesn’t like its powers being messed with. Once they are under our control, we won’t have any issues. Only one town is even aware of them. We can thank the Fenton’s for that. Any Info in and out of that town is handled by us.”

“We can go over the specific later. For now, we should get it to its new room.”

The so-called room was a cell. It was completely empty except the lone ceiling light which was turned off. New white power suppressing cuffs replaced the thick ones from the table on his already cut up and raw wrists. The cell had poor accommodations and awful service he’d rate it 0 out ten stars he wouldn’t even recommend it for the fruit loop.

The blood blossom in his blood were prevalent to him. It would be a struggle to escape even without the cuffs, he would have to do it. It was only a matter of time before they got cocky and made a mistake.

Time passed by slowly. Light came into the room as the door opened. Expecting twiddle dee and twiddle Dum to come and mock him some more, he was surprised to see the girl. It was maybe Agent P he thinks; he was busy worrying about not dying again the to recall her name. The set of keys that locked him up being held in her hand.

“Come to mock the ghost.”

“Not particularly” she came closer, as he went back as much as the small space allowed. If she got anywhere near his face he’d bite, Danny had been called feral multiple times before.

She spoke softly “I'm not going to hurt you” She took a second rethinking whatever she was going to say. “Nothing I could say will make you believe me, just let me unlock your cuffs and help you get out.”

“Unlock them if you want. Be warned I may bite.” He didn’t trust her. But maybe he could use whatever trick this was to his advantage. The minute the keys turned he transformed and went invisible. He was so going to pass out the minute he was human again, it just had to be enough.

He decided to leave her with advice “Don’t believe a word they say. If you want to help delete the files they get or have on me. If it gets out your all screwed. Personally, I’d recommend running.”

Not a single security system went off as he flew away.

Tags below... hopefully

@alcorbearson @dragora7747 @keimiwolf @saltyladynightmare @ekatkit @thegatorsgoose @mmmhyperfixation @mirellacoco @apointlessbox x @ver-444 @awkwardmaiden @justgray15777

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #GIW #danny doesnt have a good time #The next chapter involves gotham #hes gonna have a bad time for a while #JLD are freaking out #run ghost run

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jacenbren · 1 year

Text

I know it's probably been pointed out before, but I am Having Thoughts about the twins' shift in personality after the Big Fall so forgive me but I NEED to rant (here be spoilers be warned)

At first glance it's easy to think that Knives is very cold and emotionless and closed off, but when you look closer, you realize that that's probably the furthest thing from the truth. When we see him as a kid—no matter which iteration of Trigun you're watching—Knives is the high-energy, outgoing twin, with big ambitions and an even bigger desire to go seek out knowledge. Especially in trimax, he's the one who's the most intrigued by humans and wants to get along with them (it should be noted that both of the twins have a very black-and-white way of thinking and a very strong sense of justice; I personally headcanon both of them as autistic). He's the one who follows Rem around the ship, constantly bombarding her with why why why, and when she doesn't give him answers—either because said answers to his questions require a level of maturity he doesn't yet have to understand, or because Rem is fucking tired from taking care of twin alien boys who age rapidly and could blow up the entire fleet with their godlike powers—Knives stubbornly starts to look for them himself.

Then the Tesla incident happens. For Knives, this is the mother of all fuckery, and he basically is subjected to the alien equivalent of watching Mufasa get K.O.'ed by a herd of wildebeests in The Lion King. This scares the living shit out of him, because every one of his prior beliefs have just been obliterated. Knives being naturally very inquisitive and hungry for knowledge... well, after Rem comes and gets them and calms them down, Knives starts digging. He doesn't want to believe that this is what humans are capable of, but as he combs through the ship's data archives, he keeps getting atrocity after atrocity thrown in his face. Knives bears witness to the horrors of mankind's history, and with his black-and-white thinking, he can't help just fucking losing it.

We're all pretty aware that Knives wears his heart on his sleeve. Sure he acts all cool and calculating, but when he's actually in the heat of the moment, he clearly reacts to everything in a very emotional manner. That adventurous, energetic little kid he once was is still in there, but he's been damaged so very badly, and twisted to where his strong emotions are expressed almost entirely as anger and his inquisitive nature has become recklessness; Knives just doesn't know when to stop, because he can't. All he's been focused on for the past century and a half is the survival of himself and his kind, and he's basically been in a kind of high-alert attack mode since the Big Fall.

Knives has built up a shell around himself. A sharp, spiky shell of weaponized emotions, that nothing but Vash can break through.

Speaking of Vash, he was a pretty shy, reserved kid. Especially in tristamp, he's the softspoken, mama's boy type. He's pretty clingy towards Rem especially, and he's more than happy to let Knives do all the decision-making and talking. He fits the younger sibling archetype very well, despite him and Knives being twins.

When the Tesla incident happens, Vash takes it a bit better. He's not curious to a fault like Knives is, so he takes Rem's word for it when she reassures him and says that she would never let anything happen to him or his brother. Instead of flipping his viewpoints on a dime out of fear, Vash instead becomes even more firm in his ideals: yes, humans are by no means perfect, but they've been nothing but kind to him and Knives so far. Vash comes to the conclusion that if he doesn't give the humans a reason to hurt him, everything will be okay, so Vash constructs a wall around himself like Knives did, only Vash's is purely defensive and deliberately disarming. Especially after the Big Fall, Vash is extremely aware of how untrusting humanity is of him, so he pours all his energy into making himself as likeable and non-threatening as he can.

Unlike Knives, we rarely see Vash react to dangerous situations with genuine emotion. It's very obvious that Vash's careless, happy-go-lucky attitude is a construct that he uses to hide his true feelings, and a meticulously-constructed one at that—in the '98 anime, Wolfwood is one of the few people who seem to be able to pick up on this and point it out. Sure, Vash might be a genuinely good-hearted and hopeful person, but he's just as scared as Knives is, only he hides behind a facade and tries to make himself as palatable to humans as he can (yet another reason why I headcanon the twins as autistic; homeboy has been masking for literal centuries and when he finally ends up having a meltdown because of it he levels cities lmao).

Vash has also built up a shell around himself. His, however, is deliberately made to seal himself away from the world, out of fear for himself, humanity, and the rest of his kind.

forgive me for the long post but I am rotating these two little shits in my Mind Microwave omg

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zv5x · 1 year

Note

Yandere Riddler with a Reader who has a strong moral compass just like him? They believe most of the things he does, believing in stopping corrupted people, etc while not having Ed's delusions. So, when Edward actually kidnaps them, they aren't afraid to point out how morally messed up he's being and point out flaws in his plans and how contradictory they are, further breaking Ed's image of his love and of his pre-perceived perception of himself.

Welcome back, ZV5X!

Pairing : The Riddler (The Batman 2022) • Gender Neutral reader Warnings : USE OF THE YANDERE TROPE , kidnappings, toxic mindsets and abusive situations, mentions of yelling and raising of tone, psychological intimidation

"To me, calling this love is almost an insult." You clicked your tongue, letting your morality hold power over your better judgement. With a brain as fragile as this man's, confrontation was a near death wish. However, you poked onwards, picking at his delusions as ifit was cheap, chipping paint. "I'm not going to sit here and justify this behavior-"

"Shut up." His tone was flat, almost as if he was trying his very hardest to hold himself together.

He was warning you, and he would only warn you once.

"If anything, it's a display of power you feel you don't have. Whatever it may be, don't you dare tell me this is love!" At that, the man before you picked up a glass on the table and chucked it at the wall. It shattered above you, glass shards coming down onto your head and causing small bursts of pain to run throughout your scalp. You shut your eyes tightly and looked down, hoping that would shield your sensitive eyes from what would no doubt destroy them if contact was made.

"Shut the fuck UP! You don't know the last thing about love! You're a brainwashed puppet, only existing to fill your place in a society that wouldn't even care if you were gored on the streets! Do you really think anyone cares about you as much as I do? Loves you as much as I do?" He laughed, but not a laugh of entertainment; it was a laugh of pure lunacy. "No, no baby, that's not true and you know that." He walked up to you, kneeling down to your level and letting glass crunch underneath his boot. "You don't know the last thing about love." The man was incredibly gentle now, tilting your head upwards so he could look you in the eye. His glasses were gleaming, the eyes behind them half-lidded with affection. "But that's okay, my love. I can teach you."

"W-what? What do you-?"

"You have so many flawed ideas about this world. Like how it's changeable with non-violent methods, and how people like us live in a world where we don't need to fight back." He held up air quotes to accompany his words, giggling at your perceived foolishness. "I can fix that, my dear. I can fix you. We're both gonna be okay. All it's gonna take is a little focused effort, and I'll have you right where I am right now. You'll be fine, we'll be fine; and nobody will ever be able to hurt us again."

As much as it disgusted you, he leaned inwards and kissed you on the cheek. "It's okay. I understand you're wired differently than I am; that you're less likely to see the world in the way that I do. That's why I have to help you, so you can finally love yourself as much as I love you. You can't love yourself unless you come to despise the people that hurt you, (Y/N). Did you know that? It's a hard pill to swallow, isn't it?"

You didn't respond. How could you? There wasn't anything that could be said to convince this sick man that his ideals were incorrect. If you tried, you'd get another glass thrown at your head. You'd let him speak, while also scowering this room for any kind of useful objects or information.

There was a window right in the middle of many other buildings, which was nice. Perhaps you could come loose from your restraints and scream out of it for some sort of help. You couldn't help but smile to yourself at the thought of leaving, a gesture your captor immediately took to heart.

"I know you're just as happy as I am, love." Once again, he kissed you, and you had to refrain from gagging as his lips pressed against yours. "We'll start with that scummy public defender who lives about 10 minutes away. Teaching him a lesson would be a good lesson for you too, don't you think angel?"

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caesarinsalata · 5 months

Text

*Ahem*

Uh... So....how about a Part 2?

(I literally accidentally just shat out the next part in the same day 🤣💦)

PART 2

A few days later

“He should be awake by now…”

“Just give him time. Losing a limb is a lot of stress for a small kid.”

“We could only do so much using alchemy, so we'll just have to see when he wakes up.”

“I think I saw him move!”

Edward’s body was so heavy like something was sitting on his chest. His eyes fluttered open as he groaned and made an attempt at sitting up.

“Ed don't move!”

Too late. The moment his muscles strained against his weight, a shockwave of sharp stabbing quickly struck from his stump up through his hip. A yelp caught in his throat as his upper body slammed back down onto the mattress.

“He's going to need more herbs… go transmute some more numbing agent.”

His breathing was shaky. Before he could reach for his wrapped limb, someone grabbed his wrist to stop him. Another stab of pain followed by a deep pulsing sensation assaulted him before he could look to see who it was.

“Who-?”

“You mustn't touch it.”

“Wha-?” Opting to attempt just lifting his head this time, Ed craned his neck to look down at his lower half.

“My….my leg…”. A hitched hiccuping sound came out of Ed's mouth as his eyes grew wide again. He thought it was all a sick trick of the mind or nightmare of some kind. This can't be real! It's gone! Where is it??

“Where is my leg?!” Whipping his head back, Ed shouted and threw a tantrum, the pain getting unbearable as he tossed his limbs around. Blood seeping through the dressings.

“Edward! Ed, stop! You're hurting yourself!”

“Give it back, damn it! My leg! Where is it?!”

Everyone in the room had to hold him down. Unfortunately someone had to put pressure on his upper thigh to stop the wounded limb from being damaged further. The pressure shot another, more intense, bold of pain through him and he wailed.

Shortly after he ran out of air to scream with, the pain became too much and he passed out again. Everyone sighed.

“It's better if he stays asleep for now…”

“I've got the medicine!”

“Hurry and bring it over, we might have to reseal his wound. He threw a fit and about gave himself a head injury.”

Inspecting and redressing his stump, they gave him the numbing agent that should also help with keeping him asleep for a few more hours.

“Why can't we see him!”

“Kids, please, I know it may seem unfair, but he needs to rest. Any more stress and it'll never heal.”

“But brother is all alone in there! He needs someone there when he wakes up!”

“The alchemists that specialize in healing abilities are doing what they can. You have to be patient. You'll just be in the way. I'm sorry…”

Hohenheim was doing everything in his power to keep Al and Winry from barging into Ed's room. It was the boys’ room, but they needed a solitary area for Ed's recovery. Al was moved into Winry's room, when she visited, mainly for moral support.

The kids pouted and were about to cry for the fifth time today and that wasn’t counting the amount of fluids they collectively lost on the day of the incident.

They didn't know what to make of the sounds heard from the throne room. First it was just yelling. The most jarring part of the whole thing was a moment of silence then all they could hear was the scream of pure agony bouncing off the stone walls. Before they could escape the library/play room to even see what it was, Trisha, Ed and Al’s mother, came running in to check on them, not knowing where the scream was coming from.

She had held them as they all shook at the sound of what they believed was Hohenheim letting out a cry and then running by the archway. The curtain in the doorway fluttered at his speed and all the three of them could see was an adult man carrying someone and nothing but blood following after him. An unnerving copious amount of it. Al and Winry didn't register who or what it was until Trisha gasped. In that split second, she could make out an unconscious Ed in Hohenheim's arms.

“Edward…?”

Then it began to make sense to them. Who else could that scream have come from? And Hohenheim looking out of his mind and frantic only meant one thing. Edward was hurt. Bad. Trisha didn't want the kids to see anything so she held onto them as she closed her eyes. Al and Winry couldn't help but stare at the stream of blood creeping in from under the curtain between the stone floor seams.

Needless to say, everyone was traumatized that day, but they didn't appreciate not being able to see Ed to make sure he was actually alive. The only thing they could go on was the kicking and screaming from Ed's room a minute ago. But it was quiet now.

“I hope my brother is okay…”

“He'll be okay, Al… He's too stubborn to die.”

They both looked at each other ready to cry again.

#my doodles #fma #fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #doodles #my art #freckles #drawing prompt #fma art #fma fanart #xerxes au #van hohenheim #winry rockbell #alphonse elric #angst #i do feel good about this one

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pininghermit · 11 months

Text

Dare I Desire (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Adrian x Male Reader

AN: this story has chapters of varying length but that's just my adhd for you all. Thanks for reading!

One moment you were smiling at the Dhampir in front of you and the next you were lunging to avoid the long sword that was hurled at you.

Hurled a sword! Adrian hurled a sword at you!

And that was not the first attack. Right after that came a series of never-ending attacks that left you on your toes. Jumping over the cabinets, knocking down jars (which was quite sorrowful even for you who cannot consume them).

You parkoured your way around the storage but the vicious blade did not leave you alone. You evaded its every move without a single retaliation. It followed your every move. Ready to find a misstep on your end. In the middle of the chaos stood Adrian. Unmoving and unmoved by anything.

The only expression on his face was a concentrated frown. The dhampir’s eyes followed your every step, leading the sword to you with unbeatable precision. For a half-vampire, he was fast, faster than many of your pure-blooded kin.

“If you call this menace of the sword back,” you tried addressed Adrian who did not deem you any attention. Uncaring, you continued you knew Adrian could hear you clearly and well. “We can actually talk and I’ll gladly tell you my reason for being here.” Still running from the sword you dodged a strike aimed at you. The sword paused only for a second for it to continue back again.

“Believe me if I meant any harm to you, cleaning the castle would not be my first strategy,” you said as you crawled under the sprawled furniture. “Just give me a chance. Just one chance. Hmm?”

The room felt silent and from your hiding spot, your could see the sword that now lingered in the air still prowling for you. If this continued, you might as well forget about a conversation, Adrian seemed intent to kill you before you even got to introduce yourself.

You did not breathe as you moved further into the shadows. Adrian was swift but you...you have powers of your own. Some of which you did not wish to use. You would rather take the sword than do that to your mate.

You hid and tried to come up with a way to invoke your bond. Something, anything that would bring it to Adrian’s conscience. From the link of their bond you could sense your mate’s anxiety and it shook you to the core when you felt fear seep through. It was wrong…completely wrong for your mate to fear you. The voice in your head snapped at you to make it right. To take away the fear and reassure your mate. But how could you when you were the reason?

“Were the corpses outside not enough of a warning to venture in?” Adrian interrupted your thoughts. His voice was so tense that you could sense the noise of his teeth gritting together. “Come out before I find you!” The threat rang out in the room.

Anxiety, fear, and anger clouded your mind. The walls of the room caved in on you as the wave of emotions crashed through your mind. Your conscience urging you to protect your mate but from whom? Yourself? Like an avalanche, self-hatred hit you greater than any attack.

With snap, in motions so quick that even the dhampir could not notice you, you flung yourself at Adrian. You both needed to snap out of it and a sudden tumble was all your instinct-ridden brain could fathom. The growing cloud of dark vanished and your brain cleared in the midst of their fall.

You saw Adrian’s eyes widen in shock as you took in the fall. You also noticed the fangs, the claws, and the subtle frown of concentration that your mate got when he controlled his sword. Noticing the approaching floor you extended your hand to support Adrian’s head by cushioning it from the floor. You wove your fingers through the golden hair and cupped your hand behind Adrian’s head just as you both hit the cold hard floor. A small touch that narrowed your world left the dhampir strained. His body so tense that in that millisecond where you fell, you heard the clang of the sword falling on the ground.

Flashes of binding, of fear, of scars, and of pain paralyzed you. Shame, guilt, a rage so potent that it overwhelmed all the voices of reason. Alcohol, blood, fire, ash pulse into the bond, and your mind replayed every memory mingled with the sentiment behind it. Patricide…he should have died…he should have let them kill him. Monster, killer he was no savior from the lore. The voice in your mind crumbled into whimpers.

No, no, no, no, no…

“ADRIAN!” You shook Adrian whose eyes held a dazed look as his mind continued spiraling.

“ADRIAN, listen to me!” You call for him as you push your mind into another memory. The one you wanted to share but not in this manner. So, you will your mind to the valleys of your home, the streets, the shops, the people, the forests. You imagine your family, your siblings, and all the good you have ever experienced.

And the gloom fades away. You open your eyes to find golden ones staring back at you. Devoid of emotion yet, full of curiosity.

“Who are you?” Adrian whispers as he continues to stare up at you from his position.

“Your mate,” you answer with a smile as the sun filters through the windows.

#alucard #alucard x reader #castlevania #bottom alucard #top reader #adrian tepes x reader #mates au #castlevania alucard

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buwheal · 3 months

Note

(ignore this if the other anon sends their story I suppose) I am new, not the same storyteller, but I can still give you the end you look for.

CONT.

And the stars said to the boy as his body in the dream became charred under their gaze yet, "We see all things the world upturns, and know how nothing ever returns. Your grief and despair have swayed us. We have seen you turn your head towards our domain since before you even knew what we were. We have watched you grieve and watched you yearn, for things that never were, and thus can never return. And so, we will offer you one boon, little one who mourns."

And to the stars the boy said, "I cannot bear being trapped on the ground. Please, can't you make me like you? I wish to be untethered from the cold mud and colder oceans in which I feel drowned. Let me shine and sing, hung up in the heavens with the stars and moons that dance like angels. That will be my wish, to be freed from this indifferent and sodden mound that pulls me down. If you could make me bright and gleaming like you, I could find what I grieve and what I mourn."

The sky accepted his wish to be cut away from his home and strung up, woven into the sky, but not without a warning.

"You should know: that to be a star is to be a fire that eternally burns. There are so many things that a star can never be, places that can never be visited and thus never returned to. Nor are the void of our skies Heaven, nor are they Hell. Such places exist, but both are empty. Our home however is so, so full and so, so loud. What you grieve and what you yearn are not things that your wish will earn. Though determined as you are, we will help you search and help you learn how to find a way to return to a home never built. And when you burn, we will be there, beside you in the sky."

The boy heard the stars, but did not listen to their words because the sight of his dreams blinded him. Blithely he pleaded to the heavens for instruction on becoming divine.

The stars answered in turn, "Travel to the tallest mountains where the air is thin and the rocky peaks are so sharp they could pierce the hearts of giants. Then, look for the darkest cave upon the mountain and crawl into its narrowest passage. Once you are there, gouge a small groove into the wall until from the stone gushes sticky ink that shines so brightly it hurts to look. For one year you must drink nothing but the sanguine ichor that bleeds from the carving. Through this you will be transformed, and become like us."

The boy asked the stars why the mountains bleed light.

"Long ago, a god abandoned its body and hurled the hollow vessel upon the mountains so that it may become mortal. The gilt and rotting tallow that melted from the carcass made the mountains last eternal, and now within the stone burns the same molten power that we in the sky radiate," the stars sung to him.

When he awoke, the boy obeyed the stars' orders and it twisted him, but not into a star, nor into a moon. His parents grieved his absence, and yearned for his return which would never come. The mountain blood scalded his tongue and throat and sat cold and heavy in his stomach. If from the pain he allowed rivulets to spill down his face, it melted and burnt his skin, searing lines down from the corners of his mouth to the bottom of his jaw. Still he persisted, unable to put to rest that which never was, and will never return. By year's end he felt heavy and strange, the ichor in his system like leaden weights upon his limbs and his voice, stretching and breaking his body into bizarre proportions. He did not care. He believed it would earn him everything that he grieved and everything he mourned.

Waxen wings made of the soft and pure gold of the abandoned god's rendered tallow sit upon his back.

The stars gladly welcomed him into the sky, but upon finally meeting his heaven face to face, their light and their heat set his golden tallow wings ablaze like candles.

As his wings melted, the stars were saddened, but offered him another boon, in hopes he could be saved from such a nasty fall. The boy wished for another chance to sit in their sky. The stars thought quick, and wove ropes and cables from the tails of green comets. The boy was gifted the cables, and he gladly tied them into harnesses on his own body. The stars hung his cables from his world's moon as a pale reflection of their own light and every day they sung their songs to him as he swayed in step with the tides of the oceans he tried so hard to escape. He saw his parents, who grieved upon the muddy ground he ran from, but had no body of their child to bury. He saw all the presents and treats they left to rot at the headstone of an empty grave. He watched his parents tell the people who asked: We grieve. We yearn. For our child who could only bear to be turned towards the sky and now will never return.

- 🥩🕊

answered

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