#Fuck wait no that has symbolic emotional attachment too

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Alligator Loki #1 Is Delightful

Spoilers, obviously.

I'm OBSESSED with this play on words. Also, cue me writing a 5000+ word essay (not really) on the symbolism of Loki and butterflies. Alligator Loki accidentally stumbles into the climax of Encanto. 'Ay, mariposas, don't you hold on too tight--' [CHOMP] Can one of the issues of Alligator Loki be just a play on those trailers in the early 2000s where Stitch trespassed on a bunch of classic Disney movies, only instead of Stitch it's Alligator Loki?

2. This is not fair. He's in baby gator jail for a reason. But ugh I'm a sucker for a crying Loki too. And you know it's been a week when a fake-crying cartoon alligator makes you tear up too. I'd have broken the little devil out also.

3. I was really mad at him for pointing a knife at Alligator Loki a panel ago, but I live for jealous, insecure Loki oh my God. First of all, dude, you ran off into a fucking portal. It's not Alligator Loki's fault Thor reached into the portal looking for you and pulled him out! It's not Alligator Loki's fault Thor's been reaching out all this time and you've been slapping his hand away. It's not Alligator Loki's fault that he (a little bit) let Thor take care of him when Loki refuses. Maybe you should let Thor love you!

4. HOWEVER! You don't get to take a bite out of the Coat!!! Loki has an emotional attachment to that coat. I have an emotional attachment to that coat! You leave that coat alone!

5. I fucking love this. Alligator Loki has bitten people in almost every chapter so far, but he hasn't been bitten back. I think this might be the first time he's ever been bitten back. And I'm not shocked Loki did it. Frankly I think any Loki would and I'm surprised President Loki didn't do it in the show. I wonder if it'll be some time before Alligator Loki's reaction of choice is biting, just in case.

6. The art of this comic is so simple, and then there are panels like this, with so much going on that you can miss it. Alligator Loki's cold, because it's winter and he's cold-blooded, so Loki leaves him draped in his beloved coat, which in itself would be so sweet. But then he gets a bunch of fire-powered people to stay and keep Alligator Loki warm. But wait, Loki still has his coat, did he have a second one somewhere? But the tails are shimmering with magic; this dork is so vain and so attached to a coat he doesn't even need that he magicked himself one before he even left the area.

7. ...And now I'm sobbing. Good-bye.

#alligator loki spoilers #alligator loki #loki #loki comics #marvel comics spoilers #marvel comics

[shummashum]

Klaus Goldstein Ch9 [1~5]

Previously on Ch8! As the teacup theft case came to an end, Liz received some experienced advice on love from Luci. Well I don't think anything will happen! At least now.

but well… let's attach significance to the fact that a minor twig was cut off

ehe that too is definitely a crime

by the way, how should the case be resolved in a situation like this they can't wait for the criminal to make another move there must be a clue…

I have a question though isn't the Ministry supposed to cooperate with them? what are those bunch of incompetent idiots doing now they're not planning on leaving everything to the students and chilling behind, right? …right? oi Klaus there's no support or anything? for real?

At that time, Remb called Liz.

oh…… at least she had a shred of conscience

heh there really was a symbolic punishment yes! at least there has to be something like this I'm pretty satisfied with this

so Klaus suggested it, huh well I really don't think this is a matter of sympathy though… still he used his head a little more flexibly than usual

but please I don't know why they keep trying to glorify her actions~? okay, Fanda reflected. good empathize with emotions. good but just because her feelings are relatable doesn't mean her actions aren't wrong I'd like them to please separate these or maybe I'm just acting picky,,,

oh… right Liz has to give the lecture too eh… but she hadn't even decided on a class topic yet this is quite an emergency ! !

huh those words make me feel a little repulsed shouldn't she at least be better at conducting classes than him if she cannot do better than him, it's a huge shame

But she was unable to argue with him, finding herself not having any confidence.

but you should do this I guess you still aren't fully aware of the meaning of the clothes you're wearing, but you're not wearing them for nothing if you're not going to do this, take off your clothes and go back to being a normal student!

nod nod let's prepare thoroughly and create a decent class well it's true that she's not ready, but she can't use the newbie excuse forever we have to get out of the newbie zone someday!

look look look look this guy is relatively easy to please unlike that you-know-who blue-haired nocturnal idiot, his difficulty level is just fucking hard, but it doesn't require anything unusual or exhilarating

So Liz declared to Remb that she would give a try. But…

let's decide on the topic first is there a curriculum that can be used as a reference?

"I hope he gets fucked up for using his mouth wrong" blabla but well I'm serious the people around him are too kind and good for him…

why are you talking like that if you're going to say something like that, don't help her and just get some extra manpower from the Ministry tch!!

yeah he does,,, Mr. Stickuphisass

he was scratched he was scratched he was scratched

if that's what Al said, then that's it. period!

but you know seeing him smiling brightly like this makes me more and more afraid how depressed and pitiful will this guy appear a story where you feel like you're going to explode from the frustration…

Anyway, Cae and Al were happy to give her their hand.

you get out your very existence is a minus

And well, Hiro also jumped into this in the name of keeping an eye on Zeus.

S6 comrades became together again not trustworthy at all…… I hope the brake named Hiro work well,,,

well it's right to choose magical creatures carbuncle wing rabbit unicorn Eress let's go

Hiro!!!!! shut that guy's mouth

erm… maybe a secret meeting with the Headmaster? or did he really go to the Ministry to request additional manpower

there he was well share some information then

Then he pulled out a pen and drew a line through two of the entries, which were stolen.

#shumma plays wh

[roboromantic]

oh a couple more things *writes a post 10 times longer than the previous one*

ngl I was kinda hoping for something a little more interesting for Prime's voice but oh well. At least there's juuuuust enough of a twist to it that it's only like, 97% a Peter Cullen impression and not literally a guy known for his Cullen impression (nothing against Jon Bailey but like. c'mon.)

I still think Mo's eyes are way too big compared to everyone else's but the style's definitely grown on me, like I like the bots eyes

wait hold up I just found this frame where you can see Wheeljack's face because apparently he has one under the mask. I didn't even notice that he put it on, I just thought he was gonna have the faceplate on all the time like the G1 cartoon (and personally I prefer when they aren't removeable, that's just their face) but for everyone else here ya go

I also think it’s neat that you can kinda see how stuff is attached like it (probably) is on the toys, like I can see the stuff on Bee’s back being used to move stuff around for the transformation and OP’s straight-up got a visible ball joint

I really love the music playing when Twitch and Thrash are being made, it's neat

I'm not super into the ~electromagnetic field~ and/or spark-bonding emotional mind-reading thing that some people put in fics, but that said. having some canon way for humans to participate in that is neat, though I'm guessing this isn't exactly a "choose your partner" kinda thing. Also apparently both kids are connected to both bots and vice versa, which is interesting. Gimme more deets

what else     oh Bee says that transforming is "Literally our name!" which I mean is technically true but like, I'm pretty sure that normally that's just what humans call them and they call themselves Cybertronians/Camians/etc.  So "Terrans" for the baby bots.         I could get into language stuff but that’d be a whole ‘nother novel so MOVING ON

I don't think the Terrans have an Autobot insignia anywhere, so I wonder if they'll get one eventually or if they'll get an Earth faction kinda thing which is presumably part of what Prime and Elita have? You can see on Prime’s shoulder above that they've got an Autobot symbol inside of the other symbol that shows up on the Earth military (?) vehicles

And speaking of THAT, it looks like Megatron has the same "faction symbol" as Prime and Elita-1 👀 Also he’s a helicopter again which is dope

Like it’s too blurry to be 100% sure, there might be a Decepticon emblem instead of an Autobot one (or maybe no other emblem?) but in any case, unless those vehicle that got blown up on the bridge were actually Cybertronians, it seems to be being used by humans, Autobots, AND Decepticons.

I also noticed that while Swindle has a standard Decepticon symbol, Bombshell looks to have something different?

Is the guy that’s not Swindle a new character? not that they'll necessarily exist for long given that Mandroid seems to have taken their arm but. I think they're also the only bot we see with a visor besides the pic of Soundwave on that comic

Also I noticed that the explosive Swindle throws at OP looks like a coin and makes that like. that schwing! sound effect that plays in stuff when  a gold coin is hit. do you know what I mean sjgkhfjk

I know we joke about the scale being g-d-awful at times but The Fuck is this. Like Thrash seems to be roughly the same height as Bee, but I’m pretty sure either I’m completely misunderstanding how the perspective in that last pic is supposed to work or he got shrunk or something

Also damn, they’re tiny. Twitch is barely even taller than Alex

Why is Skywarp blue?????

#Chal's TF ramblings #Transformers spoilers #Earthspark spoilers

[starshipsofstarlord]

In retrospect, bend over spy - Natasha Romanoff x reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; Natasha is on a mission, however she certainly gets more than she bargained for whilst undercover

Warnings; smut, gxg, rimming, fingering, strap on sex

The redhead slipped out of her panties, dropping the black lace to the ground, as she kicked the well loved material, that was inked with her wetness, from around her ankles. She bunched the material of her dress up she bent her bosom over your desk, slotting her legs open as she grew eager as she heard your approaching footsteps.

Your fingers plucked at her round and full cheeks, spreading them apart so you could gouge a explicit view of her quivering cunt, and the tight ring of her asshole. It’s spiral of tight skin clenched as she felt your penetrating gaze upon the close knitted ring of muscle. Allowing some spit to douse your finger, you rubbed it against her back entrance, stringing a web of a moan from her engorged and swollen mouth.

She was inadvertently biting her lips, gnawing upon her flesh and sufficiently plumping it, as she awaited for you to do something more. The assassin wiggled her ass back, as she felt you drop to your knees, feeling the curl of your tongue prodding at her rim. “Fuck, y/n.”

You moaned as you peeled the straps of your cami top down, shoving the material down to below your breasts as you pinched at your own nipples, tugging out some relief for yourself, as your tongue firmly pressed through the conviction of tight entryway, as your free hand that was failing to milk your breast slithered up to her pussy.

The fingers on your right hand spread her affiliated juices around, as you delved your nose against her crack, pushing your wet and smooth appendage further into her hole, drawing positive sounds of encouragement to continue your administrations out of her lying, scoundrel, avenger lips.

To frustrated her, you pulled back, instigating a whine from her, as you wore a dirty and privileged smirk. You stood, disappointing her, though she remained in her poised position, watching with wild forest eyes as you rounded the dismissal of your reviewing centre, coming to face her, and blessing her with the sight of your nude and stiff pebbled breasts.

“How’d you know my real name, Natalia?” Shit, she was exposed, in more ways than one. She readied to retaliate in her sultry craft of exposition, however, she stilled as you waved your hand in dismissal of her actions. “Come on tell me, and perhaps I’ll let our fun continue, may even tell you whatever you want to know, Black Widow.”

It seemed like a fair trade, for a moment in thought Natasha pursed her lips together, cocking her flushed head as she ran over her options. This was the easiest way to access an answer, and well, if you were to double cross her, then it’d be no hassle to take you out.

“You have hydra files that you recovered from a base, Coulson has been tracking you for some time. He noticed that your company provided export and import, and wanted to ensure that you weren’t spreading the word on the intel that you recovered.”

“Hm.” Crossing your arms over your free breasts, you paid her a due smile, amused by the information that she had been told. “Open the drawer to the right, Romanova, the flash drive is in there.”

Her hands obeyed your suggestion, slipping inside the storage, retaining a red keeper of files from within. Natalia held it to her face, speculating its exterior, seeing the infamous skull symbol that prompted all content the organisation stamped their works with.

“I used to be like you you know, a heroin, though I found it to be a means to an end. There is so much to sacrifice, and in the end, all you have to give is yourself. Over time, I’ve figured it’s better to be alive than dead, there is no use in instigating the title of superhero if one day you are to lose.”

“You mentioned fun after I recovered this from you, this conversation you are elaborating on hardly seems like the type.” The redhead spy spat with a quirk of her scarlet brow, as she peeled the fabric of her midnight dress up and over her head.

“Guess shield agents don’t like speaking about their travels, they used to have no mind back in my day.” Well, that supposed that you had been a traitor, having the folder of files in your possession. “I guess you don’t either considering who you have been.”

“I’m not here to trade pity tales, if you wish to enjoy our last moments together, I suggest you take those slacks off from your legs, and show me how you can possibly make my remaining presence here worthwhile.”

“Oh honey, it’s definitely going to be worth the wait.” You replied, harshly tugging at your belt, as you unravelled the Italian leather from around your waist, unzipping your trousers as they fell down, and to the ground in a figure right around your feet. “Like what you see?”

There was certainly something to see. A harness enveloped your waist, a faux appendage in the shade of lilac hanging from the centre, taunting her with surprise. It wasn’t what she had been expecting, not in the slightest.

“It’s okay.” She shrugged, no longer having to keep up the facade of an interested intern, though her pupils told a different story as they gazed lustfully at the strap. “Guess it’ll do.”

“It will do something widow, and I can prove that.” The two of you both nude, except from the attachment that’s prime purpose was instigate internal pleasure, walked towards each other, you noticed her leave the drive on the desk, but you didn’t allow her to witness your lingering view.

Instead, you ambushed her against the hardwood platform of your desk, teeth biting their way into her mouth, gaining access to slip your sly tongue within the contents of oral communication. A hum escorted out from her lungs, as her hands dug their manicured nails into your shoulders, scratching red lines into the skin, as she awaited for you to enter her.

“Prove it then.”

Well, that predicament was easy, as you bent her to your will, and arched her back against your work desk, sifting the items in the way onto the floor. “I’m glad you said that Natalia.” Her statement only gave you a rush to do exactly as she said, boy was she going to regret letting that mouth of hers run confidently against you.

Her legs spread, allowing you to stand between them, as you ran your fingertips over their tops, your teeth stretching forwards and nipping at her lip. With her hips, she shuffled, rubbing her sodden folds against the toy, she was desperate. The exterior that she portrayed, the cocky one that was here for a mission and nothing more, had been swept away as she urgently wrapped her legs around you, sending you closer to her.

“I knew you weren’t as blunt with your emotions as you are with your words.” You grabbed the base of the toy that was attached to your harness, dragging the tip of the plastic through her slit, as you readily entered her. Once you were situated completely within her, your hands changed position to be on the table, as she adjusted, your hand slid to the drive, flicking it onto the ground by your chair, changing it out for one that was beneath the mouse pad.

She was oblivious to the settlement of underlying mischief prominent in your actions, instead of focusing on your seclusive intentions, she was perused by the seducing revels that you wantonly deposited upon her, as your hips ground ceremoniously against her own, leaving a trail of erotic pecks up the expanse of her neck, as your other hand opposed a grip around the strap.

It felt like power embedded in your hand, as you provided it stability against gravity as you teased her folds with the ludicrous tip, entering the length within her walls as she cowered a mewl at the sensation of penetration, as you nipped down at her pulse point, sliding your competent fingers down to fiddle with her satirised clit, moving it around like a paddle in water. Once she was adjusted to the size of the toy, you began to retract it, only to thrust back into her.

Her head whipped back, exposing her clavicle which you eagerly traced with your tongue. With one moderately ravenous hand, you groped her breast, it filling your palm as you prowled deeper inside her, tracing your hips back and forth to create a sustainable rhythm. A glow brew upon her skin, defining her collarbones with a powerful sheen that gripped her pores wonderfully. Moans rattled huskily out from her throat as she received, as she bent her shape against yours, optimally accepting the rounds of stimulation that you adorned upon her body.

“I’m gonna cum y/n.” Her nose crinkled as she made her statement, and thus, you made your administrations that much more fast, belting into her to appease her a gyration that brought her closer to her orgasm. The last method that had her half screeching through her retrospective high, was a bittersweet pinch to her clit, that had her hurtling over the edge. You continued to move for a few moments, until it became too much for the spy.

As she caught her breath, you gently stroked her nipples, causing her to heave heavier. “Shame you were only here on a mission, that means I have no chance of convincing you to go out on a date with me.” Pulling the fake cock out of her cunt, watching as she whimpered from the notion. She grabbed for her items of clothing, slathering them back into appropriate placement upon her body.

“I don’t do dates.” She thickly stated, making you hum in acknowledgement, Natalia tried to soothe her hair with her hands until it looked presentable enough, going to turn, until you caught her arm, preventing her from doing so. You picked up the hard drive off from the desk, and simply handed it to her. “It was nice meeting you, you definitely made my breach here... interesting.”

“I aim to please.” You brashly shrugged, accepting her grateful smile as you watched the deceived and overplayed spy walk out of the door to your office. You threw your shirt over yourself, removing the harness that hugged your hips, and rolled your panties up your legs. You bent to the ground, retrieving the true aspect of your game. “Well, I guess you can’t have it all.” The real flash drive was pinched between your forefinger and your thumb as you blinked towards it.

You had managed to deceive an avenger, yet the whole cover would only be viable to hold up for so long. Your entire operation would have to move elsewhere if you were to have to avoid that fine fox and her friends. Paging your assistant, you filled her in on the business cards that were currently laid out before yourself.

#natasha romanoff smut #nat x reader smut #nat smut #natasha romanoff one shot #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff reader insert #nat x reader #natasha x you #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #black widow one shot #black widow x y/n #black widow x female reader #natasha x fem!reader #marvel x reader #black widow fic #black widow smut #black widow x reader #black widow x you #natasha smut #the avengers smut #avengers smut #imagines #xreader #imagine #natasha imagine #mcu smu

[binniesthighs]

➵ changbin, son of ares ➵

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x seo changbin

Genre: that good good smut n’ a lil fluff, pwp 

Word count: 1.6k 

demigod skz mini-masterlist coming soon

{see below for nsfw tags and warnings!} 

Tags: demigod au, inspired by PJO, sonofares!changbin, hardsub!changbin, tattooed!bin, explicit language, mentions of battle scars, nipple play (r), mild knife play (no blo*od) (m), lil bit of hand focused oral fixation, marking and spanking (r), oral (69), unprotected sex (stay safe lovelies!), creampie, cockwarming

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Fire and fury, scalding hot, fingers biting into the delicate insides of palms. He is passion in the form of white heat that buzzes in your head and glistens with sweat between your shoulder blades. His eyes are gilded in flecks of gold that flicker like the flames which writhe under his skin. By contrast, his lips are soft and plush like the way rose petals crinkle. 

He is never cold, and he never falters where he imbues his body into yours with darkened eyes that can see you inside and out until there is nothing left to hide. 

He’s told you that the anger that boils inside him is nothing for you to fear: passion and infatuation are just other emotions which we all feel as intensely as fury. 

Still, he’s immense: a show of force that makes you feel small and insignificant even though you know that you are nothing of the such to him. He holds you to his chest, letting you feel the pound of his furious heart that resounds and quickens when he pulls you in even closer, stretching out your limbs until they too burn. 

The kisses he bites into your skin sink in like he can scald the very words there himself, “I’m just as much yours as you are mine.” 

Your loyalty to him is the greatest gift--it is an honor to be by his side so fully knowing that the bend and arch of your back follows the trace of only his hand. You feel honored to have those golden and deep crimson eyes outline your frame. He bears his weight down lower, pressing into you until you gasp under him: your passion for him journeys over every twist of his muscled arms and chest that swells with strength. The illustrations of wars once fought and the symbols of his father rage war on his skin in thick strokes of ink. Your hands tell their stories where you leave no space untouched. 

The scars that tatter his skin are more visible in the moonlight: places where his fury has leaked out and healed unevenly. Your fingertips know them well: how they feel like vulnerable little corners where the pieces of him don’t add up. Your lips find the curves of scars on his ribs and stretch around his arms as if you could heal him even more. By comparison, your skin is nearly spotless, and he too brings his lips to caress into the nape of your neck and down your arms all the way to your palms where he presses his passion there too. His hands are rough and calloused, but they still feel light as flames where he grazes the skin between your thighs. 

“Let me see you.” He asks, laying down in the middle of the bed larger for just the two of you. The windows creak with the sound of the breeze, which then gather up the linens that bow along with the air. It wafts in and sends shivers down your arms. Intertwined with the air is the smell of smoke carried from afar; it is the scent of the night before battle and restless fires that wait distantly for him. The thought itself is distant: you wrap your legs around his waist to prowl over your lover who cranes your neck and guides your waist to hover over him. 

Desire had never left his eyes: it's a type of insatiable fire that ravishes you and follows the way that you let your fingers creep to his bottom lip which you pull at, kissing him, letting the taste of your skin linger between your lips and his. He smirks, digging more roughly into the squishy parts of your hips to melt you into him. You grasp at the wooden handle attached to the leather sheath at his hip, drawing out slowly the curved metal knife which he keeps ready. The pure silver metal of the blade glistens in the moonglow, reflecting the image of your looming figure which brings it tickling up his skin. The sharpened edge draws a thin white line up his chest where you outline the space between his pectorals where he heaves in feeling the cold bite. You trace around his collarbones, threatening the pumping vein on his neck. 

“You could kill me if you wanted.” He laughs out with a confident air, “You know that only you’ve got that power.” 

You smile wickedly in response, pressing the tip of the blade in harder. Just a bit more pressure and you could draw blood, but you don’t. 

“I know.” You tease the blade back down his body, feeling the cold on your stomach too. “Only I’ve got the pleasure.” 

You cast away the knife sending it clattering to the floor, finding your hand hungrier than the blade. His arms wrap around you as if he can unfold you, and the heat from his skin marries with your own that trembles. Every inch of your being craves to drip in the fury and passion that consumes him, to make the one man unconquered by anyone weak to you. 

You grind your hips hard, languidly taking in the way that his cock swells between your legs no more desperate than you are. His kisses find their way down your chest, leading heavy breaths to your nipples which he pulls at gently with his teeth--only at first--only growing in intensity the shallower he hears your breaths inhale. He moves his focus for only a few moments to suck harder at your untainted skin to place marks and battle scars of your own which tell stories of him. 

“Are you going to fuck me, or keep me waiting?” He hushes directly into your ear. 

You meet his eyes in their spectral glow: it's a color that you could never recreate, unlike any other creation of the gods. 

“And you?” You pull lightly at his bottom lip with your teeth lavishing in the groan that it elicits from his throat. “I’m waiting too.” Your hand creeps down his torso to unfasten the button of his pants. 

Incessant fingers meet in the middle where bodies curve and reposition, knees sinking into the feathered mattress that wrinkle with the soft touch of satin. His girth swells pink with the veins outlining and pulsating where your hand wraps, tongue dripping with saliva to his tip which flares until you lean in to give him what he craves. Your body shakes after he pulls your hips closer to his own heated mouth. 

Your lover gives you no time to wait, pressing his tongue against your sensitivity and promptly tasting your essence on the tip of his tongue that teases. His fingers bury into your legs to pull them farther apart, burning the skin when he raises his hand to hear the way that your skin sounds. 

You take him in until you can no deeper, swallowing his length with the moans that vibrate the deepest parts of your throat and make him growl with pleasure. Whimpers fill up your chest as your body surrenders to the way that he chooses to lap slowly at your sex, pressing in an evil grin. 

“I could do this to you all night…” He promises, pressing sloppy kisses over your heat. 

You wince, feeling the contrast of his blazing warmth to the cool breeze of the evening that is nearly enough to dizzy you. You know that he’d let you do whatever you want, even letting your impatience get the best of you. You flip back around, facing him, tangling your fingers deeply into his onyx-black hair, finding your mouth smashing against his and gasping with every bit of your want directly into his mouth so he can feel it. 

In seconds, you align yourself over his cock until you feel so full that it makes your insides burn with a pleasure so indescribable you’re convinced that your own being must be possessed with some kind of crazed desire. 

He coolly looks up to you, only exhaling once you begin to move your hips, finally moving his hands down your sides to help you rock. Your lover brings his thumb to your lip, rubbing away at the way that it trembles in your focus, dipping the digit in to swipe over your tongue. 

“I know you can fuck me harder than that, my love.” He tests, ringing the sound of another slap to your skin through the room. “Harder.” He demands, and you flick your waist even rougher, losing your breath as the fire spreads through each of your limbs. 

Your vision blurs trying to make out his features: the tattoos that paint nearly his whole form, the vertical scar over his eye which spits his face into a rugged and intimidating picture of the wars which he runs into so fearlessly. To others, they would see him as a monster, but you could never imagine it: not like this, and not for you. 

Your frail form threatens to break, and you find the tears of pleasure and pain mixing on your cheeks which he wipes away gently, then taking up your cheeks in his hands to kiss at the stains. 

Sweat condensates behind your neck, and your arms feel weak from merely holding yourself up above him, yet your energy still doesn’t falter. He bites at his lip in his pride, seeing exactly the way that you fall apart. You cum for him, loud and indulgently, nearly screaming from how your whole body explodes, then grows numb and placid as you put the world back together. Your lover turns into a madman in his determination: his touch nearly rips you apart. He fills you, pulsing with his seed that drips down your legs white. 

You gasp as if you’ve forgotten what it means to breathe, collapsing upon him to feel the warmth of his embrace which you’ve long been addicted to. 

Carefully his hand trails up and down your spine to calm you while the two of you connect for moments that carry on forever, pledging, “You are the only one I am powerless to, my love.” 

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

#skz smut #stray kids smut #kpop smut #seo changbin smut #changbin smut #changbin x reader smut #skzstorynet #stray kids drabbles #stray kids oneshots #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #kpop fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x y/n #changbin x gender neutral reader #kpop oneshots #stray kids imagine #kpop imagine

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14

Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse

You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.

It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.

You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.

"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"

"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."

You leaned against the door. "Oh?"

"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.

"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."

"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.

"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."

"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"

Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."

You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.

"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"

Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."

"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."

"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."

You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."

"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."

"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.

"Hm?"

You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Max returned the smile. "Of course not."

You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.

"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.

"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.

Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.

"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."

"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.

"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.

"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.

"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."

Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."

"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."

"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.

"Hannibal-"

"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."

"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.

Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."

"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."

You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time. 

“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember. 

“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.” 

You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.” 

“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].” 

You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found. 

“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.” 

Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.” 

“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.” 

“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story. 

“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.” 

"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."

You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"

"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."

"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."

"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.

"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."

"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.

"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."

Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."

You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.

"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."

"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."

"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."

"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"

"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."

"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."

"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."

You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.

"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.

"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."

"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."

"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.

"I know." You conceded.

He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.

"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."

You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #cult girl #more cult girl #cult girl doctorate #cult girl 2 #tw death #tw family #pregnant reader #hannibal x pregnant reader

[akawrites000]

sunflowers, breaking clichés and faraway lovers

Hero trudges back home, her foot kicking up some mud on this lonely strip of road. She can't decide if she's happy or frustrated that nothing ever happens where she lives, not even villains, as if they don't find this place appealing enough to even visit.

She decides, after a moment, that maybe it's both. She's both happy that she doesn't have to deal with villains here, that this is the one constant place that she has in her life, and she's also a little frustrated that nothing ever happens here, and everywhere you see are familiar faces. She kind of wishes her town had the tradition to were masks like people in Jaoanese festivals do, so that it would at least bring some novelty into this place. Or she wishes that she can spot a new face somewhere, but the only face she wants to see right now is that of her partner's.

The wind blows to the left, and she turns to look. That's the path that leads to the sunflower field, one of her all time favourite places. She takes out her phone as the wind pushes her further to the field, holding the device in front of her face, trying to get a nice angle. Click. She opens villain’s chat and hits the send button, with a yellow heart emoji attached to the picture. She then sits down at the edge of the field, legs dangling, eyes taking in the spectacular view in front of her. This is probably the only place I'll never get tired of, even if it's the same ten years from now, she thinks.

Hero’s phone vibrates in her pocket, and she pulls it out to see a message from villain. She opens the chat — smiling softly.

V: This looks so beautiful!! Is this the sunflower field that you always talk about? Thank you for the picture baby💛

Hero takes a moment to swoon. She loves it when villain calls her baby, and she has a feeling that they know that too.

H: Yes it is, one of my favourite places ever! I wish I could show this to you someday.

There it is, hero thinks. This ache that mixes up with the bubbly feelings in her chest because her lover lives in an entirely different continent away from her and there's nothing either of them can do about it for now. It's this sizzling agony that's there right under her skin, keeping her awake at night sometimes.

V: That sounds lovely. I would love to see it.

And then hero’s smiling, grinning. So much that her cheeks start to hurt and those blue feelings inside her chest slowly melt away, leaving her with this happy, giddy haze. Somewhere inside, the logical part of her speaks — what is even happening ?

Hero ignores that and just stares at the wide expanse of the field in front of her, beautifully painted by the sun setting on the horizon behind. She lets her mind wander to villain, her lover whom she's never met but knows — because one doesn't have to meet to know someone right? Of course hero aches to meet them, just like all the lovers in ancient texts do. She's no different. So she tries to meet them in her imagination at least- one hand in their soft, brown hair, while the other cups their cheek, tender with that natural blush that drives her crazy; and then villain's hands are in her hair, tangling her long back strands but she can't find it in herself to care one bit —

Her phone buzzes again and hero’s pulled out of that soft world in her mind, back to the real one. Her eyes take in her surroundings once again, noticing the changes. The sky is inky blue, like deep ocean waters and the sun is nowhere to be seen . The sunflowers that were all looking at the sun like dedicated devotees, have now turned to look at their loved ones next to them instead, and settle in their arms for the night. Hero looks at her phone, her mind working in two angles — one thinking about this fact that she read about sunflowers somewhere while the other focuses on villain’s chat box.

V: You'll have to fight supervillain later this evening right?

Hero groans as she remembers her pressing duties to this city — fighting supervillains, protecting the civilians, being the symbol of justice. It's only in the short time that she spends with villain — in their chatbox, occasional phone calls, when she thinks of villain, that she feels like a normal twenty something, just living her life and falling in love with someone breathtakingly amazing.

H: You're always more updated about my schedule than I am xD But yeah, I have to.

Hero imagines villain’s mouth, unable to decide between their usual smirk or rare soft smiles. She wonders what expression they're wearing right now.

V: Of course I am. That's one thing technology is good for.

Hero chuckles, simply happy that villain even bothers to keep track of all of this.

V: Fight safely and vigilantly okay? Trust your gut feelings, they're always valid. Your feelings are always valid.

Hero clutches her phone tight in her hand, trying to bury her face into her own arms. Her heart performs this dance everytime villain does stuff like this, and she never knows how to handle it.

H: Thank you my love❤ I'm a little nervous of course, but I think I'll be okay. I can do this.

Hero knows there's no point in putting up a front or lying to villain. They always know somehow. And hero thinks that she doesn't want to lie — she's always putting up a front for the world, the people, her opponents. So she wants at least this one person in the entire world to know who she really is, in all her silly, anxious and raw glory.

V: You'll be fine baby. You're an amazing fighter and I believe in you.

Okay, that's it. Hero feels like her entire body is on fire and she forces herself to look away from the phone screen at the field in front of her so that her fingers don't start doing this embarrassing keysmash that people generally seem to do when they're embarrassed. Does she want to do that? She thinks she'd rather avoid it. Or at least try to.

That's when her mind supplies that fact about sunflowers that it was trying to remember. When the sun is not visible, the sunflowers turn towards one another, as if the sun is just a fever dream that is abandoned as soon as it dips below the horizon, and the only real things that exist in the world are the flowers themselves and their partners who exist right beside them. Hero watches as the wind gently coaxes them, one flower falling into another and vice versa, as they hold each other and dance while the first stars form constellations in the sky. Hero thinks how beautiful this is, that there is a whole universe beyond clichés, that a sunflower doesn't have to achingly wait for a sun that will never belong to it, but instead the world is for its taking as it falls in love with the flower next to it — one that will return its feelings.

And all of a sudden, hero is overwhelmed by this weird emotion in her chest. She can't name it, she's always been bad with names. But sitting here and looking at these sunflowers breaking clichés makes her heart soar for some inexplicable reason. It's like nature is telling her that nothing else matters other than feelings that are respected and returned.

She opens villain's chat and starts typing in everything that she's realised in the past minute with increased fervour, afraid that all of these thoughts would just up and disappear into a puff of nothing because nothing is really everlasting — except this one moment. And she plans to make the best of it. She types the last letter, then attaches a close-up picture of two sunflowers with tangled petals facing one another and hits send.

Villain takes a minute to reply, but it brings the brightest smiles to hero's face regardless.

V: I don't know if you even realise this, but I just love the way you fucking think ❤ The sunflowers seem like they could pass for humans themselves don't they? Because I just find this whole thing alarmingly human — the way we have our hearts on our sleeves when we know no one else is looking, for that one person.

Hero sighs happily, she didn't think feeling understood could feel this liberating. It's definitely one of those feelings that people can get high on , she thinks. Damn, she thinks she's definitely getting high on this herself.

H: Thank you love, I love the way you think too! And I do agree, the sunflowers are humans xD (plus ten heart emojis).

A few more minutes go by and hero receives another message from villain with this attached picture:

there's a hand (hero guesses it's villain’s hand) holding two violet flowers together (so they look like they're hugging) with this caption —

I had to chase away two ducks for this picture, because these flowers were apparently their evening snack. How cool is that?

And hero’s full blown laughing now, the clutching-your-stomach kind of laughing and she hopes that the laughing emoji on her phone would do this justice. Probably not.

—

Here's the live coverage of Hero vs Supervillain-

The newsreader reads live from the venue and villain’s eyes refuse to leave the tv screen for even a single moment. They watch as their hero holds her ground against such a powerful foe and villain’s heart fills up to the brim with a mix of fondness and pride. They don't feel the rest of the evening pass by, as they sit and watch the entire live coverage without as much as even getting up.

Hero emerges victorious, and she has a few surface injuries here and there, some nasty looking gashes but she's standing there and she's alive and she's okay and villain finally lets out a breath that they didn't even know they were holding.

That's their strong, sweet and kind hero and villain can't be happier to call her their girlfriend.

Hellooo there lovely people!! I know it's been a long while since I posted (that's because life is pretty hectic rn) but I finally found some time to write (and procrastinate, but that's the usual lol). So what's new is that I've given you all some female rep, because I just realised that I haven't really written much female mc content. So I hope you all enjoyed reading this, and thank you for your support as always - means a lot<3

#hero x villain #villain x hero #female hero #female representation #soft villain #ldr love #texting #heroes and villains #fluff #a lot of it #sunflowers #deep thoughts #prose #my writing #writeblr #non binary rep as well #as usual #<3 #they <3 #also why did i even procrastinate so long on this #doesn't make make any sense now lol #thank you for 350+ followers <3

[0606-hyuck]

a letter to my lover | na jaemin

♡  dear y/n, i’m writing you this letter in the hopes that it gets to you well. our relationship has been tumultuous, that’s for sure, and i thought it was high time i wrote you a letter detailing all the times you said "i love you" that are important to me. 

genre: jaemin x reader, smut (only at the start), angst, R18 ONLY, supernatural!jaemin, incubus!jaemin

warnings: unprotected sex, toxic relationships, profanity, alcohol consumption, and mentions of drugs. jaemin is not a good person, and this is not a happy story.

disclaimer: this fic is in no way glorifying or romanticizing toxic behaviour/relationships. how jaemin is portrayed is not an accurate reflection of him as a person. readers must strictly be over 18 years old. please make your own judgement over whether or not this fic is right for you.

tagging: the lovely @roses-of-the-moon ♡ @mora134340 @ncteology + @nct-writers

word count: 2.3K

Y/N,

The first time you said “I love you”, you were moaning underneath me.

You were just a Tinder hookup, or so I told myself. If I wasn’t gambling, getting into fights, or partying until the sun rose, I was swiping away on that goddamn app, matching with as many individuals as possible. The night I met you was no different. Your Tinder profile was pretty standard - ‘hi I’m Y/N and I’m not looking for anything serious, apart from a good chat and laughs.’ We matched with each other, I sent off a quick ‘hi beautiful, I’m Jaemin’, and within a few messages you were already putty in my waiting hands. 

We met at a bar, and I really wasn’t expecting you to look the way you did. I checked your pictures, of course, but at this point I was basically fucking anything that walked, so I hadn’t paid too much attention to what you looked like. I wonder if you knew the outfit you had so nicely prepared would be off your body and lying on my floor in a mere hour.

I wined and dined you like the fine gentleman I am, and we made the decision to travel to my place for some fun adult time. This routine was so familiar to me - go on a Tinder date, spend a little bit of money on the date, bring my Tinder match back home, have some hot sex, feed of off their energy, and then kick them out. 

That night, I had myself positioned in between your legs, my hips rolling like the tides and causing you to let out an attractive whine of ecstasy. You wrapped your arms around the back of my neck and pulled me closer, threading your fingers through my hair, and whispered in my ear, “oh god, I love you.” I smirked and didn’t think much of it - if I wasn’t sleeping with someone and they didn’t confess their love for me then I was clearly doing something wrong. 

The words continued to spill from your mouth as we both reached our highs; your fingers dug into my neck and the pain transformed into pleasure as I came inside you. As your own orgasm rushed over you, I leant down to kiss your lips - instead I sucked as much energy from your body as possible without causing you to fall unconscious.

You see, I was an incubus, and in order to live I fed off the sexual energy of my partners. I spent hours each week scrolling through Tinder finding matches so I could continue to exist, but I was also young and keen, and having sex multiple times a week was fun for me. Partying, drinking, and having sex was just part of my lifestyle as an incubus. It was a common rule for incubi to avoid forming attachments to those we slept with, because monogamy doesn’t really fit in well with our lifestyle, and that was a rule I was trying to abide by when I kicked you out of my apartment just minutes after I had fed from you. 

If only I realised how hard that rule would be to follow when you were involved. 

The second time you said “I love you”, I said it back.

After we slept together, I broke my only rule: don’t get attached. You still had my number, and I had yours, and it became normal for us to meet up at night for a quick hookup. Whenever you had an argument with your partner-who-wasn’t-actually-your-partner, you’d call me. Whenever I felt the nagging effects of a lack of energy, I’d call you. 

It just made sense for us to be each other’s crutch, to use each other for our own selfish needs, to build a relationship around our mutual sexual frustrations. I didn’t become attached to you because I was fond of you. I became attached to you because I had this inherently primal desire to ruin you - to come through like a wrecking ball and destroy the life you had known before me.

Every Saturday I invited you to a local party a vague acquaintance of mine was hosting, so we could get drunk enough to have a quickie in a spare room and never speak of it again. Each Wednesday, we would go down to a local nightclub to do the exact same thing. I found myself ditching all my usual friends-with-benefits, and we fell into a daily routine we didn’t realise would be the end of us until it was too late: drink until we couldn’t walk, gamble until there was nothing left in our wallets, fuck until we physically couldn’t keep going, and repeat.

It was at one of these sex-filled parties that you told me you loved me for the second time. The penthouse belonged to a distant friend of mine, and we’d witnessed multiple hookups, drug deals, and fights before you pulled me out onto the balcony for some fresh air. We stood in silence together as we both watched the bright lights of the city spread into the distance and took in the sounds of a restless society. 

Our shoulders were only mere inches apart - a poignant symbol of our relationship, of how we were so close yet so far away from actually knowing anything about each other. You turned towards me, I remember seeing the lights of the city below us reflected in your eyes, and for a fleeting moment I regretted how our relationship had ended with us harbouring a coexisting love and hate for each other - an emotional ambivalence, never crossing the line either way, but teetering too precariously for us to ever have a healthy relationship.

When you smiled, told me you loved me, and delicately kissed my cheek, I didn’t hesitate to tell you I loved you back. It was a lie, of course. I knew it was a lie, and I think you knew it was a lie, too.

The third time you said “I love you”, you were crying so hard that I’m sure you couldn’t even see my face.

When I first met you, you said you were a university student, studying biology (or something like that; honestly, remembering your education was not my main priority at the time). You had a part time job, and you lived in a dorm rented by the university.

Were we born purely to destroy each other? It certainly felt like it.

By the time we were through with each other, you were functionally a university drop out. Attending all those drug-fueled parties with me became your life, and studying was placed on the backburner for me. You were skipping classes to chill out and have sex with me, and more than a few times I spied a letter from the university warning you of your inevitable expelliation. You’d been fired from your part time job almost as soon as I had fixed my claws into your life - clearly it wasn’t possible to hold a job if you never actually showed up. Because you had no job, and you were spending all your money on alcohol and gambling with me, you could no longer afford to live in the university dorm anymore.

My life was falling apart, too. Ever since we had met that day, I’d been hyper fixated on you. My mind was constantly filled with you, Y/N. Thoughts of when I’d see you next. Thoughts of which places I could take you to get absolutely shit-faced. Thoughts of how I could make you scream out in pleasure. Thoughts of how you were always on my mind, like a constant itch I could never quite scratch. Thoughts of how I could destroy you.

It was only when you told me you were on the verge of homelessness and begged me to let you stay with me that I finally realised our relationship was a huge problem for both of us. I loved you so much, Y/N, but our relationship was taking over my life. You made me break my one rule - not to get attached - and that angered me. It stimulated a desire in me to totally wreck you and your life. 

I didn’t know how to deal with the simultaneous feelings of love and hate for you that were that strong. I loved you so much, and the only way I could get you to stay with me is if I ruined every other aspect of your life - your education, your career, your financial security. You were sweet, Y/N, but you were naive, and vulnerable. It made it easy for me to envelope you into my toxic life, and then spit you out when I was finished with you.

Only, the way I was acting wasn’t a reflection of who I truly was. I’d never reacted this way to someone I’d been seeing before. When I realised just how toxic our relationship was, I knew I had to end it. Being around you made me want to destroy every part of you - to take your heart in my hand and squeeze until it shattered into a million pieces - and that wasn’t normal, nor was it okay. 

The day I sat you down and told you it was over, you started crying immediately. Of course you did, who could blame you? I was the only thing you had left in this harsh world, and now I was slipping from your grasp, too. It was only when you told me you loved me, through the bitter tears rolling down your cheeks, that my stoic mask broke. I knew you loved me, and I love you too, so much, but we just couldn’t go on like this. We couldn’t keep hurting each other this way.

So, when it was all said and done, we promised not to see each other ever again.

The last time you said “I love you”, we were twenty-two.

Turns out, you’re really good at keeping promises. I never saw you again, after the day we broke up. I held up my end of the bargain, too, but it was so hard. The temptation to message you, to crawl back into your life like a nasty leech was always there in the back of my mind. The idealization that your life had gone to pure shit since I’d left was also prominent, and the hopes that you’d message me saying how you couldn’t live without me were strong, but not reality.

We’re fifty now. 

In the past 28 years since we’d last seen each other, not a day went by where I didn’t think about you. As the years wore on, my hate towards you and the effects of our relationship slowly dissipated, and I was left with the empty feeling of regret. Yesterday, you were on the news. The biochemical company you worked with had just discovered a key component for the development of an important vaccine, and you’d been the one to speak with the press about it. When I saw your face, decorated with the fine lines of age, your hair showing sneaky signs of greying, I expected all the memories of us to come washing over me again. Instead, all I felt was remorse.

While your life was constantly on the upwards, mine had been spiralling down. After we’d broken up, I found it hard to find another lover to replace you. No one I slept with made me feel the same passion as you did - no one fueled that primal desire in me the way you did. I still had sex because I needed to in order to live, feeding off of the energy of others was what kept me alive, but it became more of a chore than anything. I was alive, but I wasn’t living. I was just existing. I am still just existing, twenty-eight years on.

When I think about you, Y/N, I think about what we could have been. What would have happened if we loved each other? Not loved the feeling of destroying each other, but of truly caring for one another? Would we have been happy together? I searched your name on the internet, and your wikipedia says you are contentedly married. Says you have been for well over eighteen years. I hope your partner loves you. I hope they treat you better than I did. I hope you’re happy with them.

I don’t think that our love story could have ended any other way. We were both too young, too vulnerable, and too obsessed with each other to ever have a happy ending together. I wish I could tell you how much I miss you, but I made a promise to you to not see you again, which I guess is why I’m writing this letter instead. To tell the paper all the things I will never get to say to you. To finally put it out there that if I had the chance to go back and forget you, to never meet you, I would. I wish nothing more than to go back to living a life where I had never loved you.

When I broke up with you, I wanted you to be happy. I knew I wouldn’t like it, but I knew in order to see you content again, I’d have to go. I left, you became happy and found the love of your life, and I will have to live with the regrets of my past actions for the rest of my miserable life.

I really hope you’re as happy as you seem.

Jaemin

© 0606-hyuck 2021. All Rights Reserved.

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct-writers #dreamwritersnet #nct #nct dream #nct jaemin #jaemin nct #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin imagine #jaemin scenario #jaemin nct dream #supernatural nct

[herstarburststories]

He didn’t make it to 42

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: it’s Dean’s birthday, you go to visit him with some news and things that need to be said.

A/N: Happy bday, De.

Warnings: so much angst, mentions of sex, hopeful/happy ending (?)

Dean’s dead. It’s Dean’s birthday and he’s dead. You can’t argue much.

Sam denied the demon blood inside him, and that didn’t stop its evil nature from growing and gasping for his fresh air to the point he was almost shocked alive. Dean denied his dad’s destructive methods’ results for the longest time, and that didn’t stop the cicatrixes in every emotion he had ever shown. You denied the absence of Dean and that didn’t stop the bricks cracking in your soul. There’s only so far you can go with your eyes closed.

So here you are. Standing in front of an empty grave. You are bigger than the dull tombstone, yet you can’t help but not to feel tall, at all. How can you even start to talk? Talking to Dean used to be easy even when it got hard and now you’re feeling like a lost kid in a supermarket. Your snide thinking spells out his name with venom, saying it isn’t easy for you to open your barmy mouth and spill out contrarian shit because this isn’t Dean, just another meaningless symbolism that Sam promises that will help. The real Dean died almost a year ago, he was burned in a hunter’s funeral, the flames dancing over his body as the smell of burnt meat invaded your nostrils. Whenever you try to remember his fragrance, that manly aroma which you loved to scent each morning, all your brain can come up with is the odor of his skin and guts burning. The smell lingers like bad perfume, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash yourself with his soap-- that only broke your heart worse.

But today is Dean’s birthday. He deserves a visit, even if it’s not him. Then you go and attempt to deal with the desolation, push it away just a little, and pick up something from the enormous pile of things you wish to tell Dean. You glance at the cold tombstone: Dean Winchester. 1979 - 2020. Beloved son, big brother, and husband. Hunter. A hero. Simple definitions that can never make it up for who he was and what he meant. You purse your lips and cough a little, a gentle wind touches your cheek so tenderly. If you were still a believer, you’d think this is some sort of sign, Dean’s presence or some other pious hoax. All you do now is to remain in quietude, a deep breath. Ultimately, your voice comes:

‘’You didn’t make it to forty two, huh?’’ You scoff humorless, reminiscing to the multiple days that Dean said he wouldn’t go past 35. He did live each year like it was the last--- you aren’t sure if it's such a good thing. If you carry on like your days are outnumbered, you are silently entertaining yourself until death's knock on your door. ‘’I always hated when you were right. Let’s be honest, you had the words of a pessimist and the wants of an optimist. Still, if you were to be right about something, it would be about a bad situation. A nest with too many vampires, how crappy the motel’s bedroom would be, or how that third glass of wine would make me tipsy. So yeah, I always hated when you were right. And look at you now! You aren’t right, you aren’t wrong. You are dead! And I’m the crazy girl screaming at an empty tombstone.’’

You let out a laugh empty of joy. That’s how a hunter’s life is: you die and people stop talking about you because it’s too sad or too long gone to hold any pity, meanwhile the ones who recall about you go loud with all the spirits in their heads. You put your hand in the pockets of the heavy leather jacket that once belonged to a green eyed man who would be turning 42 today, some strange force causing you to speak again.

‘’Wow.’’ You shake your head to the blue way you paint the scene until you notice that you never greeted him. ‘’Hey.’’ The simple word adds a comical insult to injury. ‘’Guess the dead don’t care about manners, huh?’’ You arch your eyebrows with a grin that demonstrates anything but happiness. ‘’Miracle died. Sam digged a hole next to the bunker and buried him there. He isn’t the same since you died, you know? Not the deceased dog-- Well, he wasn’t the same either. Always whining and scratching your door like a fucking cat, and sniffing your old boots. He made me company in your bed and I whined as much as he did when you didn’t come back home that day. He stood by the door most days, waiting for you to appear. I can’t judge him, I did the same.’’ You shrug, not caring about how risible that confession may look. It's true. You became as irrational as a loyal dog at some point in this sorrow. ‘’And Sam, your baby brother… I think he died with you right there, Dean. He didn’t try to bring you back as he promised, but I shouted and screamed so much. I said I would burn the bunker and throw Baby over a cliff if he didn’t-- if he didn’t let me try. I lived up to the mad woman title.’’

You are crestfallen, pacing on top of where the eldest Winchester - Sam’s brand new nomination -  supposedly was buried. You know your boots barely touch an infected land, there's no deceased man under your steps. The dead thing is in you.

‘’I spent days dragging your body everywhere and nowhere, anywhere I could catch a crumb of relief in hope to bring you back. But I couldn’t. Jack could, but that ungrateful idiot doesn’t wanna follow his grandpa steps and get too attached to mere humans, the creation or whatever. As if we are just some skin and bone to him, as if you are just another human.’’

You sit down on the tombstone, some tender solace in being close to a thing that's supposed to represent him, like sleeping hugged to a pillow or waking up to a photograph of his. Your nails sink against the gelid concrete at the thought of screaming into the sky for the new God that seemed as deaf as the last one. His calm answer to your burning pain. How he dared to tell you he knew what he was doing— as if he was the original lord and not a three years old. You can't make him do it, so you hold on the fury of some overthrown nation.

‘’Anyway, I couldn’t bring you back. Your body, well, you know how human anatomy works. Your body started to smell like death. We tried to stop with human and magic ways, and it wouldn’t work because you were dead. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when we got you in that fancy hospital tha night. I think we traumatized the doctor with so much violence and trauma. She didn’t even give us a false hope or anything, you know? She just asked about organ donation of what was left. She just wanted to take every little thing out of you, as if you were just another accident on a Tuesday night.’’ Your shake your head as the memories and your points start to mix, it's hard to discern things and keep a straight line when you have an open wound in your insides. ‘’Well, they couldn’t bring you back to life, and neither could Rowena or whatever I looked for. Don’t be mad because I tried, Winchester. You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I had to try.’’ you refuse to apologize, yet adds the playful words in his eulogy. ‘’But then your body started to stink and God, how could I continue to be so violent to your corpse? That was when I decided to listen to you for the first time and to Sam, so I let you go. I hate you for asking that.’’ What an ambiguous, contradictory truth to bare. You are glimpses of a person for months because of Dean Winchester, still have the energy to argue his selfless logic, just to love him even more. He's got your devotion, but man you can hate him sometimes. ‘’I hate you for going on that stupid hunt. I hate you for being dead, you giant idiot that I love so much.’’ You can't bring your mouth to say loved. "I was always telling you to let the past go and now I’m in love with a dead thing. What a comic way to end our history. I told you that Miracle died, right? I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I hope he’s in there with you. I wonder what your heaven is like. I bet it has Whiskey.''

Your dry chuckle makes your notice the tears in your eyes, glistening your orbs as they go like a waterfall to be absorbed by the thirsty land after leaving your cheeks.

"Sam and I-- We tried to make some sense out of this cruelty, but we can’t. You are dead and I can’t seem to put it past me. I still sleep in your bed, and I can still taste your body burning on the roof of my mouth in the quiet nights. I cried this morning because someone asked for a burger, can you believe that? It was so stupid since I used to shake my head and argue with you about cholesterol. Suddenly I was crying at lunch in a restaurant because some stupid kid asked for a burger with extra bacon. They sang Happy birthday to this dumbass child, and I interrupted with my awful crying, and wished that you were celebrating your birthday and not that kid. I guess you could say I wish death upon an innocent child with a problematic eating routine.’’ That was a whole new level of low, as if you are the one wrapped with the sentiment of laying six feet under.

‘’Everyone tells you about how grief is singular and particular with similar emotions that bring people who went through this together. They even have that crap stages thing and all that. You know what they don’t tell you?’’ Your mouth shuts for a moment, like you are waiting some response. You nod as if whatever you were expecting is handed to you. ‘’Grief can be fucking ridiculous. Who cries because of a burger full of oil and cardiac diseases? Who cries because they found a grocery store recipe under her dead boyfriend’s bed? Who falls on the ground screaming in the middle of the mall because they saw a flannel? Who? Those things are so stupid.’’ You smile like there's no tomorrow and the laugh leaving your lips is a treacherous tone. Perhaps you just aren't build up to express joy anymore. ‘’You see it in the movies and in the books and you think, you know, you think to yourself that grieving is being sad on special dates and randomly remembering the loved ones because of some screaming memory, like a flannel or their perfume. Thing is, it’s not just that. All your body seems so small, so tight for all the ache and agony inside it. Your senses go wild, you are not just one person in one place. You’re just the pain everywhere, like being pulled apart and you beg to jump in the fucking grave with them. At least you would be together, at least you would feel like one person and not suffering edges of a broken earthy thing. And--And you start remembering things you didn’t even know you had mesmerized. I look at the ceiling and remember you saying you’d paint it someday. I look at the kitchen and remember me screaming at you for giving Miracle the rest of the food. I smell Sam’s clothes and started crying because hey, they don’t smell like alcohol. You don’t iron them while drinking anymore, so of course they don’t smell like cheap beer.’’ You are chuckling through the tears and it only makes it more monstrous. ‘’Everything is you now that you are gone. Every man has something similar to you, every garden is green as your eyes, and each step sounds like you are coming home. They didn’t prepare me, not for this.’’ You said breathless. A soft single follows. The knife cuts both ways; the empty breeze and the words hurt. Where's the middle term? Where's the limbo? Where's the only safe place for you to rest your weary head?

Out of nowhere, you blurt out, ‘’I can’t masturbate,’’ I know it’s something stupid and even selfish to say, but I think you’d like to know. I can’t masturbate. That’s a part of the whole losing someone process that people are too ashamed to discuss, or maybe they don’t have the urge to be touched anymore because after someone you love dies, after someone-- the hands who touched are dead and cold, you become a haunted object. That’s how I feel most days, like I’m a haunted house because you touched me and now you’re dead and some days I believe I am too.’’ You look around the places. It's beautiful. It's lonely. It has trees and flowers and green. Not as green as Dean's eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't even have eyes at this point. ‘’Well, I can’t masturbate. I can’t touch myself. And I can’t ask someone else either. I tried and ended up punching the guy, Dean. I swear. I panicked when he was between my legs and just punched his nose. You’d have liked it, you were always the jealous kind. I won’t admit that, but I thought it was kinda hot. Especially when you got possessive in sex.’’ A dirty grin appeared on your lips, the echoes of luxury lasting in your eyes for a brief moment. ‘’I don’t think I can be cared for anymore, honestly. Sam tried to hug me when Miracle died and I… It was like I wasn't there. I got frozen in time, and I live in my sleep. In my nightmares you are alive. I  dream about the day you died every week and I used to wake up screaming, but now those nightmares are the only proof you were alive now that you’re as dead as the police report says this time. It was the most painful, calamitous moment for you and I swear it was a nightmare for me, but then I realized that at least I had you there, egoistical or not, I made my nightmare into a dream.’’ You aren't sure which opinion Dean would have on that. Would he understand? Would he shake his head? You wish you can ask him just this one more thing, just beg him to write it down for you on how to be without him here.

You raise on your feet, glaring at the name craved in the concrete. The tears go by still, although they're as usual as the blood in glir veins at this point. ‘’Death is so silly. What it takes, anyway?" Each word conquers more inches of pure wrath. ''People die because they stumbled on their own feet and hit their head somewhere, or they drove their car too close and too fast to the cliff, or because they were giving birth, or because they dated the wrong person, or because they were hunting a fucking vampire and got impaled. What are the chances? How stupid, and idiotic is death? Always creeping and waiting to bite and chew a piece of you-- Taking every scrap of you from me like that’s its right.’’ You are screaming, starting to kick and punch the tombstone with any piece of straight you have. Your limbs hurt and the blood is visible, but you keep going. ‘’YOUR STUPID DOG DIED, DEAN! AND YOU DIED! AND I DIED! SAMMY DIED! YEAH, IS SAID SAMMY! GO AHEAD, TELL ME ONLY YOU CAN CALL HIM THAT.’’ Another punch, your knuckles are ripped. Another kick, your boot as a hole. ‘’DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.’’ Kick. ‘’SAMMY, SAMMY, SAMMY!’’ A punch to each name. Anything to get a reaction, to get comfort. Anything. ‘’YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.’’ Gasping for something you don't need anymore, sweet oxygen, your eyes are on the tombstone again. And the definitions. And the trees. Your body is sore and aching. It is the kind and coercion no person wants which you needed; the freedom of feeling outside the exact pain that was inside. ‘’You can’t because you are dead. I’ve been playing some sick games in my mind, you know? Sam stopped hunting and had his closure. He was always better at letting go than you and I, but he’s still hurting. I never saw him hurting so much. I think he knows you won’t come back this time, how could you make us promise something like that?  Well, my twisted game is a bunch of misleading what ifs. What if you hadn’t gone after John? What if you hadn’t gone on that last hunt? What if you had stayed with Lisa? At first I didn’t like her much. Jealous, I admit that. But she grew on me. She gave you something I couldn’t back then and I’ll always be thankful for that. And even though it would rip me apart, I’d rather you to die at sixth after living your suburban dream with her. Have another kid besides Ben, maybe a girl this time, and just have that apple pie life. You and Sam would live close and your kids would always play. They’d be as close as brothers. Maybe I’d get a guy and bring my own kids and we could’ve a barbecue and everyone would be happy. But we don’t get soft epilogues here. It ends how it starts, right? Bloody and desperate. I thought maybe, maybe Lisa could understand what’s going through my head now. I drove to her new address and parked close to her house. I must have spent hours there, thinking if I should come in or not, If she somehow remembered after Castiel died or if I could make her brain work again if I told her the truth. But then I just drove back home and fell asleep wrapped in that stupid lumberjack flannel of yours. The one I always mocked, yeah? She may understand me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. You want her, you want me and Sam to be happy. I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. It’s like myt brittle soul shrewd and my body is just waiting to collapse.’’ You signed, overwhelmed by the battle without an anthem. The victory with no triumph. Is it still a win when you don't have someone to come home too? ‘’Your dog died, it’s the first birthday you didn’t live to see, and I bought all the things you told Mrs Butters you wanted for your birthday because it’s your birthday. I just don’t know how to celebrate it with you dead. People stop counting after they die, right? They just say he’d have been 42 or he died at 41. They give melancholy smiles when they wake up and check the day on their phones and a woe atmosphere swallows them for the rest of the day. Then they get better the next day. I think everyday is your birthday.’’ You attempt to wipe away your tears, which only causes your pulsating hand to stain your face red. ‘’Dean, for the first time, what died stayed dead! Congrats.’’ Once again, a hysterical laugh. ‘’I wish but no. What died didn’t stay dead, you are alive, so alive in my head. I swear you are there some days. I wake and watch the door, so sure you’ll come back. Sam says I’m living in delusion and I have to wake up and keep going since that's what you would want. That's enough to make him keep going, but it only makes me angry. Everyone we know and some strangers looks at me like I'm a house on fire and no longer a warm home, like I'm a car accident. They think I don't notice but I do.’’ You look at your boots, the whole is rolling out blood like your hands. You feel closer to Dean. How sick.

‘’Help, I’m still right where you left me." You plea, his love lingering like a bruise. ''I think gravity is overwhelming and it keeps me here. Sometimes it’s like I’m one of those dusted books Sam used to read. Or those Bukowski ones that you hid, so we wouldn’t see how smart you’re. You tried so hard to hide your intelligence because you didn’t think you were entitled to it. You saw yourself as the protector and never the valuable one for protection. You, the man who made an EMF out of an old radio, who rebuilt the Impala from the ground multiple times, and who knew patterns better than any detective. The man who showed me I could rely on someone other than myself. The dude with a lopsided grin, tough hands and a heart of gold. I miss you so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing all those classic rock songs and Taylor Swift pop hits, while I drove here. I would think you were home, smelling like guts because you wanted to eat before taking a shower after a hunt. I would think that you are in the Deancave, waiting for me to curl up on your lap to watch Scooby Doo or Doctor Sexy MD until we aren’t watching anymore. If I didn’t know better I would think no death could take you from me. There would be no tear us apart in our vows.’’ The only thing that keeps your organism working is that Dean died knowing how much you loved him. You never let this talk for later or never. No tomorrow is promised. That's a nice comfort, maybe that's what will help you to let go in the future. ‘’But yesterday your stupid, skink dog died and I lost the last living thing that I had from you. You know what’s more angerting? I cried and Sam cried and I noticed we were the living things you left behind and all we have is each other. All your closets of backlogged dreams were left for us-- so yeah. Sam is done hunting and he’s met a lovely girl, and they are moving in like in your domestic dreams. I’m taking care of the family business like your other contradictory dream and making sure Sam is safe enough to be normal. Because I have to, we have too. Stupidly enough, I still wait for the day you’ll burst out the door and tell us to hit the road again. I still watch every episode of your dumb tv shows to make sure I’ll know everything that happened when you ask. I still drive around in your car and close my eyes when the street is calm, only picturing you driving as Baby’s engineers go wild but those are my hands on the steering wheel. If I didn't know better, I’d think you are still around. But I know better. I still feel you all around. I love you.’’

Your monologuing ends as astutely as it stated. You get up, press a kiss to your ruined for the next weeks hands and place it on the rock with writings. You turn around and walk back to the car that you parked near, only in case of Dean wanting to see Baby. How knows? You and your clandestine faith. You lick your lip and get in the car.

You swear you the AC/DC cassette wasn't there before, but when you turn on the car and the radio it starts playing. It's the first true smile that comes to your mouth, it's bloodstained and you look like a shameless woman. With that you can deal.

It hurts a bearable hurt for now. You didn't think it was possible. Maybe someday.

The end.

(she takes a little longer to arive in heaven than sammy. his baby brother says that women are most likely to live around six years more than men. it doesn't ease him up, though. dean waited sam for too long, his platonic soulmate. and now he has to wait his romantic one too? the eldest Winchester considers it the best earthly present when the he sense you around, that smell of orange and apples. it's you, he knows before even turning around. he can't wait to love you again. your name rolls off your tongue so naturally, as if you had seen each other just yesterday: ‘’hey, y/n.’’)

But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?

REBLOG AND COMMENT. Feedback is magic and helps me!

Starburst's footnote: It just didn't feel right to make an author's note on the top. I wanted it all only to be an arrow to the story. So, this is my side note: it's six am and I'm up writing this after inspiration kissed me with a bruise in the middle of the night. Or more like grabbed my throat. Anyway, I had to write and finish this one to post today, even pushing sleep aside. Hey, we are writers, that's what we do! I've been watching the show since I was eleven and I cried like a baby with the finale. This series was just so important and crucial to molde aspects of relationships for me. The song marjorie by Taylor Swift was used here, and so was the line "you got my devotion/ but man, I can hate you sometimes" by Harry Styles. I told you guys I would use it somewhere! A special thanks to @msmarvelouswinchester​ who helped me with her encouraging and opinon. You are the best! And with all of this I wanna say: Happy bday, Dean Winchester!

REBLOG AND COMMENT! Feedback is magic! Especially about this fic, I’d like to know your opinion. Tags in the reblog! Send an ask or dm to get in the taglist.

#dean winchester #dean's birthday #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester's birthday #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagines #spn reader insert #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagines

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption

Word Count: 14,600+

A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence. 

~

MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm     

     “He did what?”     

Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.      

“He took a bullet for someone.”     

“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”     

Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”      

“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.      

“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”     

Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.      

“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.      

“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.     

Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”    

“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”    

Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”     

Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”    

Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”     

They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”    

Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”    

“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”    

Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”     

Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.      

“You sure your blood matches?”     

You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.      

In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.     

He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....   

He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn. 

Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm

     There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?

You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.

“You just... jumped out of the car?”

Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.

“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”

He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”

That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”

“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”

He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.

It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.

You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.

“Tengo preguntas!”

You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”

“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”

“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.

“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”

“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”

“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”

He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”

“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”

“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”

“Oh?”

“What are they like?”

Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”

“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But I would like to meet them, too.”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.

“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”

“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”

You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”

Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”

“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”

“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”

Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy. 

“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”

Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”

Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”

Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”

Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”

“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”

Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”

Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”

There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”

“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.

“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”

“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”

Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.

“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”

Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”

“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.

Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”

You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.

Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”

“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”

     The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.

The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes. 

They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.

Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get. 

One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years. 

      Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down. 

The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with. 

She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight. 

The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier. 

Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.

He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too. 

“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”

She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”

He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”

“Shouldn’t we get-”

“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”

This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both. 

The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.     

Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them. 

      It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.   

It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you. 

     You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.

You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust. 

He really did die.

As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?

A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore. 

You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.

“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”

You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”

Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”

“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”

“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”

“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”

Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But everyone-”

“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.

“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?

     The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again. 

The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t. 

‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’ 

‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.

‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’

His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good. 

“Had a visitor.”

You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”

“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway. 

You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass. 

“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”

You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start. 

Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”

“Hydra controlled drug routes?”

“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”

You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”

Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”

“Who was your visitor?”

“Maribel.”

“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”

“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”

“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”

“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”

You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”

“The soldier ever rarely lost.”

Your face contorts. “Bucky…”

“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”

The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly. 

“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”

The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange. 

“Are you saying-?”

“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”

Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”

There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”

Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them.  The American was a doctor, after all.”

“A doctor,” you whisper. 

“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”

“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”

Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry. 

You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”

He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”

The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”

Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”

The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”

Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”

      The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys. 

Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds. 

You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did. 

Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”

“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.  

“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.

“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”

“Means slutty.”

He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”

You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh. 

“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”

He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”

“You know that’s not our call.”

“Still.”

You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”

“Lovers?”

“Lovers.”    

He laughs out loud and goes to sit up.  “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”

Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”

He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”

You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”

“Nope. I always refused.”

You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”

“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”

You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”

Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”

“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”

His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”

“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!” 

He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”

“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder. 

“That narrows it down, thanks.”

You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”

“What’s that?”

You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”

His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”

“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.

       “Nat… Natasha.”

Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter. 

“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”

Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”

“You would think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles. 

Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets. 

Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle. 

“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”

Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”

“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”

“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”

“But you’ll be here.”

Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”

His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”

“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“Say it. You’ve found six.”

His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”

“Excuses.”

“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”

Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”

Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”

Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”

Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”

“So, I win regardless?”

She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”

They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected. 

‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’

‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’

‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’

‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’

Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.

‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’

She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week. 

‘The story of my life! I take her home, 

I drive all night to keep her warm and time, 

Is frozen!

The story of my life, I give her hope, 

I spend her love until she’s broke inside!

The story of my life.’

She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.

‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die!”’

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?

     “You wanna come?”

“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious. 

Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”

Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”

It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.

“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”

Steve picks up another pillow.

       Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party. 

Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does. 

As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head. 

       Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.

Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.  

“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick. 

“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of. 

“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”

You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”

She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.”  You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”

Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”

She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”

“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”

“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”

“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”     

      You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.

Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired. 

He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare. 

The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky. 

Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating. 

As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no. 

Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.

      “You really are a phenomenal actor.”

Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you. 

“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”

He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”

Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”

His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”

You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”

Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”

“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”

“The second time, maybe”

Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”

His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”

“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. 

He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”

A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”

“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”

“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”

“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.

You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”

He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”

“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance. 

Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”

He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”

You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”

“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”

His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”

It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.

You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”

Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it. 

You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider. 

“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”

Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”

You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress. 

A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though. 

Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar. 

When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion. 

“Kind of you to show up!” 

Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right. 

You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season. 

He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it. 

You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank. 

Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore. 

Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw. 

“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you. 

“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”

You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”

A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you. 

“I’ve been shot!”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”

“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”

“Dramatic.”

“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.

“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”

“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”

“Sam.”

Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn. 

“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”

There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you. 

“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be. 

“Okay.”

Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you. 

The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor. 

The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds. 

He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs. 

     The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.

There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference. 

You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last. 

Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda. 

No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart. 

“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”

“Seda-”

“Put the fucking gun down!” 

Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed. 

The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.

“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”

Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”

“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”

“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”

“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”

The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”

Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.

Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”

“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”

“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”

“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”

Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either. 

It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’. 

“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”

“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest. 

“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”

You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up. 

“Dejalo.”

You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae. 

“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup. 

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck. 

“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart. 

“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip. 

“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez. 

“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”

“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise. 

“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”

He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”

The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”

“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”

You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”

“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”

All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake. 

“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”

He aims the gun at you and fires. 

Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows. 

The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter. 

“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”

You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk.  “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”

“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”

There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”

Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”

“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”

“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”

“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic. 

It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar.  “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”

“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.

“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”

“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip. 

“Captain.”

Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”

“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”

“Have they shut down the border?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“

Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”

You sigh, “Seda was right.”

Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”

Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”

“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.

“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”

Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”

“I don’t know.”

Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”

There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.  

“Doll, what are you thinking?”

He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”

Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”

“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”

“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”

Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”

“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance. 

“I can’t just go.”

“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” you confirm.

He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”

You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”

Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him. 

“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”

Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”

You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”

It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier. 

“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”

Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”

He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”

You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”

“I had this coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”

He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”

“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”

“This will kill us both.”

“But it will give us a head start.”

“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”

“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut.  “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”

“Que hago con esto?”

“No me llamas. But let me find this.”

He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”

Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.” 

You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”

It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”

     The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him. 

Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.

“Where’d Ramirez go?”

If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”

He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”

“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back.  “We should go.”

There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet.  “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”

“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”

The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.

“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”

You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”

If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half.  To protect and be protected. 

“Let’s go.”

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

#steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers x reader #reader x avengers #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #to topple #a giant #by Moni #captainsimagines #mob fanfic #trigger warnings listed #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #mini-series #part eight #chapter eight #marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist

[taetaespeaches]

“The strings are attached already.”

namjoon x reader (or oc) genre: angst word count: 1.8K

a/n: Alright lovelies, all of Daisy’s contradicting actions and words has resulted in a frustrated Joon and it all comes to a head here. Poor babies :( this takes place about a week after Daisy meets the members. Thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoy! :)) 

NO matter how many times you told yourself you had to start putting distance between yourself and Namjoon, you always ended up back in his apartment. In his bed. Curled up against his warm frame, his strong arms wrapped around you as he held you close.

His snoring filled the room, comically mixing with your heavy thoughts. Namjoon was in this with you. Passionately, wholeheartedly.

How long could you keep doing this to him? You couldn’t keep stringing him along. It wasn’t fair to him. The sun was usually peeking through the window at that time of morning, casting his exposed chest in a warm glow. However, that morning, the sun was hidden behind an overcast sky.

Observing the rise and fall of his chest that corresponded with the obnoxious snores that you found to be adorable, you felt your tired eyes prick with tears. I can’t do this anymore.

Sitting up, as gently as you could as to not disturb him, your eyes pointed toward his still sleeping frame resting against the mattress. Your gaze dragged over his toned but perfectly soft midriff, his strong frame, those shoulders that would carry the weight of all your problems if you let them, and his heck that provided the perfect fit for your face. Appreciating his facial features, you painted them to memory, not wanting to ever forget a single detail. You didn’t want to forget a single aspect of Namjoon.  

The alarm clock sounded suddenly, startling you as you looked toward his phone, watching as his hand blindly felt around for the device. Taking a deep breath to calm your emotions, Namjoon’s eyes fluttered open at the absence of your body pressed to his. When his puffy eyes met your own orbs, you quickly averted your gaze to the opposite side of the room, wiping the side of your face to rid your cheeks of the tears that had unknowingly fallen.

Observant as ever, Namjoon quickly sat up, placing a hand to your back as he tried to peer at your face. “What’s wrong?”

Me. Pushing the blankets off your legs, you shook your head. “Nothing, Joon,” you dismissed as you stood from the bed, quickly retrieving some clothes as Namjoon watched you in concern.

“Why are you crying?” He pressed. “What are you doing?” There was an edge of panic in his tone. The mood was off and he could sense it. And the tone in his voice furthered your belief that you needed to stop this. The man was living in constant uncertainty. It sounded as though he had been waiting for the phone call you didn’t answer, or the morning you got out of his bed and left, never coming back.

The truth was, you didn’t really intend not to return again. You knew you couldn’t stay away. You just knew something had to change. Maybe you needed to implement distance between the two of you so the extra feelings cold subside. These fucking feelings. They were real, and they were strong and sincere.

“It’s nothing,” you tried to assure him through your shaky voice. “I just need to head out, I have errands.”

“Ok, well, let me get ready real quick, I’ll walk you out,” he told you, rising from the bed as he watched you intently.

“No,” you shook your head as he pulled on some underwear, “that’s ok, you take your time.” Silently, he observed you as you hooked your bra, your back to him. He continued watching as you slid your jeans on, your head scanning the room. “Do you know where my shirt is?” You asked, turning around to face him, his expression nervous and worried.

“Uh,” he slowly realized he was staring at you. “I’m not sure,” he said as he glanced around the room. “You can wear one of mine.” The suggestion was sweet and you wanted nothing more than to accept the offer, but you couldn’t.

“That doesn’t change the fact that my shirt is missing somewhere in this room,” you pointed out, trying to avoid having to wrap your body in his scent because you knew you’d like that far too much.

Nodding slowly, he looked from the floor to his dresser and finally to you. “Right, well, if you would use the drawer I offered you then you could wear your own clothing until we find the missing shirt,” he told you, a bitter sadness finding its way into the words.

Staring at him, you choked back the sob that threatened to slip from your throat, blinking quickly to hold back any tears. You knew this frustration was within him, it was only a matter of time before it came out. Every bit of anger he threw your way was deserved, and you could take it. What you couldn’t handle was the sadness that was apparent in those same handsome features you studied so intentionally only a few minutes earlier.

That fucking drawer. The empty space serving as another symbol of your failure to commit. “Or we could just find my shirt,” you said quietly, though neither of you made a move to find the shirt or retrieve a new one.

Standing in his boxers, Namjoon ran a hand through his slept-on hair. “Why are you really leaving so early?” He was reaching a breaking point.

“I have things I need to get done,” you lied in defense, only to be met with a skeptical look.

“At 7 am?” He questioned, you sighing with a shrug. “Come on,” he threw his hands up before letting them hang down on his legs.

“What do you want me to say?” You asked him

“How about the truth?” He suggested in frustration. The truth. It was simple enough. I’m scared and I’m tired of hurting you.

Breaking eye contact with the man, you looked around the room again. “Where the fuck is my shirt?”

“Are you serious right now?” He asked in anger.

“What?” You asked dumbly.

“Why do you need to find the shirt right this second, are you not planning on coming back?” He asked, the man jutting his jaw out as his adam’s apple bobbed against his neck.

Holding back your own tears at the sight of him you exhaled slowly, the breath shaky as your bottom lip quivered. “I am,” you whispered.

“I need to know what’s happening,” he told you firmly, causing you to shrug at him. “God, you confuse me,” he admitted for the first time, your guilt stabbing your heart at the way his pain laced his tone. “And I like you so fucking much, but falling for you hurts because I don’t know if you’re with me in this.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible before you cleared your throat. “I didn’t plan on all of this,” you gestured between the both of you.

“I didn’t plan on this either but it’s happened, it’s- it’s happening,” he pointed out to you. “And I don’t want to let you go.” At his admission, his voice cracked just slightly, causing a sob to leave your lips.

“You don’t have to let me go,” you defended through your forming tears. “Why can’t we just do this without strings attached?”

“The strings are attached already,” he told you bluntly. “They have been from the start.” You knew he was right, but why was it still so hard for you to accept?

“I-” You shook your head, not sure what to say because you knew any negation of strings or feelings would be a lie, and he’d see through it immediately.

“Stop hiding behind this shield of feigned indifference,” he told you. “I know you care. We do all the things the other guys do with their girlfriends. You visit me in the studio, you sleep over, we’ve gone on dates, we text all day, you’re the first person I want to tell about my day-”

“Why does all of this matter?” You asked, fully aware of the idiocy you were putting on display.

“Well, what’s wrong with m- why won’t you let me call you mine?” The question had a sense of desperation to it. As if he trying to figure out what was holding you back from something that he knew would make him happy and believed would make you happy as well.

“Why does a label matter so much?” You asked the man, staring into his wide eyes from across the bed.

“I don’t know,” he said with a defeated shrug. “It just does. Or maybe it doesn’t, I don’t fucking know.”

“We have a good thing going, why ruin it?” You asked, Namjoon breaking eye contact with you as he directed his gaze toward the floor. You watched him carefully as he nodded to himself, walking to his closet to pull out a shirt.

With a sigh, you sat on the edge of the bed, your hand neatly tucked against your thighs as he got dressed for his day.

“Ruin?” He suddenly spoke, breaking the tense silence. “Being my girlfriend would ruin things?”

Shaking your head, you felt the tears gathering along your bottom lash line. “That’s not what I meant,” you breathed out shakily.

“I don’t know why a label matters,” he admitted honestly. “I just know that I like you a lot and I want only you, and I want to be together, and sometimes I think you want that too,” he paused for a moment, looking into the closet to avoid your gaze. “But you give me so many mixed signals and I’m confused and I’m tired of you holding yourself back from me,” he finished.

“Joon,” you spoke, not sure what to say. Your inner supposed logic reminding you that you’d just lose him eventually was conflicting with your heart, which was urging you to get up and wrap your arms around him and tell him how badly you wanted him too.

Fully dressed, he turned to look at you, eyes glistening as he shamelessly bared his emotions to you. He was showing you himself. Unfiltered and true.

And it was seeing the visible effects of his frustration and disappointment that pushed you over that edge that you’d been balancing on for the past couple months. You had to stop doing this to him.

Approaching you, he held out one of his t-shirts for you. “I like you. And I think I could love you,” he told you, and when you didn’t take the shirt, he set it on the bed next to you. “If you would just let me.”

Turning his back on you, he made his way to the bedroom door. “I have to get to work,” he said without looking at you. “If you want to do this with me, then please,” he started, his voice breaking, causing you to flinch as you stood, nearly taking a step toward him but freezing in place. “Please just- be here when I get back.”

As he moved through the door frame, he stalled, looking back at you to see you standing defeated in nothing but your jeans and a bra. “Stop lying to yourself.” And with that, he left the room, his footsteps leading him all the way to the front door where he left without another word.

#namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x oc #namjoon angst #namjoon drabble #namjoon drabbles #namjoon fic #namjoon fics #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfics #namjoon imagines #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenario #namjoon scenarios #namjoon oneshot #namjoon oneshots #rm #rm x reader #rm x oc #rm angst #rm drabbles #rm fics #rm fanfic #rm imagine #rm scenario #rm oneshot #bts #bts namjoon #bts rm #bts x reader

[musashi]

Give us the jessie bpd rant

JESSIE TEAMROCKET HAS BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER: A POST

[Paraphrased behaviours. I’m not a psychologist I just read the DSM-5 for fun. This is not a diagnostic tool, but if you identify with this post maybe look into some actual ones and learn some fun stuff about yourself.]

Identity problems, an unstable sense of self.

Jessie describes herself as adaptable, someone who can fit in anywhere, and this is indeed one of her strengths! She doesn’t let a lack of experience or qualifications discourage her because she believes that she can shift and change to suit her environment, and she’s right!

It’s also a major weakness of hers, though. Jessie in her element (when she’s her true self) is loud, confident, assertive, and bold. However, whenever she 'imprints’ on someone she throws her true personality aside entirely--buries it under the facade of someone who is malleable, softspoken, easy to be around, does whatever they can to make the person they love choose them. This trait of hers, and how it’s a fault, is a MAJOR plot point in XY063.

there’s a scene early on in this episode where she’s partially paralyzed from a stun spore, and Dr. White, the man who saved her from drowning, feeds her a berry to fix it. She poses triumphantly with her arms in the air and shouts ‘THAT DID THE TRICK!’ then realizes she’s being too loud around an attractive man and immediately throws her hands over her mouth, trying to stop more words from coming. It’s an incredibly effective way of showing how contradictory Jessie is when she imprints on someone. The Jessie we know would never even think of second guessing how much room she takes up in the world. 

In this episode, Jessie has feelings for Dr. White, and she completely buries her personality to make herself a silent, sweet, softspoken housewife in the hopes that he’ll fall in love with her. Dr. White instead falls for his childhood friend, a loud, rude, brash girl who likes to fight, calls him a wimp and tells him to fuck off when he presses her buttons.

The tragedy of this episode is that Jessie is forced to confront this about herself--this way she shifts and changes to keep people near may very likely have caused her to lose something here. She’s forced to reckon with the idea that if she had just been herself, he might have loved her back. Not in spite of her personality, but because of it. 

In Borderlines, this trait is often a survival mechanism, driven entirely BY:

A debilitating fear of potential abandonment, perceived or based in past trauma.

Jessie’s childhood trauma, though not often discussed, hinges entirely on her abandonment issues. She was given up to foster care around kindergarten age, which was long enough to learn to love her mother before never getting to see her again. Jessie’s implied to have been a deeply lonely child who never had a family to call her own, and who didn’t fit in with any other girls her age because she was too poor to afford even basic food and couldn’t keep up.

When Jessie opens up about her love life, she doesn’t go into specifics, only mentioning that it’s been full of nothing but heartbreak thus far. She’s an unreliable narrator, always, but when she’s inviting pity on herself it’s almost always manipulation to gain something, and these moments don’t seem to have that element. When she talks about her love life in EP100, it’s very carefully accented with this image:

In her adolescence, Jessie tried to center herself around her passions, pursuing them whenever she was handed the opportunity. Frequently, though, she’d find herself meeting people and growing attached to them, and would eventually reach a crossroads where she forced herself to choose between the people she cared about and the goals she chased relentlessly.

The biggest example of this is DP073, where she chooses to stay and train to be an idol, rather than to travel with the boy she’s in love with.

She ends up not passing her audition, losing both him and her shot at her career. This starts Jessie’s descent into compulsively abandoning/parting ways with everyone in her life in an attempt to control how people exit her story. The only way to prevent yourself from being abandoned with 100% certainty is, of course, to leave them before they can leave you.

This kinda blends into the next point, which is:

Instability in personal relationships.

As previously mentioned, Jessie has a tendency to leave people behind & sever ties. It’s only speculation on my part, but it would make sense that she does this because she has been left behind in so many regards and by so many people she loved, it’s the only way she feels she can take control of this phenomenon.

People who watched a lot of OS back in the day, but don’t necessarily keep up with the series much now, will famously circulate Jessie’s speech to the Ghost of Maiden Rock in EP020. The maiden was a woman who died waiting for her lover who was out at sea, and since her death her spirit’s remained on the cliffside in the hopes that he would come home. Jessie shoots the ghost of the maiden with a fucking bazooka half her height and says this:

This is lauded by 90s kids everywhere as a #GirlPower speech about how Jessie don’t need no man (which is true), but it’s actually, like... kinda tragic? She hates the ghost of the maiden because she sees herself in it, and she takes the opportunity to proclaim that what she sees of herself makes her sick to look at. This speech she gives is so aggressively out of nowhere and so long and rambling that you have no choice but to read it as deeply personal. She just short of confirms that you can’t leave Jessie because Jessie leaves FIRST.

And you GET to see this in action. Jessie struggles so hard with loyalty. In ALL her relationships! Literally all of them. Every time something shakes up her foundation with a person in her life, she hardlocks herself into run run RUN mode because there’s a slight chance they might leave her and she CANNOT have that.

It was shown in the most explicit detail in the side story about what she was like in training, where Jessie’s inability to stay beside various partners in Team Rocket is literally the trait that defined her to everyone in the organization.

There’s even a beautifully symbolic shot in the beginning of that episode where she abandons her 12th partner, and kneels down while the world literally collapses behind her.

In DP073, when Jessie sees her Dustox has fallen in love with another Dustox, she demands that Dustox leave despite the pokemon hesitating. She doesn’t let Dustox control that scenario--Jessie crushes her pokeball and demands she migrate with her mate.

When Meowth dips on her and James to work food service because he finds it more rewarding, Jessie doesn’t try to fight it, instead focuses her energy on also leaving her teammates in her dust because at least she can get out of there and move on before James abandons her.

When she realizes White loves another girl, she doesn’t bother to even say goodbye to him, she just leaves wordlessly with nothing in her wake but a bouquet of daisies, and when she remembers that oh right, her wobbuffet is also in love with White’s own--

She tries to leave him, too.

You can’t fire Jessie. Jessie quits.

This is the in-depth, analytical part of me Diagnosing Her. Everything else she exhibits is far more General and really doesn’t need a trained eye:

Instability in one’s goals, aspirations, or career: Jessie has a steady job in Team Rocket, but is constantly picking up side-hustles and being distracted by passions like acting, performing, contests, and the like. She’s left Team Rocket entirely before to pursue Contests, only to return almost immediately. (DP117)

Difficulty controlling the range/intensity of one’s emotional responses: Long past the Slapstick Days of the original series, Jessie’s still incredibly prone to outbursts. It’s not just anger--she reacts equally strongly when she’s sad, happy, lovestruck, anything. I have used this exact phrasing before, but Jessie doesn’t feel her emotions, she becomes them.

Poor impulse control: Kind goes hand-in-hand with the above.

Engaging in dangerous/risky/self-harming activities with no concern to personal limitations: This applies to all of Team Rocket, but Jessie seems to take it a step further in thinking she’s invincible. She’ll throw herself headfirst into anything, rarely backs down from a fight, and often has trouble taking rest days even when she needs them because she lacks self-preservation.

Hair-trigger temper: lol yeah.

Unstable emotions/mood swings: lol YEAH, Jessie will be crying one minute, screaming the next, immediately fine. She can cycle the whole spectrum of human emotion before you can finish a sentence.

Idealization & Imprinting: Jessie frequently rushes into relationships based entirely on the idea of a person, not grounded in reality. She becomes attached to people incredibly easy at times, willing to throw her entire life thus far away to run away with someone she’s just met.

Living entirely in the moment, unable to comprehend the past/future: Jessie prefers to go with the flow and, as previously mentioned, adapt if things don’t turn out in her favour. If something doesn’t work out for her, she immediately will turn in the other direction and start toward whatever’s there.

This post is so long and I could probably make it longer but I’m gonna stop here. My credentials are I’m an Incredibly Powerful Jessie Kinnie who has BPD herself as well as an autistic who’s special interest is the pokemon anime and team rocket specifically fdhdfghg.

IN CONCLUSION,

#long post #wendy rambles #pokemeta #im actually done apologizing for putting long fucking posts on your dash #oh god i have to source this #ok um #os #ag #dp #xy #ep020 #ep100 #ep224 #hs012 #dp073 #dp117 #xy063 #shinxchu #wendy answers #this is an ask but tumblr's formatting is fucking up rn???

[uponrightful]

Hi! I’ve just finished Welcome Company-it was so good, your writing is amazing! I have a question about one of the last scenes if that’s OK? Partly about Pups point of view, because a lot of what happened to her post Order 66 is clearly in her mind, but seems to read differently emotionally later if that makes sense? I’d also like to know why you decided to include the scene of Pup having to fight one last time. -RebelMedic99

“Wolffe! Please!” She sobbed through the pain and fear, whimpering when the kid pulled her own arm around her throat, locking in a chokehold she was unable to break from. He laughed dryly in her ear, yanking on her broken wrist to elicit another scream.

“He’s not coming back you little slut.” He fell into another fit of laughter, “And even if he did you’ll be so used he won’t even want to look at you.” His evil words cut right through her. She was already broken, and yet another piece was about to be taken, and smashed on the floor right in front of her. She felt the pain of his remarks, feeling just as useless as he’d appraised.

She wanted to fight anyways.

The pain in her wrist didn’t subside, but it wasn’t going to stop until she got his filthy hands off her. And without that blaster, she really didn’t have a chance at getting off the ship, or keeping the ship safe until Wolffe got back. She struggled to keep her breath even, fighting to pull her broken wrist out of his grasp so she could get free.

Think fast…

Get him off guard…

“You really want me?” She choked out, wincing from the abrasive words cutting at her tongue. If he was that young, there was a chance he’d fall for it and drop the -hopefully- act long enough for her to grab the upper hand.

“You’re a fucking slut! Already turning towards the closest man you can get in your pants!” He snarled, yanking her wrist again. The girl held back her cry, again repeating the question for him, praying it would make a bigger impact this time.

“I’ll behave. I promise.” She faked convincingly enough through her tears. The kid’s grip faltered just for a second before retaining its unflinching need to inflict pain again. Yet, by miracle, he released her wrist and stepped back with the blaster dropped down at his side. Miraculously, his anger suddenly disappeared, and a look of disbelief came over him.

“Pick me.” He ordered harshly, as she turned to face him.

Everything moved so quickly.

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*send one in here*

This one is challenging, but we'll see if I can explain it without sounding like a complete dumbass... 😅

***

We'll start with addressing her emotional shift towards Order 66 first, and that will help set up the reasoning why she had this "last stand" at the end. (This won't be from her POV, it'll make things a little simpler.)

Pup's true knowledge of what Order 66 is comes in small bits and pieces after she flees Coruscant. It's obvious right away that something changed, but it's not for a really long time that she finds out that there might be something "unwilling" about the whole situation. In this time frame -of a couple years- she's actually left to her own devices and thought-process to make sense of it all. And a couple of years can really take a toll on someone's perception of what is really going on.

There is talk of manipulation, and how 'robotic' the clones are. All of it culminating in a bunch of half-assed theories as to why they suddenly have this unbending will for the Empire when they fought for the Republic for so long. (The bar fight Wolffe was in, is where I tried to explore this a little bit with the Cerean.) But Pup only hears rumors, and those weak excuses aren't enough to dissuade her fear of seeing troopers again. Because ultimatley, there are hundreds of them who'd been to her home, and in her mind, it's possible that they could come after her and punish her for that. It's not a realistic fear, but if you combine it with her last experience with a clone, it's one that would easily create a serious emotional trigger.

I meant for it to be a tad bit confusing when reading her emotions. Pup wants to love the clones -and she still does- but seeing one of them in real life would be fucking terrifying. Their sweet memories are always there, and she does her best to only think of those. However it's easy to be reminded of why she can't still see them, when she's living on a backwater planet to try and reassure herself that she'll never have to risk seeing a clone again. Because all of the love that they'd given her -in her mind- is completely gone the second she's shot by one.

And her entire being is damaged assuming that Wolffe is no different than the rest of them. Pup knows all the clones are acting this way, and Wolffe is really no exception. So even though she loves him dearly it's really scary when she sees him for the first time after all these years. Is he safe? Is there something still wrong with him? Does he want to take her with him, back to the Empire? These are all questions she has, because she's never seen a clone after Order 66 without a functioning chip.

The reason her change of heart is so sudden, is because Pup didn't let go of the good memories she had of her troopers. That integral part of her character is to forgive and be patient -even if she's been damaged by something or someone. Yes, she keeps it bottled up. But that was because she couldn't get rid of her base traits. You can't wholly change your personality very easily, and Pup never really wanted to in the first place. She was just forced to create this harder persona so she could survive. Then after Wolffe comes back, and he's painstakingly careful in trying to prove that he's not under influence any longer, it makes that desire to care for him -like she's always had- come back much smoother.

(It's a continuity error that I never gave a proper scene dedication to it; But I did have a draft that included an Order 66 conversation with Rex and Pup during that scene in Chapter 14.)

I chose not to include it because I wanted someone to focus on Pup's traumas faced during the transition period of planet-hopping. It might sound cruel of me to not include his struggles, but they've been covered so many times in other fics, that I gave the assumption my "Initial Implementation" scene and "Chip Removal Scene" would be emotionally sympathetic and exploratory enough of how Wolffe felt during and after, without needing to express it to you directly. Not to mention, after Pup and Wolffe are reunited, she's not stupid enough to not infer that it was against his will. She quite frequently notes throughout that his guilty looks and hesitancy to make physical contact with her are very noticeable and telling of how he feels about his time with the Empire.

All of this said, now her fight scene:

Right before they leave the cabin, she's feeling a little loss of home. But really, Pup never had too much of an attachment to her house on Takodana in the first place. What's really getting her emotional at this point is the realization that she finally has Wolffe back. It's security she's wanted this whole time, and although the boys aren't letting her help with the bounty, she's willing to do whatever they want because she understands that they've got the experience here. Plus, she's really not physically able to do a whole lot after her slight hypothermia exposure.

I wanted her weak for this: Emotionally, physically, mentally. It had to be that way for a reason.

Until this point, Pup hasn't ever shown a real motivation to fight for anything, other than making the trip to the outpost to save her friend. BUT. That's risking herself to save someone else. Pup has never done anything for her own benefit, without it being equally helpful for someone else. Even when she got Wolf, it wasn't just for herself. Iahcen was getting something out of it as well.

I know it's cliche, but her last moments alone on that ship waiting was where her character development needed to reach and end. Because I made the overarching plot of fighting for love, but I needed that same lesson to be learned in-story, as well to round it out. It had to be Pup, because she's been running this whole time. Wolffe can't learn it, because he's been fighting the entire time.

The kid is a symbol of kindness not being returned. This is key, because Pup has always been nice -even when she didn't need to be. And he attacks her for that. He comes in as the tool to show her that being kind doesn't always work; And sometimes you have to stand against something, instead of running or letting someone run over her. I also made certain to have the kid attack Wolffe's character. This was essential, because Pup has nothing else she wants to fight for. Wolffe has always been her one essential thing, and he was what made her realize that being a little selfish and desiring something isn't a bad thing. This kid is a product of her sympathetic nature, and he's willingly insulting and threatening her chance at having the one thing Pup has always wanted.

Pup needed fight or flight, and the only time her 'fight mode' kicks in, is when she realizes there's something she wants. On Coruscant, she had nothing, so she ran. Pup wanted to live for Wolffe, in the hopes that he might still be alive, and that was the first time her fight response kicked in. Then her friend was in danger of dying, that was the second time she chose to fight.

Her love and security in Wolffe was being threatened, and that was Pup's final character development, and why she needed this fight scene without Wolffe -or anyone else's assistance- in the matter.

***

I hope this wasn't garbage 😅 and I explained it decently... If not, please let me know. I'll do anything I can to answer your questions!

Much Love, Rightful 🤍

#commentary track #welcome company #commander wolffe #Pup #uponrightful #uponrightfulwrites

[icarus-suraki]

Everywhere At The End Of Time is. It’s such a strange work that’s challenging to approach, challenging to listen to, to think about, but. It’s so good. It’s really good! In the way that opening old photo albums is good, or reading the writings of people long passed is good. Would simultaneously recommend and advise against, if you ever have the time for it; it hits and leaves mental and emotional changes on-par with drug trips and solemn bursts of enlightenment, and it’s awful and wonderful aaaahh

Absolutely. You put it perfectly: “Would simultaneously recommend and advise against, if you ever have the time for it; it hits and leaves mental and emotional changes on-par with drug trips and solemn bursts of enlightenment, and it’s awful and wonderful”...

I recommend it and advise against it too. I mean, go for it, but you (general) do need to be aware of what you’re going into and that it’s not really “listenable” music. I mean, it is, but you have to approach it as an Artwork rather than as an album, outside even a concept album. (”Art is how we decorate space, music is how we decorate time”--Basquiat)  But it’s going to stir up some stuff in you. That’s almost guaranteed.

And I really recommend treading carefully with this one if you’re inclined to depression--and I say that as someone with severe major depression because the first time I tried to listen to as much as possible, it really dragged me down. And there’s the subject matter itself, as a sonic representation of Alzheimer’s and/or dementia. Minecraft parodies aside, it’s really heavy content. 

Why did this get so long???

I had a thought tonight about how it could also represent the fading memories of a particular person in the minds of others. Or how the people who knew someone directly will die and, even if there are still stories being told, the memories of that person will fade and distort with each successive generation. That symbolism doesn’t entirely track, but I’m digressing anyway.

I know a lot of people prefer the first 3 stages, which I totally get because there’s recognizable and “typical” music there, but there’s something about stage 6 that really Does Something to me. I realize that, symbolically, it should be terrifying: the dissolution of self in the absence of memories. And it does sound ominous. But, at the same time, it’s so absent of recognizable sounds that it becomes weirdly meditative. It’s like the auditory equivalent of sifting sand through your fingers but there’s a cavernousness to it that a simile as small as sand won’t quite manage. It’s almost like listening to a recording of thunderstorms: ominous but also soothing. Sometimes it feels like the dulled but persistent sounds that come through inside a plane. If the idea in Buddhism is to free oneself from worldly attachments, then the dissolving state of one’s memory is definitely a kind of freedom. Likewise, the idea of the camel and the eye of the needle in Christianity is much the same. Maybe the notion of imagining everything going dark (which seems to be how a lot of people interpret the latter stages) it might be more accurate to imagine everything fading into paleness. It’s a slow surrendering--or maybe more like a slow unspooling of existence. But I’ll admit I’m a fan of a “multifoliate rose” kind of afterlife rather than unicorns and ice cream and hugs from Jesus and your dog waiting to greet you.

I think the changes/realizations it can bring on in a person are why so many people (myself included) like to talk about it. 

Maybe using words like “awful” and “terrifying” are the right words, since “awful” has one foot in “awe” and “terrifying” and “terrific” are kissing cousins. 

But then those last 6 minutes. Those last...six...fucking...minutes.... I am guaranteed to cry. Every time. It’s like everything has been stripped away, and not easily, but there’s still this bright core of existence, this kind of “I am here.” It’s also seeing a childhood friend after many years and maybe not recognizing them at first, but then suddenly seeing them as they were again, like “there you are.” 

Or, to keep to the artist’s thematic idea, it’s like when Alzheimer’s patients smile at a family member. “Do you remember me, Grandma?” Anecdotally, some patients will respond, “I don’t remember your name, but I know I love you.”

Anyway, I’ve made myself cry, probably because I had dinner with my parents tonight (last night) and I love them like crazy and I know we don’t have forever (at least in these parts) but I sometimes wish we did. I’m supposed to be working and earning and spending and rushing around but really I just want to live in a moment from one of the nameless days after Christmas and before New Year’s when my brother was reading in the rocking chair, my parents were working on a puzzle on the coffee table, and I’m half-dozing on the sofa. 

And that’s what it means when I agree that I “simultaneously recommend and advise against.” Go in knowing, but go in for the experience first.

#everywhere at the end of time #i'm crying #for real #i'm genuinely crying #i need to use the sleep

[eldritch-elrics]

svsss: the (not so) grand return of peerless cucumber

so a LOT happened in the chapters i read last night (44-49) and i have. SO many thoughts

not as many as i had right after i read but i really had to go to bed so i couldn’t write them all up.....

i put some reactions in individual posts but i’ll repeat them here!

first of all. shang qinghua. fucked off to the demon realm. like, good for him? but also. i want to see my boy

binghe keeping sqq’s body??? xue yang vibes OFF the charts

so I’M IN LOVE WITH THE MUSHROOM PLOT

i love how every so often sv will hit me with a twist that is SO up my alley that i just. lose it a little bit

HE MADE HIMSELF A CLONE BODY OUT OF MAGICAL MUSHROOMS AND TRANSPORTED HIS SOUL INTO IT.

i love mushroom shit and i love bodyswapping and. my god.

the fact that sqq has died twice and been forced to inhabit 3 different bodies??? wei wuxian wishes he were this cool

sidenote but the mental image of sqq doing radio calisthenics in the forest is really funny. or maybe it’s just funny to me because of the associations i have with this one time in japanese class?

sqq’s new body looking like a cross between shen yuan and shen qingqiu is really interesting and perhaps... symbolic....?

also hey does this mean he doesn’t have to deal with the cureless poison anymore. i assumed that it would be cured in his eventual sexytimes with binghe but hmmm i guess not!

the point where i really lost it was when he realized he was disconnected from the system. i know now that it wasn’t permanent but that was just so interesting, how much he hates it and wants it gone. which makes sense! even though it has helped him get out of bad spots at times, it’s a sign that he’s not really from this world. now i’m just really curious what’s gonna happen to the system at the end of the novel. maybe it’ll shut off once he achieves the “goal” it’s seemed to have set for him and gets together with lbh?

also i’m glad that sqq seems to have matured a little bit in terms of his people skills / problem solving skills? though uh. remains to be seen how he’ll act in front of binghe when binghe realizes who he is

it also seems like i was completely wrong about sqq’s motivations for sacrificing himself lol. lot more selfish than i thought? but it makes sense! fun twist

mxtx sure likes to have her protagonists execute plots that they don’t tell the reader about until after they happen lol (i’m thinking of the golden core transfer)

uhh back to plot reactions

love the running joke about peerless cucumber. also the demon names... six balls <3

also hold on a minute, peerless cucumber is a dick joke? lmao

thank you airplane for making it clear binghe has a big dick. absolutely vital character information

so i’ve said this before but sqq’s narration really CARRIES this novel. here i’m thinking specifically about his diatribe against sha hualing’s nails

shl is pretty fun. sexy evil lady!

sqq can turn his fan into a blade. nie huaisang get ON that smh

yang yixuan my beloved!

also HAHA i predicted that sqq’s super mushroom powers could help the xin mo thing and i was RIGHT

so sqq is just. SO invested in getting the plot back on track. like with all the harem members and stuff. it’s so funny because like bro. surely you’ve noticed by now that things are going very differently than in pidw. and also... you don’t WANT to go back on the pidw track bc that would kill you!!!

so the system reactivates when binghe turns up right? i am thinking about. the fact that when it tries to reboot it’s like “contacting customer service”

WHO IS CUSTOMER SERVICE.

it’s so interesting because like... obviously the whole system thing is so much bigger than just A Book? it’s even got airplane trapped inside it. and he’s the fucking author! who is running this thing? and for what purpose?

sqq listening in on the gossip about how lbh is DEFINITELY obsessively in love with him was SO funny. poor man

so binghe. he has become so COLD

i don’t like it :(

once more. my dude go to therapy.

wait also random but sqq has a beard now and for some reason that’s so funny to me

life at the palace seems terrible lmao no one is doing ok

smh, mxtx protags keep dying and staying dead for huge amounts of time and then coming back in different bodies

the fact that binghe’s happiest memories are training with sqq :(

THE FACT THAT BINGHE IS ABSOLUTELY SHIT AT KISSING

my god. that entire scene

went from “awwww headpats” to “AAAAAAAA”

the fact that the system congratulates him i’m sjkdhgjhsdhgjsds poor sqq.... didn’t ask for this shit.......

after 50 chapters, he’s finally realized he turned the male lead gay <3 say goodbye to all those funny oblivious moments!

i had to stop there because it was way too late at night but wow. we shall see how this relationship progresses

i can’t see it improving anytime soon but at least sqq knows lbh likes him now???

i had a LOT of thoughts last night but now i’m pretty much just like. i really need to see where it goes before i make any judgements on bingqiu

rn i’m not a big fan because 1. sqq is so wildly uncomfortable (understandable lol, even if lbh thinks it’s just a dream) and 2. lbh is very obsessive and that’s not really my favorite trope. but like it’s obviously not meant to be a healthy relationship, at least definitely not right now, and i do like some good fucked up romance! i’m excited to see the developments where sqq realizes what his real feelings are

i’m also fairly neutral on binghe as a character atm. his main personality traits seem to be “obsessed with sqq” and “trying not to die from evil sword qi poisoning” and i don’t find that all that compelling? between him and lwj i have to say that mxtx’s love interest characters are not really my favorite, though i wouldn’t say i dislike either of them.

furthermore i’m slightly concerned with how lbh’s “i’m the main character and i get what i want” attitude is gonna affect the romance. i know there’s some dubconny stuff later which i can’t say i’m excited for but i am excited to see how binghe’s character is gonna develop in general

my aspirations for bingqiu is that they’re both able to eventually break free of the expectations of the system

because, look at this from sqq’s pov. there’s this ai in your head that has, for literal years, been steering you towards a romance that you (at least outwardly) don’t want. isn’t that fucking terrifying? i love it. the system (at least how i see it) has been bending the established plot of the world in order to make this happen. it’s like fate but you can see the gears turning.

and even if sqq does end up liking lbh back, can you imagine the existential crisis of like. wondering if he really CHOSE to get with binghe or if he was somehow compelled to by the system which acts based on binghe’s emotions?

i think that would be so interesting

however what i think is Actually going to happen (based on that one time when airplane was like “hey cucumber, uh, is lbh just a character to you or is there more...”) is that sqq is gonna realize that he’s had a bit of a crush on binghe since reading pidw and is only just now dealing with his internalized homophobia. so him getting together with binghe has less strings attached

i think there’s some opportunity here for a commentary on the soulmate trope? because svsss is just so steeped in themes about agency and fate. i think that would be really cool but we’ll have to see. i feel like the ending is gonna be simpler and happier than i want it to be but obviously i cannot make any judgements yet! i’m just having Thoughts :)

so, i also read one of the extras (the one where he goes with lqg to battle succubi) because the translation i’m reading recommended it! it was pretty fun

sqq SO clueless. like i get it, he doesn’t think he’s into anything other than Pretty Cis Women, but. sqq we’ll work on this

also ASKING LQG IF HE’S A VIRGIN. sqq literally stop

(that was so funny though)

liu qingge ACE RIGHTS

actually lqg’s outburst in this chapter was kind of bizarre and can be explained in a few different ways i think?

i really like the idea of him being aroace. thinks true love doesn’t exist etc

i feel like the intended implication of lqg’s outburst is that he’s realized madame meiyin is referring to binghe and is like “holy shit no sqq can’t be with Him”

maybe lqg is just homophobic?

but i. also kind of wonder if lqg is gay and in love with sqq? and is just putting up the “such deep love doesn’t exist” thing because he really doesn’t want sqq to know

there was that whole line where the succubus was like “well you’re not his soulmate you don’t know” and it made me think

on the other hand i can’t really see lqg liking sqq that way; they seem to have more of a Bro Bond

then again lqg does keep fighting binghe for sqq’s sake

either headcanon is fun! i’d be excited for more insight into lqg in general i think

#my god this is long #svsss #svsss spoilers #finn reads scum villain #my post

[dastardlydandelion]

Max Mayfield and Tory Nichols in a horror film, what would be the plot/monster and would they survive?

this is it. this is the tumblr ask. the ask i've been waiting for my whole life. my time to shine, here we go!

filming begins under the cut:

tried and true creature feature, this is a werewolf movie. let's go with a werewolf between the van helsing (2004) and trick r treat (2007) variety. the beast once transformed is fucking huge, clearly both lupine and human, head almost entirely wolf, body primarily bipedal in shape, but robust, sinew shredding claws and big ass bone tearing teeth. also tails!! bc tails are cute!!! powers include monstrous strength, accelerated speed, healing factor. weaknesses silver and decapitation.

okay, so van helsing (2004) werewolves are mindless rage monsters and trick r treat (2007) werewolves are cognizant. for our max & tory creature feature, they're gonna of the in between variety. i chose a werewolf movie for these two specifically bc they both have their anger problems and the werewolf has long been a symbol of anger unleashed in the horror genre, even tho common gray wolves are just like. i mean, yk, animals, they hunt and howl and pee on trees and most of the time would rather avoid humans. but obvi horror genre werewolves are not common gray wolves, they need to be scary, and like, the remnants of traditional folklore influenced by rabies and discourse in the middle ages...wait, where was i going with this? anger, yes, max and tory both have anger problems and i think this works for what i'm gonna do with this theoretical movie.

who's the werewolf in town? terry fucking silver. bc terry is evil and dramatic and also, i think it's rly funny for a werewolf to have silver as a surname. he's fully cognizant in his transformation and he's purposefully biting kids and teenagers bc he wants more talented karate students. and like. yk, with the enhanced strength, speed, and regenerative recovery of lycanthropy, well. there u have it, more talented karate students.

do max and tory know each other, if so, how? okay, so in this 'verse tory is a lil older than max. that reflects their canon ages, i think. let's say max is 13 and tory is 16. billy has tory in some of his classes and he more or less makes a deal to spilt his allowance with her if she'll babysit max bc he's tired of neil riding his ass to babysit max. tory needs money so she's like, 'sure, why not.' max finds it rly stupid that she's 13 and neil thinks she needs a fucking babysitter but as far as babysitters go, tory is fun. she likes to show max what she's learning in cobra kai and they spar together a lot. max would actually like to join cobra kai but 1) neil would throw a fit on various fronts and 2) lucas is in miyagi-do. max knows there's some rly intense beef between cobra kai and miyagi-do. ofc tory's filled her in on the karate war, how could she not?

well one day tory takes max to the playground to watch a plane fly like she does with miggy in ck, and it's nighttime, ofc, and lo, the full moon is out. shining up in the sky. they hear a howl. they both look at each other. max is kinda curious but tory's like nah, nah, we gotta go. she grabs her, starts pulling her along. but the next howl is a lot closer and they can hear smth running and it just sounds fuckin big. they're running too now, legs pumping hard, but there's no escape once the beast is right behind them, hot, rancid breath blasting the backs of their necks and harvest gold eyes glowing in the dark.

max gets bitten first. tory tries to kick the big ass beast off of her and then it rounds and bites her too. the terror is real now. and then shockingly, as fast as it'd come, it leaves. neither girl has an explanation for wtaf just happened but tory takes max home. billy gripes at her for being out late but helps her patch up. when susan learns what happens she decides to take max to get rabies shots right away. loads her up in the car, runs her off to the emergency room-- but when the bandages come off, they are no wounds.

tory's bby bro tries to help patch her up too. but he's like 4 yrs old and his idea of "help" is sticking bandaids with cartoon characters up and down the wounds in haphazard fashion. tory plans to redo it all properly once she's put him to bed. sure enough after he's asleep, and she peels the bandaids off from every open mouthed pac-man to every green teenage mutant ninja turtle, the wounds are gone.

meanwhile there's missing ppl err day on the news. terry turns kids and teens but kills adults for the lulz.

tory and max know what happened to them was an event that tangibly, definitely happened but neither have any explanation for their wounds just disappearing. max, our resident horror fan, is the first to propose a real life werewolf as an explanation. she cites the missing ppl on the news. tory thinks she's tripping balls but reluctantly gives an inch when she acknowledges no, she can't think of any other explanation.

life goes on. max tells lucas what happened only she leaves out the part abt tory bc she's not gonna tell a miyagi-do student she's kickin it w the enemy. he doesn't rly believe her, like how she didn't rly believe him about the upside-down in their canon. he thinks the horror movies are rotting her brain.

tory almost tells her dojo but she gets distracted being pissed off by sam and that should be her priority, right? sensei kreese is always going on abt getting back at the enemy. she spends her shifts daydreaming abt revenge bc it's more comforting than worrying abt past due bills and her mother looking paler by the day.

full moon next month comes around. neither tory nor max are cognizant of or during their first respective transformations. max's first kill is neil. she's seven feet of fur and fury, tears his ribcage open with claws like daggers and sinks her teeth into his putrid, maggoty heart. susan isn't home. billy is, but he doesn't hear any of the fracas. he's unconscious on the living room floor, crisscrossing impressions of neil's belt buckle blaring red on his back.

tory's first kill is sam. sam larusso wants to think she's a bully?? fine, tory will show her a bully. she hops the miyagi-do fence after hours. she just wants a fight. just a fight, they always fight. but then she's sprouting fur and tory as tory gives way to smth else. she'd not aware of being a person when she doesn't have fur. not really, all she knows is rage and ravenousness and the morsel below her has bunny rabbit wide eyes.

neither of them remember what they did the next day. not vividly, anyway. it's there but it's cloudy and hard to discern, like a groggy fever dream more than a memory. but max burps up neil's wedding band and tory finds señor octopus (sam's stuffed animal) bloodied in her bed. it's apparent what happened. max accepts this more easily than tory bc 1) she always kind of suspected she'd turn, since she sincerely considered what attacked them was a werewolf and 2) max isn't terribly upset abt killing neil while tory is acutely horrified she killed sam.

max kinda had some smidgen of attachment to neil bc like, he's the only father figure in her life and here and there they've had their moments. but his abuse (psychological/physical toward billy, sexual/financial/psychological/emotional toward susan, psychological/emotional toward herself) outweighed any and all of those moments. she is genuinely concerned that she tore a human being to pieces and only vaguely remembers it but like, if she had to kill anyone, she figures neil was the best to kill. max is mostly concerned bc she can't kill neil a second time. she's worried the next time she turns it could be an innocent person, or one of her friends, or her mom, or billy.

tory is blindsided and scarcely able to comprehend the reality, holy shit, max was right, she's a fuckin werewolf. and she's sick to her stomach bc she hated sam but she never wanted to do anything like that. she didn't want to kill, she just wanted to break her face. scare her. rough her up. she didn't want to eat her. she just killed someone. she's a literal horror movie monster and she just killed sam. what's miguel going to think?

tory and max talk. they decide they need to find the werewolf who turned them. we get montages of them going over the news articles with a fine-toothed *ba dum tss* comb and searching areas where it seems like a werewolf would be. the woods. some caves. max all of a sudden has a freakishly tall man constantly hounding her to join cobra kai. neil's gone but she still hesitates bc of lucas being in miyagi-do. also he believes max now and with the proff, she's decided to let the rest of the party in as well. they also exist in this 'verse. she showed them the crime scene and the wedding band she burped up. billy isn't a roid rage racist in this 'verse bc that would be a giant buzzkill. he doesn't believe the werewolf shit either. he thinks max saw neil get attacked by some animal and that the carnage was so traumatizing for her, she subconsciously created a werewolf fantasy to cope.

tory meanwhile spirals downward. bc she passes sam's memorialized locker in the hall everyday. her memorial table in the other hall, full of sticky note condolences and mournful teddy bears, and a picture of sam right in the center always, always accusing her. miggy is heartbroken and distraught. hawk didn't care for sam but even he's freaked out by what happened, how the news said there were only torn up chunks and bones picked clean found in her bedroom. tory is terrified of herself. she's desperate to find whoever did this bc she wants to make them pay. if sensei silver has been asking her extra questions lately and presenting her performance to the class more than normal, she doesn't notice at all. aisha notices tory's fucked up but tory can't exactly tell aisha that she *ate* sam. aisha is also mourning, she and sam used to be bffs. so she doesn't say a word.

max has a theory that if u can learn to control ur anger, u can learn to control urself when u shift. she is, after all, v familiar with angry horror movie werewolves. and she's savvy enough to know it's smth she and tory have in common. neil is dead but that doesn't mean max isn't angry anymore. she's still angry at the damage already done and tbh also angry that there's some werewolf around turning ppl willy nilly bc she recognizes the danger in that and it wasn't smth she consented to. but controlling ur anger is an easier feat for max than tory insofar that max has a support system w her friends, and better relationships with the remainder of her fam. tory has two mentors actively, adamantly teaching her and her friends to be ruthless, view the world as ur enemy, use violence as ur go-to solution, and that mercy is weakness not to be tolerated.

when the next full moon rolls around, they decide to spend it together under the correct inference that they will transform. they think it's better to be together. they're hoping they'll be able to control each other, if not themselves. or that if they are both mindless rage monsters again, that rage will be turned on each other. this would be a better outcome operating on the presumption that one werewolf will be able to take what another can dish out, at the v least more so than a regular human being.

max is successfully able to maintain enough of her consciousness to control her actions once transformed. she feels aggressive and hungry, but not enraged and ravenous. she can keep it in check. tory, on the other hand, uh...tory can't do it. she throws her wolf head back in the most bloodcurdling howl ever and takes off like a bat outta hell. max goes loping after her. they can't speak like human speak in this form, but max tries to communicate with her. whimpers plaintively. tackles tory at one point, not out of anger but just tryna subdue her, licks at her ears and tries to get her to settle. tory bucks her off.

tory runs off again, max in pursuit. they wind up at the skate park where billy n robby are prolly up to some fuckery or another. i could easily see pre miyagi-do robby n billy getting up to all kinds of mischief. ooh, actually, they're prolly arguing abt that. now that robby's in miyagi-do he has another outlet for all his energy and he's getting the positive attention he craves so he's not participating in hooligan activity or shenanigans w billy anymore and billy is like. offended. except suddenly there's werewolves. fucking. snarling, gigantic, toothy, hairy ass werewolves.

let's say robby kicked miguel down two stories in this 'verse too and tory recognizes him in her werewolf form even if she isn't exactly cognizant of herself. she tears straight for him, jaws open. billy doesn't exactly *mean* to protect him but it's kinda an automatic reaction from putting himself in between whenever he thought neil was getting too aggressive w susan or max. and like, sure, robby's the better fighter (not that billy would ever acknowledge this) but it's not like he's gonna karate kick the motherfuckin werewolf anyway-- billy is bigger, he's bigger and it's instinct and the next thing he knows, he's in between robby and the thing w sharp teeth (tory).

and that's when max gets serious. she bowls tory over, away from billy before she can bite. they're rolling, tearing at each other with teeth and claws. lo and behold, terry silver is lurking in the background like the evil mastermind he is, just watching them shred each other and evaluating his experiment. it's a p close match and tory is the more aggressive of the two but she's also been going, going, going since she shifted and she's burning herself out. she's also fighting with the blind instinct of a threatened animal while max maintains more precision bc she has better control of herself. max also isn't wasting energy unnecessarily. max gets her jaws around tory's throat and tory just goes slack. but she can think and she doesn't want to hurt tory, so she opens her mouth and relaxes her maw, teeth grazing harmlessly thru tory's fur.

tory's being shown mercy. possibly for the first time. it's so unlike her conception of others' ruthlessness, so unlike the worldview that's been instilled into her that it startles her enough to crack thru to her cognizance. she does the wolfy deference thing where they tuck their tails and lick at the dominant pack member's muzzle. max responds in kind and lets tory up.

this is when they notice terry lurking (billy's already worked out the werewolf that came to his defense is max so he's just dumbfounded watching all this shit, and robby's not abt to leave someone who just saved his ass, so he's stuck unsuccessfully tryna pull billy away and inevitably watching too). terry calmly slinks over, sizing up his charges. he's pleased with the performance. but tory and max are anything but, another werewolf fight ensues.

so while they all get huge after transforming sheerly on the basis of being werewolves, i'm gonna guess the size is proportionate to their human forms. so tory is a little larger than max and terry significantly outsizes them both. terry is also the more experienced werewolf. it's two against one but it's not the curbstop it would be if this was some weaksauce werewolf, it's dramatic evil karate werewolf terry fuckin silver. terry's shredding tf outta these two. their healing factor can't keep up, he's dishing out faster than either of them can recover and tbh they were already winded from fighting each other first.

but it'd be a major buzzkill if our movie had a downer ending. and also, the power of determination and friendship and shit. terry's got his jaws around max's throat now. he's a millisecond away from tearing it open. tory's pinned under him but she thinks fast, frees a hind leg, and rips her claws down his soft underbelly as deep as she can and doesn't stop ripping, like pedal kicking almost for a human, but with her hind claws. his intestines shoot out like paper snakes from a gag candy can!! okay, well, maybe they don't shoot out w that much gusto, but still. the bowels are free, the bowels are hanging low and tory's tearing 'em tf up, fluids n fecal matter errywhere. on tory. i'm sorry tory. ur under him, that's just how gravity works.

terry dies. healing factor can't keep up with the damage done, it's too critical. but nobody knows it's terry until the dawn breaks and he reverts back to his human shape.

max is v much 'i told u so,' in billy's face. robby promises not to tell. he doesn't want to get mauled or killed or anything. tory's able to cope better with what she did to sam knowing that it won't happen again, that she won't hurt anyone else she doesn't want to be she can control herself now. tory believes in mercy now bc max spared her, she trashes kreese's philosophy and joins eagle fang when johnny and daniel join forces in this 'verse too. max also joins eagle fang, takes her place in the front row right between tory and lucas at her v first practice.

credits roll.

after the credits we see tory considering turning her mother in the hopes that having the healing factor would help her mom's condition improve.

is that a teaser for the sequel?

idfk.

#max mayfield #dare i tag tory #i dare not #lucdarling #ask box #my fic tag #i kind of want to write this as a fic for real #fuck