#a bit of a rare pair ill admit

[eoieopda]

one to ten | jww

summary: your roommate may not know how to help you feel better, but that won’t stop him from trying. pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader au: roommates to ?, pining, sick fic type: drabble (hurt/comfort, fluff) rating: pg13 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact with my content. cw: gn!spoonie!reader; downbad!best boi!super shy!roommate!wonu; chronic illness/pain is implied but no diagnosis is specified; hand-holding 👁️👄👁️; barely proofread because brain fog, lol. a/n: this is super self-indulgent and based on my own personal experience with chronic illness (fibromyalgia), so it may be different than yours!! wc: 1k

Wonwoo isn’t psychic, but he knows that something is up the second he gets home from work.

Walking through the door of your shared apartment, he moves immediately to deposit his keys on the nearby hook and finds that yours are already there. Odd, he thinks, given your habit of imposing your own overtime. Your commute is shorter than his, and you still never beat him back here.

He looks down as he toes off his shoes, carefully maneuvering them across the mat to avoid both your heels and your sneakers, which don’t seem to have budged since this morning. Wonwoo frowns. It’s rare for you to skip out on the gym at the end of the day, but it’s unheard of for you to miss work — even when you should, in his non-expert opinion.

That’s a bit of a red flag, he’ll admit.

Wonwoo locks the door behind him, pads off across the kitchen and through the adjoining living room, and eventually stops at your bedroom door. It’s cracked open — a secret code of yours, he’s learned. One that means you don’t want to be alone, but you feel the need to warn him about what’s on the other side. Usually, it’s you, deflated in your bed in a way that you find embarrassing. Still, even on your worst days, he’s never seen you look bad. 

He’s not convinced that you could if you tried.

Softly, Wonwoo raps his knuckles against the doorframe to warn you. In response, he gets a muffled, “Hello?” It wraps around his heart and squeezes just a little. He loves that about you; how gentle your voice is when everything else you’re experiencing feels the opposite.

You lift your head up just enough to make eye contact with him as he slips through the doorway, and you smile. If it aches to do so, you pretend like it doesn’t.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Hey.”

Admittedly, this is the part that Wonwoo feels he’s worst at. He’s never quite sure what to ask or what he can do to help, always simultaneously afraid of being patronizing or too hands-off. It’s a balancing act; his equilibrium is off.

And, god, he’s so shy when it comes to you. He can’t make himself act on any of the comforting impulses he absolutely has, so he simply pauses at the end of your bed and sweeps his eyes over your frame. A triage of sorts, he supposes.

You’re on your right side, hugging a hot water bottle, and there’s a Munchlax plush between your knees to keep them separated. Your left hip hurts, he guesses. It’s probably safe to assume that the rest of you does, too. Crinkling his nose as he thinks, he asks, “One to ten?”

Another code. 

Wonwoo has to adjust the scale when you answer — three — because your three is his eleven. The good news isn’t lost on him, though: Your pain was a six during the last flare. Things may not be great, but they’ve definitely been worse.

“Mostly just tired,” you sigh, as if you can hear the calculations he’s running in his head. “I was this close —” You lift an arm and pull your thumb and index finger in so that they’re almost touching. “— to making it out the door this morning.” 

Dropping your arm again slowly, you pat the space next to you in silent invitation. Wonwoo’s body hesitates, even though his pulse doesn’t. It’s par for the course, unfortunately for him.

He wonders how many moments like this need to pass before his palms don’t sweat anymore. Will filling the spot next to you on your bed, on the couch, or even in your passenger seat ever not affect him like this?

Maybe not.

He’s okay with that, so long as you keep giving him the opportunity.

You laugh, and it single-handedly diffuses the tension in his posture. “I think the side of the bathtub got taller. I almost had to yell for you to haul me out of there, but I managed.”

“Proud of you.” He’s chuckling now, too, but that doesn’t undermine how much he means it. Getting your body to cooperate with you is always hardest in the mornings.

For what it’s worth, he would’ve come running if you’d called.

Carefully, Wonwoo sits down on the vacant side of your bed and scoots closer to you, knowing you’ll call him out for leaving distance and anticipating how badly he'll blush if you do. It’s so much easier for you to be close to people than it is for him, but he’s trying. 

He hopes you see that.

There’s a microscopic wince when you wiggle your way towards him. It’s replaced quickly by a satisfied little grin once you settle, your body curving around his bent knee like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

“You always run warm,” you muse. “I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo blinks, a little dumbfounded that you’ve noticed — not that he should be, really. He’s obviously picked up on a lot of trivia about you since you took over his former roommate’s lease several months back. If he knows the order of your skin care routine, it’s not weird for you to know that he can’t sleep without a fan on.

Should he have noticed this about you by now?

Curiosity makes him bold, apparently. He pulls his palm off the mattress and touches his fingertips to the back of your hand. “Goddamn,” he whistles. 

His hypothesis is proven the second he touches you — you’re freezing — but Wonwoo admittedly gets a kick out of the temperature disparity. He can’t help but run the pads of his fingers absentmindedly over your skin, tracing nonsense patterns. You can’t help the pleased hum that slips out of you as you watch his ministrations; or the way your heavy eyelids start to interrupt your view. 

Even when he’s sure you’ve been lulled to sleep, Wonwoo keeps doodling. It’s got to be exhausting to exist in a body that always aches, and you deserve whatever rest you can get. Truth be told, he could probably stay like this for hours if that would help. He’d be doing the same thing at his PC, anyways, holding a mouse instead of your hand.

Yeah, he thinks, this is a much better set-up.

#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #svt #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo drabble #wonwoo hurt/comfort #jww #jade writes #jade’s drabbles #re: one to ten #kvanity

[strniohoeee]

matt and reader are bestfriends, they are also deeply in love w/ eachother but they would never admit it. one night matt asks her to go on a night drive on the Hollywood hills and chris and nick are suspicious. matt stops on a hill after grabbing some takeout, they go eat outside the car while it starts raining so they run in the car and sit in silence still laughing hearing the sound of the rain, things start to get tense and they confess and have a heavy makeout session, it is also her first kiss and he's very gentle (but also a bit handsy) then they go home and continue what they started (maybe slight nsfw non sex but something)

can you do it long? i love long one shots ! 🤎

Drive

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Matt and Y/N are madly in love, but they are so in love they are blind to it. Matt takes reader on a drive, and things start to take a little turn🫂

Warnings⚠️: Erm…heated make out session, groping, and a handjob😄

Song for the imagine: Picture Perfect- Jhené Aiko

⚠️This is an 18+ imagine, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

You are picture perfect to me

So I keep you in a frame

Keep that frame in my brain

I’m not exactly too sure on when I fell in love with Matt, but all I know is this feeling started to control my life. If he was with another girl, if he mentioned a possible date, if fans said he was liking other girls' posts. My love for him was too much that it sometimes made me ill

I was so afraid of Matt not liking me back that I just kept this to myself, and occasionally asked my friends back home for advice.

He was my best friend though. We always went out and hung out together. Oftentimes we saw friendship edits of us, and rarely did we see shipping edits of us.

This made it clear in my head that the way we acted only came off as friendly, so therefore Matt didn’t like me.

It hurt though. I wanted him to like me, and I wanted him to look at me the way that he looked at some of these girls that would walk by.

I kind of had a feeling that Nick and Chris knew I liked Matt. They would always look at one another, or whisper to each other and then text each other while watching Matt and I.

I remember the day their suspicions started

We were at the beach, and I was standing up getting ready to head to the water, and a girl walked past Matt, his eyes immediately following her every move

My head snapped to watch him, and my eyes dropped. Immediately wanting to run away, Chris and Nick watched this interaction happen and knew something was up

But regardless him and I stood really close

“Hey Y/N would you maybe want to get something to eat and go for a drive?” Matt asked me as I was sitting on their couch scrolling on my phone

“Uh yeah that sounds fun” I said getting up and slipping my shoes on

Chris and Nick were in the kitchen, and exchanged glances at each other.

I walked to the kitchen to grab my purse

“Are Nick and Chris coming” I asked him

“Uhh no I figured it could be just us two” he said smiling at me

My eyes shot between Chris and Nicks, and then I turned around

“Oh uh yeah okay” I said to him

“Mmm have fun FRIENDS” Nick said putting emphasis on the word friends

“We will” I said walking down the stairs

It was such a beautiful night out, not too cold and not too warm. I had hopped into the car, and Matt put it in drive

“Canes?” He asked looking over at me

“Ouu yes that sounds so good” I said plugging my phone into the aux

Rain by SWV started playing, and I immediately started bobbing my head to the music

“I like this song” Matt said

“Oh SWV is amazing. They got some good r&b love songs” I told him

“I’ll have to give them a listen” he said looking at the song again

We got to canes, and ordered our food

“I say we go up to Hollywood hills and eat outside” Matt said looking over at me

“Yeah that sounds nice” I said to him

We got our food, and Matt started driving

We got up to the hills, and parked in a little secluded area. We left the car on, so that we could have more light as we set the food on the hood of the car to start eating

We were eating and just enjoying each others company

“You know that hat I’ve been dying to get my hands on but it was always sold out” he asked me

“Yeah” I said swallowing and taking a sip of my drink

“I finally fucking got it” he said taking a sip of his drink

“Was it worth it?” I asked him

“Not really….I look fucking stupid with it on” he said laughing. This made me giggle and playfully roll my eyes at him

“And what did we learn from this?” I asked him laughing

“That I’d probably do that again” he said giggling

“Matt! You gotta do better” I said shaking my head at him

We both finished eating, and we were just sipping on our drinks chatting while leaning on the hood of the car

“I need to film a YouTube video” I said to matt

“Yeah you’ve been slacking” he said

“Hey! Be nice I’m out of ideas” I said to him

“Let’s film a video together” he said offering

“Ou that’s not a bad idea” I said

“We should-

Before Matt could finish his sentence it just started pouring on us. Like torrential downpour

“WHAT THE FUCK” I screamed

And matt was trying to get the keys out of his pocket to unlock the car, and when he finally unlocked it we both jumped inside

We started dying of laughter at how shocked we got, and how we got soaked

“That shit came out of nowhere” Matt said wiping his eyes and brushing his hair back

“I know right like what the fuck” I said using tissues from Canes to dry my face and hands

“I got jumpscared by fucking rain” Matt said laughing, and I started to laugh so hard at the way Matt was laughing

“Oh god” I said wiping my eyes and holding my stomach

It was still pouring, and we were just now sitting in the silence listening to the rain beat down onto the car

The silence started to get tense, and almost awkward? I was looking around and avoiding Matt’s eyes at all cost

“Can I say something” Matt said randomly

“Uh yeah go right ahead” I told him

“I really fucking like you….like bad” he said

My head snapped his way, and I looked into his eyes

“You like me??” I asked him while pointing at myself

“Like a lot….like you’re all I think about when I wake up, and you’re my last thought before I go to bed” he said reading my face for an answer

“Matt I have liked you for so fucking long. Like the way I feel about you causes me pain in my chest” I told him

“I was so scared to tell you” he said

“Scared to tell me? I was so scared to tell you” I said to him

“I should’ve seen it all along” he said and looked down to my lips

“Can I kiss you?” He asked me

“Matt I’ve never kissed anyone before” I said looking at him

“I’ll teach you, come here” he said motioning with his fingers for me to come in closer

I leaned in, and lightly licked his lips before leaning in, and I leaned in as well shutting my eyes

Matt’s lips crashed onto mine, and it took a split second for me to realize before I started kissing him back. Immediately fireworks, and butterflies in my stomach

He pulled away and looked at me before he went back in and started kissing me again. He put his hand on my cheek, and slowly slid it down to my neck lightly pulling me in

I had opened my mouth for Matt to start slipping his tongue in, and he got that idea real quick. We both started to make out. It was hot and sloppy, and this was turning me on big time

He moved from my lips down to my jawline, and then to my neck leaving kisses

He pulled away and looked at me, at that point the rain stopped

“Wow” I said looking at him

“Look the rain stopped…we should head home, and uhh you know” he said winking at me

“Yeah sure” I said snapping back to reality and putting my seat belt back on

Matt drove us back home, and when we got inside we were both giggling and holding hands. As he walked us to his room. We passed Chris and Nick on the way, and we both waved at them and kept it moving

Matt threw me onto the bed and crashed his lips onto mine. We were making out and he started to caress my breast

“Oh matt” i sighed out

“Fuck you moaning my name is so hot” he said kissing my neck

I reached down, and started to palm his growing dick

“Oh fuck Y/N” he said shutting his eyes

“Matt that’s so hot” I said lifting up to kiss his lips

We made out for a little while longer while getting handsy

“Matt come on let me give you a handjob” I told him

“Baby…” he said biting his lip

“Pleaseee” I said kissing his neck

“Okay baby” he said kissing my forehead

He laid back lifting his search up a little bit

“You have to tell me how you like it because I’ve never done this” I told him

“Okay baby I’ll show you” he said

He slid his pants down a bit and then his underwear to allow his cock to spring up

“Oh Matt” I said biting my lip

“What baby?” He said looking over at me

“You’re so fucking hot” I said

“Thank you baby” he said lightly blushing

“So show me what you like” I told him

“Grab my dick” he said, so I grabbed his dick, god it was so heavy

“Now spit on the tip” he said looking over at me

“WHAT” I said shocked

“You heard me” he said

I leaned up and spat on his dick

“Now use your hand to rub the spit all over my dick” he said

I spread the spit from his tip down to the shaft

“Perfect” he said shuttering

“Okay now stroke up and down you can grip harder” he told me

So I grabbed his dick harder, and started to stroke up and down

“Good, now when you go back up squeeze the tip before you go back down” he said

So I did exactly that, and Matt shut his eyes moaning my name

“Fuck now you can go faster, so I can cum” he said biting his lip

I gripped his dick and started to jerk him off harder

“Fuck fuck I’m going to cum” he said as he started to shake a little bit

“Keep going baby fuckkk” he moaned out

I kept stroking his dick faster, and with a moan of my name his lower abdomen contracted and he came all over my hand and his lower stomach

“Fuck Y/N you’re so good to me” he said kissing me

He got up and cleaned himself up, and I cleaned my hands. We jumped back into his bed and put some cartoons on before we fell asleep.

The End

Im rolling out these requests like my life depends on it 🫢🖤 for whoever requested this I hope I didn’t disappoint 🥰

-J💅🏽

A/N: I have 5 tattoos🤞🏽

#sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplet smut #smut

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 5

Part 5 - Backdrop

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

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

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

Series masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

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

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

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

“But would you have listened?”

He didn’t reply.

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

Damn him.

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

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

Silence stretched again.

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

Dum spiro spero, right?

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

Which he did just now.

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

“…Steve?”

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

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

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

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

God, he was such a likeable ass.

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

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

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

“Don’t get snarky with me now.”

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

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

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

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

Ask the one forbidden question.

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

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

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

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

You gulped, guilt nagging at your mind again.

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

‘Forget you hate me.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

Be strong.

Be fearless.

Don’t let them see.

Get up. Now.

Swallow your pain.

I believe in your potential.

You are a marvel.

You have a duty.

Do good.

Do not dare to fail.

Lead.

Inspire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Captain America himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, you’re the best of us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could scoff again. How could he mean it?

‘Meeting it pretty damn well.’

Right.

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

Steve Rogers. Captain America. Your direct superior.

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

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

…Captain, Sir.

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

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

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

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

You should have kept your stupid mouth shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your voice reflected all that.

“Do what?”

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

Do what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was he saying?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And still.

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

“I… okay.”

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

It just made no damn sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for the fear of falling for him deeper.

Too late, wasn’t it?

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

What was adding a little insult to the injury? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blacked out for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you were trying to protect me.”

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

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

Worked well for you both, didn’t it?

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s really not fu-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was funny though.

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

‘It’s been on my mind for a while.’

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

He had noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dead quiet.

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

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

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

And yet.

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

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

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

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

“Goddammnit Spectre! Why wouldn’t you-"

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

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

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

Except everything in your now screamed there was an emergency.

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

Guilt? How could he have felt guilty?

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

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

He felt responsible for your choices.

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

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

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

Scratch that. You knew that you wouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“True, but-“

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

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

You were wrong. Again.

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

“I know,” was all you said.

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

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

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

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

Stupid big-hearted hypocritical dumbass.

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

An absolute marvel. You… you are a marvel.

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

A marvel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should have never told anyone. Especially not Steve.

“Steve?! Are you-“

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

With me, said the steel in his voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like hearing your voice too.”

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

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

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

But god, were they endless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precious things never lasted.

And you already missed it.

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

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

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

He had to be smiling, right? It seemed-

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

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

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

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

You swore that if you got your hands on him-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, and the mention of your mother.

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

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

Fuck him. Fucking fuck Hydra as a whole.

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

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

“Leave her alone.”  

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

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

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

Steve wasn’t alone either.

And you were the one to get the welcoming wagon.

Why? Why you first?

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

So why you?

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

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

You were the leverage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wished you were that strong.

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

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

But knowing Hydra were goddamn lunatics, you didn’t, because he might do exactly that – and you were not interested.

God, your head was spinning. You were sure that one rapid movement and you’d throw up.

“By all fucking means.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly amused. Fuck him.

“…cute. You see, you wouldn’t believe how troublesome you can be, Agent,” he said, causing your breath to catch in your throat and your thready thoughts to scatter. Huh? “We really counted on all of you to be much more capable, but in the end, forgive me, you especially turned out to be a real pain in the ass. A real disappointment.”

It was absurd – the most absurd thing of all, you supposed, despite the past hours being a complete funhouse – but being called a disappointment, by a Hydra lunatic, felt like a blow to your solar plexus, shame filling every ounce of your being for a moment.

How utterly useless a person had to be for a Hydra lowlife to find you disappointing, for whichever reason he was cryptically referring to? It truly felt like you hit a new low.

And yet. A defiant smirk somehow found a way to your lips, however weak, a little piece of pride at having made their lives complicated, even if unwittingly.

“My pleasure,” you said, pointedly ignored.

“The data was right there. You had them in your grasp and then you failed to deliver them to your base of operation. Doctor Banner’s and his team’s contributions to our uncomplete attempts to develop the antiserum would have been invaluable.”

…what?

“I mean, their motives for researching the scraps we left behind would obviously be of the purest nature, retracing the ‘big bad Hydra’s’ steps, developing the very antiserum we were working on themselves in order to find an antidote to it, believing we already had the substance in possession. And we’d have it delivered, a sample and a formula, developed and perfected by them. It was brilliant. They could have done all the work, found the solution we needed. But no. The data was planted for you team to find, the perfect bait… and you had to go and muck it up, didn’t you, Agent Spectre?”

Blank.

Your mind turned blank.

Your jaw had fallen slack, ears filling with a strange static noise growing louder and louder with every word he said. And yet you could hear him perfectly clearly, hear him paint an image so bizarre you would have had trouble comprehending it had you been entirely healthy, let alone when missing around two pints of blood.

The reality he described felt everything but real – but it made sense. Despite the plan being absolutely insane, it made sense. And you had to give it to him, it indeed was irritatingly brilliant.

But at the sae time, you could have laughed at the irony, downright wheeze at the cosmic sense of humour.

The data. They had planted the data which you had felt so desperately useless for having lost, the ones you and Steve had fought about.

The blankness of your mind was replaced by a rapid fire of thoughts, even as they seemed to come too slow as seconds ticked by and you were holding your breath in anticipation of his laughter, anticipation of his revealing he was just pulling your leg for laughs, a confirmation you had somehow misunderstood, .

But it didn’t come.

Because it was the truth.

You had messed up, but in a different way than you thought. Not by failing to deliver the drive. They had wanted you to find the files and deliver them; and you had taken the bait like a stupid goose, your instinct to protect the team, Steve in particular, flaring up.

Failing to deliver the flash drive had actually been a good thing. Because otherwise you would have helped Hydra to have the scientists with the AI do Hydra’s work for them instead of just offering vague scraps which doctor Banner and others could barely work with.

Screw exchanging powers, screw the existence of an artifact that caused the switch; THIS was a large mindfuck you weren’t sure you could ever wrap your head around.

Your failure had meant Hydra’s failure. And Steve, precious annoying Steve, having snapped you back before you could have delivered the intel, had actually been a hindrance in Hydra’s evil plans as well. He had been angry with you for taking a risk, he had cared, and so he had broken your concentration for it and you had thought that it meant he thus put himself at risk – but in fact, he had unwittingly got himself further from getting caught in Hydra’s bullshit.

You were stunned.

And rendered entirely speechless with both awe and absolute horror.

“Is that your impressed face, Agent? I can’t quite tell with all the panting for air and smudged black-tie worthy make-up,” the boss hummed mockingly.

You kept absently staring at the Hydra pin on the lapel of his suit, your mind still racing and trying to fathom the things that could have happened and hadn’t.

Hydra didn’t have an antiserum. They had wanted the AI to figure out what they couldn’t. They wanted to hurt Steve in a most effective and most painful way possible, no doubt. And you could have delivered that opportunity to them on a silver platter. You had almost assisted to Steve getting hurt, even more than he was now.

The idea made your ribcage feel tighter.

Fresh panic filled it instead of air when you realized that Steve was quiet, again. He had been quiet for a while now.

Why was he quiet?

You strained your ears despite the loud frantic thump-thump-thump of your own heart echoing in your head, slightly relieved you could still hear his ragged breaths.

“Well, that plan is obviously in the past now. We have something much more effective – a way to take all your powers, hopefully, and maybe even replicate them. Bless the Kree.”

Fuck the Kree, was your thought, but you bit your tongue.

Only when Doctor Barret took the other part of his artifact in his hand as well and rose to his feet, eyes unmistakably set on you, you realized how terrifyingly still everything and everyone had been. Almost robotic. Perfectly obedient; perfectly compliant with Hydra Head Douche’s wishes.

Had he made them comply? The brainwashing program? Was that what awaited you after?

Barret barely took a single step towards you. You immediately tried to move backwards, meeting the unrelenting resistance of the men who held you instead.

The only thing you managed was causing yourself more pain, the grip on your arms growing strong enough to bruise.

“Well, we’re nothing if flexible,” the Head Douche hummed, shrugging almost jovially as the other Trigger-Happy Hydra Douche stepped closer to you as well. “You see, it looks like now we have two supersoldiers now and that changes the game completely too. Generations of scientists thought replicating the serum’s effects was impossible – Doctor Banner being one of the few who live to tell the tale, but your DNA is… vastly different to the Captain’s and yet. You carry his abilities now – and he carries yours, without your bodies visibly changing. I wonder… if we start probing you, we could have a whole new set of data on how to synthetise it...”

You gulped. You had worried about them reviving Daniel Whitehall’s program of brainwashing people to make anyone do Hydra’s bidding; but the mention of the doctor’s other favourite pastime had a shiver ran down your spine.

You hear a soft rattle of chains and you knew Steve was fighting hard to do anything – and then there was quiet again, sharp one at that. Your heart hammered against your chest. Did he pass out now?!

Steven Grant Rogers, you open your eyes right fucking now or so help me god-

“And we can actually have Captain Rogers’ samples, even if tainted by your own… mutation? There are so many questions to be answered. I wonder… if I simply take this, and have you touch the other part, will that make me a supersoldier, just like that? A game of hot potato, so to speak? Is it that simple? To think we went through all that trouble and all we needed was a piece of an alien rock… or is it genetics too? How can we only find out, huh?”

You just glared, forcing your muscles to stop the tremble the man’s words fought to leave in their wake.

Somehow, the fact theydidn’t have a single idea what would be their next best step was so much worse than the opposite, bile rising in the back of your throat and burning.

They’d do anything to get their answers. They’d do everything.

And you were alone.

“Our brightest minds have been analysing this extraordinary piece of work for the past hours and came up with nothing conclusive, nothing that would tell us what will happen…” he said, eyeing you thoughtfully, beckoning to the Trigger-Happy Douche, who put on a single glove himself, taking one part of the artifact from the doctor without his skin making contact. There was no glow to the metal yet; neither of these men were Inhuman, apparently. Then again… were you? Still? “So we must resort to the old-fashioned trial and error, it appears. I wonder if the transfer will be complete… if we take that power from you right now, before you can heal, will it be lights out for you, darling?”

Your heart seized in your chest, the rest of your body outside your control; you attempted to tug yourself free despite the roar of pain it caused, not moving an inch.

That was one option you hadn’t considered yet. If it was this simple, as the Hydra Head Douche just said, if he stole the healing factor from you, you’d— right away. You had lost too much blood already, you had no doubt.

You’d be dead before you could as much as breathe in once.

The shudder that ran down your spine was violent and rattled your bones; you had no strength to stop it.

‘Will it be lights out for you, darling?’

You closed your eyes; and then there was a frustrated sound from behind the wall and you snapped them back open, a blissful flicker of relief.

Not unconscious, apparently. Good.

And then it finally dawned to you, the reason for Steve’s silence; and it made spite rise in your gut along with anger and completely unfair fondness.

Steve Rogers was still fighting; he was still fighting to help despite his unbreakable bounds. He was trying to focus and project, even though the pain.

He truly was stronger and more determined than the entirety of SHIELD together, wasn’t he? If he was about to go down – and you prayed he wouldn’t, you prayed he’d get home somehow, back-up arriving just in time for him to survive somehow – he’d go down fighting, taking as many Hydra lunatics as possible. He deserved so much better than he was getting. He deserved and needed you to get your shit together.

You weren’t dead yet.

There might not be hope left, but that didn’t mean you had to go down without a fight. If you’d die trying to make these bastards lives a little bit more miserable than they were, you could not only take fear and regrets to the grave, but also a fair amount of satisfaction.

You lifted your gaze to the Head Douche’s face with gritted teeth, eyes hard. You hoped.

“Nah, I hope not,” the man mused, eyes following Doctor Barret who now approached you with the other half of the artifact. His eyebrow rose along with your awe, as the artifact lit up with uncomfortably familiar symbols in your proximity. Still an Inhuman, it seemed, at least in body. Still capable of being a pain in the ass. “That would be sad, wouldn’t it? We’d like you to tell us how exactly your abilities work. Even if the Captain seemed to get a hang of it pretty quickly…”

“He’s trying to do it again, I think,” sounded from behind the wall, the new voice startling you despite your determination and making your stomach drop.

Hydra might have been reduced in numbers, but sadly grew in brainpower, apparently. Fuck them.

“Tsk-tsk,” the Head Douche licked his tongue, extending a hand towards the doctor, stepping to you himself. “That’s not wise. We don’t want to waste any more bullets, do we…? Really, SHIELD and Avengers need to work on teaching their agents not to get attached. It makes you all so weak.”

The gun was out of a holster you had missed earlier and aimed at your forehead before you could as much as startle.

And then the safety of it clicked, your view of the man’s face partly obscured by his hand and metal, forefinger firmly resting against the trigger.

Your heart jumped to your throat; your determination bled out of your body in an instant, horror replacing it.

One minuscule movement and you’d be dead.

It didn’t matter if you’d miraculously survived the power switch, if there would be no power exchange at all, since no one knew how the artifact worked, not really. For all you knew, it could have had a mind of its own, you had seen a monolith that changed into liquid seemingly at whim before, you had seen too much insane to believe you knew anything at all.

But that didn’t really matter anyway, did it?

You had thought so many times in the past hours that you would never seen the world outside of this cell, that you’d meet your end here – but it had never felt as tangible as the cold muzzle of the man’s gun hovering an inch from your head.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Captain. You try to project again and each of you gets a bullet. Equality is a virtue, after all, isn’t it,” he announced rather than asked, voice flat all the same as he threatened and mocked what Steve had fought for even since the damn 1940’s. “But I feel like I should inform you that the gun is aimed at Agent Spectre’s head, ready to make her open her third eye to eternity.”

You winced at the imagery and squeezed your eyes shut, a ghost of pain you had never felt circling at the centre of your forehead already.

“Where should we aim at the Captain’s body, what do you think, Agent Spectre?”

“Steve, please stop.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think twice, quiet and shockingly calm to your own ears.

And even more surprising was the soft sound of metal and fabric as Steve shifted and a single deep ragged breath of his – and the silence that settled after.

He listened to you.

It was as scary as soothing.

You’d get to live a few more moments. And hopefully, he wouldn’t get punished by another gunshot wound. It was a little naïve to believe Hydra would have had any morals and wouldn’t shoot him just to prove a point, but a girl could hope and send a last wish, right?

You had two of those. For Steve to survive and be okay. And for every single person who was in this room with you to suffer unimaginable pain. You weren’t as virtuous as Steve was; had it been a little more realistic than it was, you’d have even wished for you being the one who would be the cause of it too.

The gun lowered minutely, the safety clicking back on, the softest shift of the air telling you the Head Douche let his arm fall to his side. You allowed yourself to breathe in shakily, eyes fluttering open despite your eyelashes growing heavy with tears.

“Touching,” the man commented, unimpressed. “I guess the other shoulder will do then, Mitch. Be ready. Now, as for you, darling, you just stay still. I believe it’s time to proceed. After all, discovery requires experimentation.”

Another violent shudder rocked your body as you recognized the words; the man smiled slightly, a twinkle of vicious glee in his hard gaze when he noticed.

A fire of rage lit up every achy cell in your body.

Asshole. Revelling in suffocating people with fear. Smiling when he had his henchmen to do his dirty work. Feeling so powerful with brainless goons to protect him and do his bidding. The perfect stereotypical bully, all the worse for Nazis being his divine inspiration.

You had no chance of overpowering him whatsoever and he had aimed a gun at you just a few seconds ago and yet, you couldn’t but spit the words burning on your tongue, disgust dripping from your tone despite being aware you truly shouldn’t poke the bear. Or the ancient strange octopus they worshiped for that matter.

“You really should lay off reading all that Reinhardt’s crap.”

The Head Douche cocked his head to side, one corner of his lips rising as he stepped away to make space for Doctor Barret and the glowing artifact.

“That’s doctor Reinhardt to you, Agent Spectre,” he corrected you, the dark glee in his face shining brighter. “He was quite the visionary. I’m glad you’re familiar with his work. Because if this simple exchange doesn’t work as we hope, we’ll move on to his methods. I heard the last Inhuman he had in his care, while still carrying the name you just used, ended up in so many pieces they had trouble reconstructing her body to stitch her up. They barely succeeded, even with her regenerative abilities… I think bleeding out from bullet wounds would be the merciful route for you, wouldn’t it?”

You weren’t proud of it, not in the slightest. But as panic slammed into you, you trembled, your lower lip wobbling.

You had heard the story of Jiaying. An Inhuman who had fascinated Reinhardt, or Doctor Whitehall, as he had been known later. At the death’s doorstep himself, he had been freed from SHIELD’s prison and got his chance to finally examine the woman who hadn’t aged. To experiment. To cut her open, taking a sample of anything he could, and another and another, eventually succeeding at reversing his own aging process.

And dumping the remnants of her body, only for her husband to stitch her up; ironically, for both her to become a villain just as bad.

You supposed Head Douche had a point after all. A bullet would be a mercy, even as that was hardly a pleasant option.

You had no doubt they would shoot you one more time the second they’d find out they stole Steve’s power.

Then again, maybe they would take great joy in seeing you die slowly and in pain, digging into your wounds for fun and took a few samples anyway, in the name of science, despite already getting what they wanted. That was the kind of fuckery Hydra did, didn’t they?

And then, they would do the same with Steve.

But if he was the second, that meant he had more time. And by then, the backup might finally arrive.

The glow of the artifact felt warm, even as the metal still hadn’t touched you; an undeniable reminder of who you were. What you were.

Last flare of fight rippled through you, but it was gone just as fast.

You’d be too slow. You could eliminate the henchmen who held you, maybe, if you pushed hard through the pain, but they were still gunshot wounds. You had already seen and felt the results of standing up, the damage to the muscles too severe. And even if you by some miracle managed to get rid of the doctor too, there were still two other people, both of them with a clearly twitchy finger. Anything less than superspeed combined with superstrength was useless.

You were useless.

You closed your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you whispered, trying your best to block your hearing so you wouldn’t hear his reaction, whatever it might be.

You didn’t want to leave this world hearing his disappointment. You had had enough of it throughout your whole life. You were ashamed enough all on your own, but you didn’t have any strength, will, or chance to keep fighting.

So you slowly breathed in and out, vainly trying to relax as you felt the artifact pulse near your cheek, and you accepted your fate.

Had Steve been in your place, he wouldn’t have – you were sure of it. But you weren’t him. Despite what he had said, unlike him, you were only human. And the fact was that even if you did somehow neutralize everyone in the room, Mitch and whoever was in Steve’s cell would just… neutralize Steve.

And you couldn’t have that.

You squeezed your eyes tighter, feeling your body shake even as you tried not to give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared. You cursed the lonely tears rolling down your cheeks. You sent a quick prayer to whatever messed up God listening.

And then you realized it wasn’t you who was shaking.

It was the ground.  

And it wasn’t shaking – it was quaking.

In your mind’s eye, you smiled and then laughed – hysterically. These assholes should quiver in their boots. They had no idea what force of nature was about to hit them.

Agent Daisy Johnson had been a force to reckon with even since she had joined; but Quake would take them by storm.

Or more precisely, by an earthquake.

“What the-“

Before you could let the relief envelop you, a deafening noise swept over the room, the wave of sheer power seemingly shattering your bones.

When darkness pulled you under, it was with a weak, but real smile on your face.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

That’s right, folks, Quake is coming 👀

This chapter took a long time and I'm aware... life's been happening (and not always in a good way) and this chapter was a long one and heavy one to write, despite the oy it brought me. Please, consider leaving a comment if you can - let me know your thoughts, I love reading them!

FYI, I couldn’t resist Quake making an appearance and I couldn’t resist the heart to heart over the wall, it was actually one of the scenes I’ve had written down first along with the screaming match at the beginning of the series 🥹

I hope March is kind to you 💕

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

[emeritusemeritus]

Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt 10.

[Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, p in v sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting. Tiny bit of angst, possessiveness, talk of kids. Mentions of dominant behaviour. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Love potions? But none are actually used. Not beta-read nor spell checked, we die like Sirius ❤️

Okay this one is admittedly a necessary filler so the reader can work out her feelings, but I promise we’re moving into the good stuff next chapter 🤍

You tuck your letter away under your placemat as you eat, not wanting to open it up in the middle of lunch, even though the others had done so.

Truthfully, you were dreading whatever news your dad had for you and you would rather read it in private, knowing he rarely wrote to you so it must be some form of news, most likely bad.

George kept flicking his gaze to you at he ate, clearly checking on your well-being but you simply pretended that you were fine even though you could feel the pit on anxiety building up inside.

After lunch, you'd all decided not to go back to the lake but to shower and chill in the house as the sun was at its peak and quite frankly, you couldn't sit in it much longer. Hermione had packed already and had everything ready for her leaving later that afternoon, so you took some time to just spend her last few hours all together.

You were all sat around in the lounge, the coolest room in the house, some of you reading, some playing exploding snap and others just chatting. It was nice just to all spend time together even if you weren't all interacting as you escaped the heat in the coolest room.

"Wanna play a game? Like truth or would you rather or something?" Ginny asks after winning another round of exploding snap. "I'm not doing dares with these two here," she says, nodding towards the twins.

"What's that?" Ron says, confused.

"It was on a muggle movie we watched, they take turns and ask each other questions," she shrugs, not really able to elaborate further. "Sometimes it's like would you rather chose A or B."

"We're in," the twins say in unison, moving to sit closer around the coffee table.

You, Hermione and Harry were sat on the sofa, Ron in the armchair and Ginny and the twins were sat around the table on the floor, padded out with cushions.

"Yeah sounds good to me," you say, placing your bookmark into your book and placing it down next to you on the floor.

Everyone mutually agreed and you all began huddling round, deciding on the rules.

"Okay youngest to oldest," Ginny says, hearing immediate protest from the twins. "You chose first yesterday and today, time for a switch up." You laugh at her bossiness, having to sometimes remind yourself that she was the youngest but the twins, Fred especially, had a soft spot for her and actually didn't protest further.

"Right, Harry, truth or would you rather?"

"Umm, would you rather," he says, touching his glasses nervously.

"Would you rather spend the entire day with Draco or Dudley?" She asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He huffs out a little nervous laugh as he thinks before answering Dudley.

"Ron, truth or would you rather?"

"Would you rather," he says confidently.

"Would you rather, er, throw up slugs again or dance with Snape at the yule ball," Harry says with a devious grin. You had to admit the last one was good but it was much tamer than you originally had thought it would be.

"Vomit slugs, easy," Ron says, brushing his hair out of his face. "Hermione?"

"Um, truth?" She says, unsure of herself.

"Oh erm, ughr," Ron mumbles, not knowing what to ask. Immediately the twins begin to mock him and you even inwardly groan, finding the game boring already. "How many books have you read this summer?"

You roll your eyes and openly groan along with the twins, all three of you finding the questions too boring.

"I'll answer that for her, too many," Fred says, jumping in. "Right I'm switching things up." He immediately stands and walks off, coming back a few minutes later bringing an empty bottle with him, necking the last of the drink before he puts it on the coffee table.

"Whoever it lands on has to answer the question, then they get to ask the next question," He says, spinning the bottle until it lands on Ron.

"Ronald, still a virgin?"

You have to hold back a little chuckle at the sudden shift in tone at Fred's brash words and even without looking you know that Ron is beet red.

Ron manages to huff and puff, squirming in his seat as he does indeed turn bright red.

You found yourself dissociating away from the game as others answered, trying to squirm away from the harsher questions the twins were coming out with. You excused yourself and walked to the kitchen, feigning getting a drink as you sat at the table, pulling out your letter, unable to wait any longer.

"Dear y/n,

Your friend has written you a letter but did not know the address of the friend you were staying with; so please find their letter inside. Hope school is going well and you are staying out of trouble. Best wishes, dad.

You almost rolled your eyes at the bluntness of the note, feeling overwhelmingly relieved that it wasn't a true letter from your father. Casting the note to the side, you pulled out the second letter, written on both sides of regular notebook paper that had been folded somewhat neatly, the girly but messy writing already making you smile.

"My dear y/n,

We miss you so much, when are you coming back to see us? You've not really missed much, apart from Johnny has a girlfriend now! Weird right? It's actually kind of disgustingly cute. School is shit, just like normal but only one term left before college. Everyone misses you, the band just isn't the same without our rock chick.Dad's taking me to London after work on Friday, remember that coffee shop we found last time? I've made him promise to take me and he said that he'd eat the banana bread that you loved so it would feel like you were there with me! Hope to hear from you again soon. Love you! Val, Still your best friend x

You reread the letter multiple times, perfectly envisioning her voice as you read it. You missed her terribly, along with all of your friends, but Val had always been you're closest friend back home.

You sensed a presence behind you and turned to see George watching you with concern. You smiled at him and he looked instantly a little relieved, moving forward to stand behind you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Is everything okay with your dad?" He asks cautiously, knowing that the relationship was rocky and sometimes a sore spot for you. You snorted a laugh and nodded in reply.

"He was just forwarding a letter from my friend," you explained.

The beginnings of an idea were forming in your head as you looked at George, a rising hopefulness gathering in your belly.

"What time are your parents taking Hermione to the train station?" You asked, looking up at him questioningly, before craning your neck to look at the clock near the staircase.

"Um about two I reckon, why?" George asks, moving to sit beside you at the table in Arthur's usual spot.

"Do you think they'd let me go with them?" You asked and George immediately looked bewildered, "not to catch a train, I wanted to nip into London."

"I don't see why not, why do you want to go to London though?" He asked, thoroughly confused.

"My friends going to be there, I was hoping to surprise her and to be honest I could do with some new stationary before we get back to school," you explained, "maybe a new textbook or two."

"I don't like the idea of you going alone angel, can Fred and I join you?" He asks, warming your heart a little more at his concern. You burst into a smile and nod enthusiastically, it would be nice for you to go with the twins.

"I'd like to meet my friend alone though, no offence," you said, treading carefully. He smiled in understanding.

"Of course angel, you can meet me and Fred after, it would make me feel a lot more comfortable that way," he says nervously and you immediately reach over to kiss his cheek at his sweetness.

"Oi! Fred!" George bellows suddenly as you pull away. Fred walks out not a minute later after hearing his twin calling for him.

"Wanna go to London this afternoon? Y/n wants to go," George says, nodding towards you.

"I'm in," he shrugs, sitting down next to you at the table.

And that is exactly how you found yourself in the centre of a bustling and muggy Diagon Alley on a Friday afternoon with most of the Weasleys. Molly had jumped at the chance to go shopping and Arthur had gone along with it for the sake of his family. You knew where Val would be later that afternoon and hoped to be able to catch her but until then you strolled around Diagon Alley with the twins, having dropped Hermione off at the station and then broken away from the others as you weaved in and out of the stores.

Your first stop was Gringotts to exchange a muggle cheque your father had sent at the start of term for your school supplies before heading to Flourish and Botts for some new supplies.

"Wonder if they still sell Lockhart's shit?" You laugh as George opens the door for you.

"Doubt it, though fiction books always sell better," he laughs, following you towards the textbook area with Fred lingering behind.

Seeing a potion book you didn't own, you briefly flicked through it before putting it back on the shelf, realising it was utter trash. You briefly wondered if Professor Snape would let you borrow any of his own books this year, knowing that though they were much more advanced, they were immeasurably more informative.

You picked up a new textbook that you needed for your defence against the dark arts class and began wandering towards the back section when an overly excited Fred ran up to you and George, wielding a book.

"Twelve fail-safe ways to charm witches!" He says excitedly, laughing whilst flicking through the pages to show you a few diagrams and read out a couple of passages.

"And you need that why?" You asked defensively with a frown, not finding the underlying meaning very funny. He immediately senses your displeasure and his eyes bug out as he stumbles over his words as he tries to explain.

"Not for me princess, obviously, merlin, I meant for us to give it to Ron!" George immediately laughs at the plan and you absently nod, feeling a little off from the whole thing. You begin wandering away from them, making your way back to the potions area as they excitedly flick through the book.

"Professor?" You say smiling, spotting a familiar face within the potions section, his characteristic black hair and flowing capes always recognisable.

"Miss y/l/n," he says, turning in surprise at your voice, an almost smile tugging at his lips in recognition as he looks down into your basket. "I would have thought you already owned a copy of the necessary textbook for my class," he says with a hard but familiar tone, as if there's humour buried deep within it.

"I do sir, I was hoping to find something more advanced but they're all utter drivel," you said honestly, gesturing to the green book you'd looked at earlier. He huffs out a little puff of laughter though he tries to hide it before turning away to look up at the shelf. "Yes," he says, drawing out the syllable of the word before reaching up to the top shelf and pulling down a small, leather bound book that was hidden between two much larger books. He checks the spine and briefly flips it over before handing it to you with an almost smile, "this should be of use to you, it is well beyond the ability of a typical sixth or seventh year but you've exceeded all of my previous expectations, what's one more."

"Thank you Professor," you say as you reach for the book, trying desperately not to blush at his praise.

"Angel- oh, Um, Professor Snape," George says as he bounds around the corner, coming to an immediate holt as he spots the Potion master. Fred, clearly not anticipating his brother's sudden stop, barrels into George from behind as they both look up to see you and Snape conversing.

"Anyway," Snape says, his tone and features immediately hardening as he looks at the troublesome twins before looking back at you, "good day."

You follow him with your eyes, looking down at the book he'd given you before looking up again, just in time to see him cast one last glance at you before exiting the store.

"What did old Snapey want?" Fred said, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

"He recommended a book for me, said it would help me with my NEWTS," you shrugged, not directly trying to knock Fred's arm off of you but also not actively trying to keep it around you, still feeling a little uneasy about the misunderstanding with the book from earlier.

You walked and paid for the two books before shoving them into your little crochet shopping bag and walked over to Quality Quidditch supplies with the twins so that they could fawn over the new brooms and array of merchandise.

Checking the time, you briefly wondered when you should set off for the little muggle coffee shop just outside of Diagon alley that you knew Val would be visiting and decided to have another thirty minutes with the twins before going.

You ran into Molly and Arthur who were sat outside one of the tea shops sharing a pot of tea. They waved excitedly at you all and carried on with their little date that mainly consisted of people-watching and laughing.

You nipped to fetch a new quill and some parchment before eyeing up a new school skirt in Madam Malkin's but couldn't justify spending the money when you're old one would do, at least for the rest of this year. Fred, true to form, had quietly muttered some sexual innuendos about never having enough skirts and how much he liked you in them but you ignored him and instead left without the skirt.

"Okay, I'm going to meet my friend, not sure how long I'll be, where will I find you?" You turned, addressing the twins.

"Take all the time you want. We'll probably be in Gambol and Japes, if not we'll meet outside Ollivanders or come to you?" George said, pointing towards the joke shop on the corner. You nodded and reached out to subtly grab his other hand as you said goodbye. You turned to Fred and he subtly leaned in, looking like he was whispering in your ear and kissed the side of your head gently.

George then reached up and grabbed your shopping bag off your shoulder with a smile, "don't want her seeing any of this do you?" He slung it over his own shoulder and you had to bite your lip at seeing the 6 foot 3 Weasley boy lugging around a rose patterned crochet bag, but it didn't even faze him after wearing a lifetime of Molly's knitted creations.

Walking towards the coffee shop, your nerves were all over the place, firstly hoping that you could catch her and secondly that she would respond well to the surprise if you had your timings right.

Walking in, the little bell above the door chimed and you took a moment to look around at the customers, not seeing her signature blond hair anywhere.

"What can I get you love?" The barista asks and you ordered a caramel macchiato, something that you would never be able to find in the wizarding world. You reached for your little coin purse of muggle money and paid with the change, waiting to collect your drink at the end of the bar. When your drink was ready, you walked over to a table near the window and were immediately thankful that you'd bought along your book so that you'd have something to distract you and that the coffee shop had working air conditioning. Each time the bell chimed, you looked up in hope but then went straight back to reading your book, waiting for the next time.

"You have to get the banana bread!" You heard as the bell chimed and it immediately alerted you to the voice. You grinned as you spotted a shirt female with familiar blonde hair stood beside her absurdly tall dad who had dark brown nearly jet black hair.

They ordered their drinks and cakes, paid and then moved to wait by the end of the bar just as you had. Seeking an opportunity, you stood and walked over to them discreetly before putting on a voice, "excuse me?"

They both turned around with polite but confused smiles on their faces and you couldn't help but laugh at the reaction as waves of recognition passed over them.

"Oh my god!" Val squealed as she threw her arms around you, not a single care in the world about her absurd volume. You beamed and laughed as she rocked you in her arms, thankful you were able to see her again. "What are you doing here?! I thought you were in school? Did you get my letter?" She began to say frantically as she pulled away to look at you. You simply laughed and nodded, not even knowing where to start. She pulled you in for another hug and you held her just as tightly; only realising now how much you'd missed her.

You looked over her shoulder to Adam, her dad, seeing him smile widely at you both. When you pulled apart, he held out the plate of banana bread towards you, gesturing for you to take it as he pulled you into a side hug, having been close since you were five years old.

"No I can't, you have it," you said, trying to protest. He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, "I don't even like it, I was just doing it to shut her up. It's really good to see you, kid."

He walked off with his drink to sit down near the table where your stuff was, happy to give you both space and to flick through his mobile phone for a while, something you hadn't seen in a long time.

You were desperate for a catch-up with your best girl friend and truthfully, you needed some one to talk through your problems with, someone with an unbiased, outsiders perspective; someone who didn't know the twins at all. The whole Amortentia incident was still fresh in your mind, only worsened by smelling the whizzbang smoke the other night and you were more conflicted than ever about your feelings for both of them. Val was the only one who wouldn't judge you for what you were doing, who you knew you could trust to talk openly to, at least without mentioning the magic.

Val grabbed her drink from the counter and moved over to your original table so that you could chat. She went first, immediately telling you about how she was seeing a guy at school and that her dad didn't know so you had to be cool about it. She told you more about what college she had picked and how the rest of your friends were doing and some chatter about new muggle movies and music you needed to experience

"So, what about you?" She asks, picking the last little bits of her cake off the plate. You huffed out a sigh and placed your drink back down on the table. "Oh no, what happened with Fred?"

You'd told her all about your crush on Fred a few years ago but had never mentioned much about his twin, though you'd spoken about him in a friend way. You figured there was no time like the present to offload all of your complicated feelings.

"It's, complicated," you say, picking at the lid of your coffee, "did I tell you that Fred told me he had feelings for me?"

Judging by her almighty gasp, you assumed not. "Problem is, so did his twin brother." Another almost comical gasp.

"Then I realised that I might also have feelings for you George and things are now a little complicated, to say the least." You were quiet now, just a little above a whisper to avoid someone overbearing.

"So what did you do?" She asks attentively, giving you her full attention. You sighed and looked up at her as you replied.

"I'm kind of dating both? For now, please don't judge me."

"I would never!" She says reaching her hand towards yours, "so you have to decide eventually?"

You nod. "That's the problem. Every time I feel like I'm starting to decide, something tips the scale and I'm right back to the beginning."

You rub your hands over your face trying to relieve some of the tension but of course it doesn't work.

"Who do you see a future with?" She asks, keeping her tone even as she takes a sip of her coffee.

"Well that's the thing, I've been staying with them this week and both of them have said the cutest things about the future and it's got me even more confused. We had separate dates earlier this week and I had a night with George first, well kind of the day and night because Fred was sick and we talked about what we were doing after school and how we both wanted one or two kids etc, and it was such a nice thought. Then the other morning I came downstairs and he was in the kitchen reading the newspaper, shirtless and looking hot as fuck and it made me think that it could be my future you know, husband in the kitchen making breakfast blah blah blah." You took a breath and carried on explaining as she listened to you, "but then with Fred, the other night, he was saying about how we'd live together and he's hold me every night and bring me cups of tea in a morning and god the constant marriage references," you took another breath, trying to remember not to overload her and forcing yourself not to mention the Amortentia outright.

"The thing is, I love them both but in different ways. George brings me comfort, he's gentler and more sensitive, real proper husband material. I can see our future completely and I'd be happy but then there's Fred. We'd have a happy, fun filled life, it would never be boring and I'd be happy with him. But now I know what it's like to be loved by both of them and I can't even bare to think of choosing one and losing the other."

Silence lingers around you both as you finish offloading your thoughts. The weight of your words hangs in the air and you have to shoot a look at Val to check that she's still with you, and then around to check no one was listening.

"What about quick fire questions? We write out the answers or tally them and you can see who you favour?" She asks and to be honest, it sounds like a good plan.

"At this point I'd do anything."

She immediately scoots over to sit beside you rather than across from you and leans down to pull a notebook and pen from her bag. She flicks it open to a blank page and draws a little tally chart with their names at the top.

"So I'll ask you a bunch of different questions and scenarios and you have to say the first one that comes to your mind," she explains as you enthusiastically nod along with her. She suddenly leans in to whisper in your ear. "Quick one, have you slept with them both?"

You nod slowly, feeling as if she would judge you but she simply nods with a neutral expression, as if it was just a regular thing to ask someone.

"Okay, who's messier?"

"Fred."

"Who's grumpier?"

"Fred."

"Who's the most romantic?"

"George."

"Who's funnier?"

"Fred."

"Who's more sensitive?"

"George."

"Who hugs you more?"

"George."

"Who kisses you more?

"Fred."

"Who's hornier?"

"Fred."

"Who gives better head?"

"George."

"Who has a bigger dick?"

"Fred," you say, quickly adding, "only by a fraction though." She nods, then begins changing tactics.

"Does Fred want kids?"

"Yeah, but he wants more than George."

"Who's more attractive?"

"They're identical twins," you say blankly but she reaches out and flicks you on the arm.

"And you can tell them apart so there must be differences," she reasons and you can't fault her logic.

"Um Fred? George's nose is a little bigger and his features are a little sharper I guess."

"Okay next set of questions," she says, looking up from her notes, "If you did chose one, who would take the rejection worse?"

"George," you reply, your heart doing a little twang of sadness at the very thought.

"Okay, fast forward five years, it's a Saturday morning, no work, no plans, explain what it would look like with George," she says, preparing to make notes again.

The memory of him in the kitchen the other morning, shirtless and reading the newspaper flashes into your mind.

"I wake up and he's not in bed but there's a hot cup of tea on the bedside table. He's in the kitchen, sat shirtless at the little table, reading the newspaper and sipping his tea. He pulls me into his lap, rests his head on my shoulder and reads the sport scores out to me and any news bits he knows I'd like. I make breakfast for us and we sit and eat at the little table laughing and chatting until we inevitably end up back in bed," you say, listing out each part of your little dream.

Val let's out a little 'aww' as she makes her notes before looking back up to you with a smile, "same scenario but with Fred."

"I wake up and he's sleeping next to me, still holding me from the night before. He wakes up and we don't leave the bed for another hour at least. He makes me tea and we make breakfast together and then we sit watching terrible tv, mocking the actors and awful storylines. He pulls me closer to him to cuddle on the couch and we spend the day just like that."

"Okay different tactic again, I want you to give me the pros for dating Fred or listing his best qualities," she says, flipping over the page and starting a new one entirely.

"He's funny and mischievous, kind to me, very protective. Hot obviously, like little stupid things like running his fingers through his hair or rolling up his sleeves. We're best friends so there's no weirdness and most people think we're dating anyway."

"Okay now George."

"Funny, sensitive and sweet, more considerate than Fred and more likely to notice somethings wrong. More likely to think ahead, and to apologise. He's comfort for me."

"And now worst qualities of Fred."

"Doesn't always think things through, can be impulsive and not think of the consequences. He can be a little mean, to his brothers and stuff, just a little more brutal than George is. He can be a little grumpy sometimes, usually about other guys or whatever like he's a little possessive. Not always the most responsible and can be a little unreliable."

"And George?"

"Follows Fred diligently, a little insecure, not as confident in himself, same as Fred that he doesn't always think of consequences."

"Okay last one, what are the pros and cons of being in a relationship with them in general?"

"Pros; wonderful family, great parents in law, I get along really well with their other siblings, share the same friends. I'd be happy."

"Cons?"

"Um well I guess there family isn't rich or anything, not that it bothers me, but for some maybe that's a thing? The only con is hurting the other brother."

"Right, your conclusion," she says, adding up the tally before looking back at you.

“You’re screwed.”

#emeritusemeritus #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley #fred weasley masterlist #weasley twins x reader #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #george weasley smut

[yandere-daydreams]

Dottore is not a man who can love gently.

Not that he tries especially hard to. In the past, in the privacy of his personal laboratory, he's confessed his distaste for attempting to preserve his test subjects, how tedious he finds administering anesthetics to be when a simple cut to the spinal cord can do the trick with half the fuss. His comfort is minimal, forced, limited to a few white capsules and vague promises of shallower lacerations and neater stitchwork for well-behaved patients, and he's rarely ever kinder to himself - often forgoing food and rest for days at a time when he stumbles onto a phenomenon that interests him, willing to cut away bits and pieces of himself if it means he might find something that hadn't been there before. It's a habit you can't help but encourage, if only to indulge the childish fantasy that one day, he might decide to cut away until there's nothing left.

You aren't exempt from his harsh affection either, although your days on his vivisection table are long past. He's come to see you as something of a lap dog rather than a lab rat, and while you're willing to admit that you're more content cleaning his scalpels than being the reason they need to be cleaned, he's still far from kind to you. There's no peace, not with him, no sentimental warmth or domestic treacle - your life is still as cold as it was when the only human contact you ever received was a guard's hand clamped around your wrist, when the only time you heard another person's voice was during the long, agonizing minutes Dottore set aside to explain exactly what your 'treatment' would entail that day. He's always liked playing physician, leaning into his namesake. You think he finds it entertaining, or failing that, ironic enough to be amusing. You think that he sees himself as a caretaker, in his own, sadistic way.

Even in his softest moments, he's still so cruel. Late at night, when you're stripped of all that soothes you and curled up in his bed, he likes to ramble, to run a finger over the name carved into your back as he describes just how he'd go about cutting open your chest and holding your heart in his hand, or draining out half of your blood and replacing it with his own, or plucking your eyes from your skull and fashioning them into a pair of rings the two of you can exchange when he finally brings you before the Tsaritsa, as the other Harbingers have done with their ill-gotten lovers. Gory things, visceral things, all soaked in blood and dredged up from the deepest trenches of his warped mind. He despises your delicacy with a quiet passion, as well, loathes the fact that there's only so much he can do to you before you break apart in his hands, but that rarely stops him from testing to see exactly where that limit lies. You can't remember the last time there hadn't been a ring of bruises around your neck, like an ever-present collar to remind you of his vicious love.

And it is love. You can't say that it isn't mostly obsession, an infatuation that's rotted from inside out, nor that what he does to you will ever manage to spark any kind of fondness in your heart, but by his standards, it is love, or something like love, at the very least. You've seen how he treats the other test subjects, the ones he never came to hold any tenderness for, and you know that he loves you, that he must love you, that you wouldn't be alive if he didn't. You can't help but imagine it, in the dull hours you spend on his lap while he reviews his underlings' reports - how your body might've looked, bleeding out on the floor of his laboratory as his next victim is hauled in, how long you would've lasted if he truly didn't care for you at all.

You can't help but wish that he loved you enough to put you out of your misery.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere drabble #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines #yandere dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[qqtxt]

[🌸] a little different w/ txt

✿ pairing: ot5 x reader / idol!txt / non.idol!you / soft times with txt / mentions of food / a couple of curse words but nothing out of ill intentions ✿ mini-fics with each member for the same situation / less than 500 words for each member / altogether, word count: 1,300 words ✿ when you cancel a planned date with them and this is how they react >:) [masterlist 🌸] / other members under the cut! / @kflixnet​​ ✨

days where he’s able to have off and be able to go on a date with you rarely came by... the same time that you were feeling a bit off. not off as in something detrimental had happened but... you know, those one-off days where you wake up and feel like the world absolutely sucked no matter how you tried to reshape your view. that led you to call him; to let him know that you didn’t feel up to the date you had planned and...

[🐰] soobin soobin responds in a way that makes your heart flutter despite the lingering heaviness around you. he’s gentle, understanding, even asking you can i still come and see you? he arrives with a minute to spare than his estimated time. he’s got a bunch of snacks in his bag pack, some of your favourites, some of his; altogether he’s ditching it by the side of your door as he pulls you into a hug that melts you to your knees. sits with you quietly, just co-existing. every now and then he’s checking on you with a worried gaze during a show you’ve put on the television but easily smiles when you still have the energy in you to smile at him with a hand cupping his cheek. rests easy when you nap against him and he’ll admit it–this was better than the planned date, anyway; just as long as he was with you.

tl;dr: soobin will be more than happy just staying at home with you as long as he gets to be with you. as a homebody-person, he 100% appreciates being at home, anyway. however, knowing that you were feeling down, activates his caring mode to the max. expect this man to try to take care of you to his best abilities. snacks? gotchu. cuddles? say no more. rather than using words to make you feel better, he’ll definitely show it in his actions.

[🦊] yeonjun yeonjun’s mind jumps to the worst possible scenario to why you’re feeling the way you’re feeling. had something happened? did something upset you? did he do something or was it something he didn’t do? when you reassure him that it was nothing in particular, just... one of those days, he understands immediately. “...is it okay if i still come over? just wanna see you, wanna be with you.” honestly, there was no way you could turn him down, you monste–he shows up with flowers and it puts a smile to your face despite the world not giving you reasons to today. he’d gush over you and shower you with compliments to make you feel shy, and to top the icing on the cake the second he sees you smile, he’d say: “ah... look at that pretty smile. that’s all i ever ask for.” 

tl;dr: man’s freaking out the moment you want to cancel the date out of fear he was the reason why but is relieved when you explain to him of the reason why... only for him to get worried about you soon after. the moment he gets to see you, though, he’ll try to use his words as a way to make you feel better. compliments? you’re drowning in them. words of encouragement? yeonjun would never let you doubt yourself again. yet, in the midst of all this, he’d try to get you to speak about your feelings so he can try to make you feel better. and if you didn’t feel like talking, he’ll be more than glad to just sit there with you and have you in his arms.

[🐯] beomgyu beomgyu playfully whines that he’s been wanting to go out with you and take pretty pictures but is quick to read the tone of your voice when you explain to him that you weren’t feeling a 100% today rather than you calling it off as lazy. he tells you that he’ll be over in an hour, to which you didn’t have room to reject him (not that you were going to, you wanted to see him, anyway). he shows up a little bit earlier than he had predicted and you’re surprised at the way he was able to get your favourite takeout, a singular heart balloon accompanied with a small bouquet of dried flowers. “just because you didn’t want to go out on a date, doesn’t meant that the date can’t come to you.” has this shit-eating-grin on his face when he sees you getting emotional at what he’s done but falls to your mercy as he sets everything down so he can hug you.

tl;dr: this guy puts the ‘a’ in ‘romantic’, because he’s ALL about trying to use romantic gestures as a way to make you feel better. if you’re not up to go out on a date? say no more, he’ll bring it to you, instead. though, don’t get fooled with the gestures he’s pulling, it doesn’t steer him away from comforting you with just his presence alone; hugging you, kissing you, cuddling you until you feel better. you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to because all he wants to do is be there with you.

[🐿] taehyun taehyun would try not to sound disappointed (only because he wanted to see you) and would ask if you wanted space to be alone. when you sound hesitant, that’s when he’ll ask if he can come by to see you or if you wanted to come by the dorm instead. whichever it is, taehyun would get you to open up and allow yourself to feel the emotions you feel, then slowly pick you up from there. he’ll still try to cheer you up, but he would want you to feel free in what you feel and not pretend around him. and if all you wanted was for him to hold you, that’s exactly what he’ll do.

tl;dr: his advancements might seem cold compared to the others but he only has your best intention at heart. he wouldn’t try to push to be affectionate, knowing that’s not what would help you at the moment but he would be there with you, quietly supporting you as you felt the emotions you felt. when it seems like you’re feeling a bit better, that’s when he’ll kick in his affectionate side and smother you with affections–cue taehyun clinging onto you like a koala.

[🐧] kai  kai would initially sound like he’s whining because of the cancelled date, but you come to find out that it’s only because he misses you and wants to spend time with you. when you tell him that it’s only the date that’s cancelled and you’d still want to see him, boy, this boy flies to your place at the speed of light. he’ll remember to bring a snack or two, maybe even bubble tea of your liking, but most importantly, you greet the door with a cute plushie in your face; one of the tens upon twenties from his dorm that he gives to you as a way to be there for my favourite person, protect them with all your cuddly might. as you hold the plushie in your hands, your heart grows soft but you would ask kai to hug you instead; to which he does very willingly.

tl;dr: say no more, this boy will be right over with a plushie and he makes you keep the plushie at your place, telling you to sleep with it because it’ll make your heart feel better. as he cuddles you, he’ll make you cuddle the plushie and it’s a cuddle-ception. though playful, he’ll then get to the quiet moments and start asking if you wanna talk about your feelings. whichever you chose to do, be it talk to your heart’s content or stay in silence with him, it doesn’t matter as long as you held onto that plushie, and he holds onto you in the process.

#kflixnet #txt scenarios #txt reactions #txt headcanons #txt x reader #txt x you #soobin x reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader

[strawwritesfic]

Aragorn x Female!DúnedainReader: Content

Summary: You could never tell him the truth or even admit it to yourself, but so long as you are near him, why should you need to?

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (Set during Fellowship of the Ring but does not actually intersect with the events in-story; not Tenth Walker!Reader; exposition; does not explicitly ruin Aragorn/Arwen; not Anti-Arwen)

Challenge:  “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Content

Choosing to become a Ranger meant giving up certain creature comforts that others often took for granted. The sky became your roof, the hills your bed, and the rivers your drink. When you took up the profession some thirty-five years before, you had not felt yourself to be sacrificing much. You loved the outdoors, and wandering Middle Earth beat sitting around waiting for the return of the rightful king of Gondor any day.

But the passing years changed you as much as they changed the forests you traversed. There were nights on which you could not help but wish for a proper roof, a softer bed, or a more tasteful drink. 

One such night found you out of doors as always, leading your horse along soggy paths. The thunder rolled in endless waves above your head while the rain poured down in sheets rather than in droplets. The sodden grass and heavenly tumult silenced the sound of your horse’s hooves. So loud was the sound of the storm that you did not even attempt conversation with your traveling companion.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, did not share your desire for the comfort of an inn that evening. You had run into him entirely by chance three months prior on a serious errand of his own that had, much to your surprise, required an extra pair of hands. As you rarely had the opportunity to spend time with Men of your heritage, you tagged along with great enthusiasm. One errand led to another; now you felt yourself quite comfortably situated with him–at least until some future a job forced your inevitable separation.

Still, he never seemed inclined to stay in civilization longer than necessary. He asked his questions and left, frequently with you lingering outside the town to keep an eye out for any signs of being followed. As such, you were taken rather aback that night when you found Aragorn and his horse stopped in front of you, right in front of a large gate that led into a town. The two of them must have been stopped longer than you realized, because you had no time to ask what he was doing before a panel in the wood slid open and a pair of eyes appeared in its place.

“What is your errand in Bree?” asked the man to whom the eyes belonged.

“We are Rangers,” Aragorn answered. “We seek shelter at the inn.”

“Bit late to be out in this weather in’t? Even for Rangers.”

The panel slid shut once more. You thought that you had been rejected entrance into the town. It would not have been the first time. Aragorn was not terribly popular among those who did not know him. A moment later, however, the gates  opened. 

The man from earlier appeared in his entirety, carrying a lantern in one hand and peering into the dark beyond. He impatiently waved you both forward. “Well, come along, before you catch cold.”

“If there is cold to catch, we will already have caught it,” Aragorn replied. He was every bit as drenched as you were, with his hair flattened and stuck to face and his clothes equally stuck to his arms and legs. “But we thank you for your kind concern.”

Better to let him do the talking. You simply nodded to the guard as you passed with your horse, then followed Aragon in silence. It was only several minutes later–and after the two of you had gone much deeper down the vacant road through the town–that you gave voice to your concern:

“Why are we stopping? It is unlike you.”

“It will do no good for the horses to continue like this. Even if we do not fall ill, they might, and I dislike the idea of purchasing new mounts. These know our ways by now. A new pair might not be so easily trained.” 

All this he said with his eyes on the street ahead. When he stopped, he did so at the head of a path leading to a large building marked with a sign declaring it to be the Prancing Pony. At last, Aragorn focused his gaze upon your face and went on:

“If you will take the horses to the stable, I will get us a room.”

Having never visited Bree yourself, you acquiesced readily to his request of handling business matters himself. In the stables, you found a Hobbit, friendly and willing enough to house both horses once you explained the situation. You left your name so that he could find you for payment should Aragorn neglect it–not that he would–and walked the muddy road back up to the inn to arrive there not twenty minutes after having parted ways with your companion. 

Inside, you found him speaking with a plump, bald man you assumed to be the owner.

“Ah,” said the man upon your arrival. “This would be the woman, then?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said.

The man took your hand in both of his and shook vigorously. “Butterbur, Barliman Butterbur, if you please, madam,” Butterbur said as he released you, before promptly returning his attention to Aragorn. “I suppose you’ll be wanting supper and a hot fire.”

“The latter most definitely,” Aragorn said. “But not the supper. We have eaten on the road, and there is no need to rouse your kitchen staff at such an hour.”

Butterbur looked relieved at not having to expend more time and energy on Aragorn than necessary. Although the innkeeper’s words were polite, his body language indicated your friend’s presence unnerved him. Aragorn could have that effect on people. He knew how to handle them; it was one of the reasons you trusted him so implicitly. 

“I will have Nob prepare a room and a fire right away. Until then, you may rest in the parlor. There’s still a fire going there, and I doubt you’ll run into any other guests. Everyone else has long since retired,” said Butterbur.

Both of you murmured your thanks and moved down the hallway into another, better-lit room. You stood directly in front of the fire, close enough to see Aragorn’s face through the shifting shadows, but far enough away that touching him would have been difficult. Neither of you spoke for a very long time.

“We will leave as soon as the storm stops tomorrow,” he said finally, and stepped closer to you as he did. “Hopefully all signs of our prey will not be lost in the rain.”

“If you were so concerned with losing our ability to track him, why stop? It was not for the horses at all, was it?” you asked.

One corner of Aragorn’s mouth pulled upward. You could hardly believe it, and turned more fully toward him to get a better look.

“If you decided to take quarters because of me, I will be quite offended.”

“Then you’ll have to be offended,” he answered. “Though you may be comforted in that I did not lie when I claimed concern for the horses. They have not rested in as long as you have, and are equally deserving of doing so.”

“You do realize that I did not frequently stop even before I met you?”

“Of course.” Aragorn inclined his head. “You are unusual, [Name]. There are not very many women in the race of Man that would willingly take up the life of a Ranger, nor for so long.”

“I am not such a rarity as you believe.”

“Perhaps not.” He inclined his head once more, then allowed you an uncommon full smile. “I have been tired, too. Our mark is much more wily than I gave him credit for, and if we take sick as the kind gatekeeper expected, we will lose it longer than if we stayed on the road. We both will benefit from a rest. Please understand that I did not halt our course because I believed you incapable of continuing.”

You smiled back. Men like Butterbur did not have the opportunity of seeing Aragorn’s kindness as you did. He could be just as frightening with you if he chose, but underneath it all, you knew his demeanor was because of how deeply he cared-not just about you, but all of Middle Earth. When at last he returned to Gondor, he would wear his crown well.

“Are you happy now?” he asked.

“I am content,” you said. “Especially in that I have earned the respect of a man such as yourself.”

And you were: content out of doors just as you were content inside, content on the road and off. You had not expected how easy a journey could be made with company, even when you spent time in the company in silence–as both you and Aragorn did for another twenty minutes, until Nob came to lead you to your rooms and sweet, comfortable slumber.

#straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #challenge fic #one shot #lotr #aragorn #lord of the rings #aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn x y/n #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x y/n #lotr x reader #lotr x you #lotr x y/n #fellowship of the ring #lotr reader insert #lord of the rings reader insert

[dracowars]

Healer Draco x reader - Draco and reader work together. Reader has the day off but something happens and is rushed to St Mungos. Draco is the healer working in the Er and sees you come in and rushes to help you. He has to perform surgery, he gets nervous but everything goes fine. Draco takes care of reader till they are better

patch me up | draco malfoy

pairing: healer!draco x healer!reader

word count: 1,0k

summary: where draco has to perform surgery on y/n

a/n: enjoy and feel free to give me feedback <3

warnings: angst, mentions of injuries, surgery, mentions of theft and assault, near death experience, cursing

universe: harry potter

“We need a healer over here quickly!”, one of the nurses frantically calls through the entrance area of the St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which is why not only colleagues notice her, but also other patients who are still hoping for admission or who have already been admitted and just went for a little walk. Immediately, Draco’s attention is drawn to the incoming troop of nurses and healers, who are wheeling in a stretcher containing what appears to be a severe injured witch.

Draco, who was just busy explaining to an old woman what medication her husband needs to take soon, quickly apologizes himself, throwing the clipboard with the data on the counter of the reception, and storms after his colleagues to the operating room for emergencies. He catches up with them in no time, but can’t get a good look at the injury in the narrow corridors, so he has to be satisfied with the brief explanation of one of the other healers who brought the patient in.

“We got a call from a muggle-born wizard who found her in a side street. Apparently, she was robbed and then attacked with a knife. I can’t say for sure if important organs are affected because our priority was to bring her here first”, his colleague explains under extreme stress and for a moment Draco wonders what caused him to suddenly behave like this. The St. Mungo’s takes care of wizards and witches with all sorts of injuries every single day, from serious to minor injuries, and his colleagues have never been so hectic before. It is only when Draco sees who the victim of the horrific attack is that he understands.

And all of a sudden, his knees become very weak, and he too becomes extremely hectic.

“How could that happen?!”, he asks, shaken, trying not to show his absolute desperation while his heart beats painfully. The best healer St. Mungo’s has ever seen lies badly injured on a stretcher on the way to the operating room, unconscious and barely breathing, and there is nothing Draco can do about it.

Helplessness spreads through him until he realizes what he is actually doing here. Once they reach the surgery room, Draco, scared or not, slips into the role of the healer he usually is. One of the best, that is.

“I need a lot of space. Five nurses to me. Will someone cut her top, please?”, Draco commands everyone else who was just waiting for his words, putting on gloves. His heart is beating in his throat, but his hands are not shaking a single bit. Not even when he gets a better view of your wound and the extent of it now that your top is no longer blocking the view. It does not take him two seconds to decide what to do.

Normally, it is quite rare that injuries and illnesses caused by muggles need to be healed at St. Mungo’s. Missing bones, dragon attacks, petrification – Draco has dealt with all of these successfully. But a normal knife whose blade disappears into your abdomen? Happens less here.

Nevertheless, these circumstances do not stop Draco and after a few hours the surgery has been successful, and you are taken to a room for further observation. Draco releases a breath that he did not even realize he was holding in as he slips the gloves off his hands and throws them away. Thanking his colleagues, he announces his lunch break, but makes his way straight to your room.

When he gets there, the realization hits him: you have been attacked and robbed. One of those disgusting muggles left you for death in a back alley if it was not for a few good people in this world.

Taking another deep breath, Draco pulls a chair to the side to sit next to your bed and gives you and inquiring look. You heart rate has returned to normal, but the anesthetic is still doing its work. It should not take long before you wake up again and when that happens, Draco needs to be by your side, which is why he is more than glad to extend his break and skip his later break for it.

Not even half an hour later, you slowly start to stir awake and find your way back into the here and now. At first you have a hard time opening your eyes due to the glare of the overhead lights, but as soon as you succeed, you meet Draco’s concerned gaze.

“How are you?”, he immediately asks and moves his chair a little closer, putting his hand on the bed, close to your hand but not actually touching it. His question makes you chuckle humorlessly as you remember what happened.

“These assholes. They stole my purse!”, you state indignantly, wanting to riot with your entire body, but your injury makes it impossible. Pouting, you lean further back into the soft pillow.

“Is that seriously the only thing you can think about right now? Y/N, you nearly died!”, Draco explains, unable to understand how you can be worrying about your purse when he was so scared for you.

“I know, I know. Thank you”, you try to calm him down quickly, but your head keeps replaying how you tried to defend yourself from your attacker. “It just annoys me that I didn’t hit him better with my fist!”

“Y/N, do you even realize how dangerous that situation was?”, Draco asks blankly, not able to suppress a sigh at your words. The concern that is literally written all over his face makes you smile a little. The fact that he was afraid for you only shows you how important you are to him, even though you annoy and tease him at work every day. With a smile, you put your hand on his and look at him, his eyes lighting up as your eyes meet.

“I knew it was dangerous. But I also knew that I could count on you to patch me up again.”

“You are unbelievable.”

#draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy os #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy ff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #draco angst #draco fluff #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco fic #draco fanfiction #draco fanfic #draco ff #draco imagine #draco imagines #draco os #draco one shot #draco one shots #hp imagine #harry potter fanfiction

[slytherinshua]

100 KISSES

genre. fluff. sickfic. warnings. description of illness and medicine. written on a plane and not proofread. pairing. j-us x fem!reader. wc. 735. a/n. aaaaaa guys im writing for onf 😭 IM SO EXCITED YDEK LIKE???? my lovely lovely boys 🫶 ik it won't get much attention but im so over the moon about this!! also this was a request from my best best friend @ddeonudepressions 🧡🧡 dia i know it took a rly long time but i didn't forget about sick juice u wanted 🫶 i hope you like it ☝️

“Y/n…”

“What?” You sighed, probably for the thousandth time, glancing up from your phone to pay attention to your sick boyfriend. Headache, sore throat, coughing, sneezing, runny nose, ringing ears, or neck pain, you name it, Seungjun was suffering from it.

You had to admit he did look pretty cute with his bright red nose and puffy face, but if you said anything he would get 10 times whinier than he already was.

He currently couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cuddle or wanted to keep his distance to not get you sick. You tried to tell him that you had a good immune system, but he just wouldn’t buy it. You tried to tell him that you were probably already infected from taking care of him for the past 2 days, but he wouldn’t take that answer either.

“I miss kissing you.” He mumbled along with an over-dramatic sniff.

You smiled a little, “You really won’t take the risk, huh?”

He shook his head vehemently, frowning, “You’ll get sick too.”

“What if I wanted kisses too?”

Seungjun paused, contemplating the question before shaking his head again, “Even if we both want kisses, we shouldn’t.”

“Is your throat still sore?”

“Mhm, it feels so… dry.” He coughed.

“I told you to use the throat spray I bought. It’s foul, but I promise it works.” You urged.

“It’s really nasty, though.” He shuddered.

“You might be able to get kisses if you use it.” You coaxed.

Seungjun bit his lip, head falling back onto the couch. You giggled at his antics. He was dramatic even when he was healthy, but no one could ever beat the melodrama that came with a sick Seungjun. He didn’t say anything for about 10 minutes, and you thought he had fallen asleep.

“Get me the throat spray.” He mumbled just above a whisper.

“Knew it would work.” You giggled.

//

“You feeling any better?” It was hours later, and you were just slipping under the covers after brushing your teeth, joining Seungjun who was hugging a pillow.

“A bit?”

“Still probably not enough for my goodnight kiss, then?” You pouted. You had already gone 2 days without one and a part of you was really hoping to sneak just one peck in before bed.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Seungjun whispered and held out his arms. “All I can offer is hugs right now.”

“You owe me at least 10 kisses once you’re better, got it?” You said seriously, settling so your head rested on his chest and he could wrap his arms around you.

“I’ll give you 20 kisses once I’m better if you want.”

“30.”

“50?”

“100.” You giggled.

Seungjun tried to stop himself from laughing since it usually ended in a coughing fit, but he ultimately failed.

“You sound ugly when you cough.” You joked.

“Can’t really help it.”

“I miss you singing me to sleep.” You sighed, tracing little shapes on his shirt with your finger.

“I miss it too, but my throat is really out of commission.” 

“I know…”

“I thought I was whiny, but you know, you’re pretty whiny too.” Seungjun smiled.

“Maybe if my boyfriend wasn’t sick for so long, I wouldn’t be so whiny.” You countered.

“So it’s my fault, huh?” 

You nodded.

“I like it when you’re whiny, though. It’s cute.”

“Shut up.”

“You think I’m annoying when I’m whiny, though, don’t you?” He didn’t say it in his usual teasing tone where you knew he was joking. He rubbed your arm as he spoke, his breath coming out a soft tone that you rarely got from him.

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Hm?”

“Usually I would just say ‘of course, you’re the most annoying person I know’, but I feel like I shouldn’t tease you while you’re sick.”

“How thoughtful of you.” Seungjun mumbled, voice coming out softer and softer as he teetered on the edge of drifting off into a slumber.

“I don’t mind when you’re whiny. It kinda reminds me how much you love me, and that you would even want to put in that much effort just for my attention… So, I guess I like it too.” You glanced up only to find Seungjun already asleep, softly breathing while still holding you close to his chest.

“Why’d I even say all of that if you were just going to fall asleep on me?” You muttered. “…Sleep well, baby.”

↳ onf taglist: open!!

#slytherinshua fics 🍰 #k-labels #j-us #lee seungjun #seungjun #onf #onf j-us #onf seungjun #onf lee seungjun #j-us fluff #j-us fic #j-us fanfic #seungjun fluff #seungjun fic #seungjun fanfic #lee seungjun fluff #lee seungjun fic #lee seungjun fanfic #lee seungjun x reader #seungjun x reader #j-us x reader #j us #j us fluff #j us fic #j us x reader #onf x reader #onf fluff #onf fic #onf fanfic

[pacific-rimbaud]

Thank you SO MUCH for your panville works. I find it therapeutic to read the caring and deeply loving dynamic you embed in them. Also love how you deal with Pansy's background and trauma. While she is by no means unprivileged, I think her wounds resonate deeply with anyone for whom parental love was unstable in childhood. Your writing inspires me so much. I hope you know the positive impact you have on fellow internet strangers. Fr I've reread a dress with pockets more times I care to admit and RoT is on its 3rd re read because it helps me deal with shitty days.

I have two questions regarding your own visualization of the characters in RoT that may fall out of the scope of the actual story (I imagine you might not delve into these too much even if you do have an idea of them in your head)

1. Do you imagine Pansy's mother's own trauma too, when you write? Like what are the wounds that made her such a cold/unloving parent to Pansy?

Ive been thinking of it as being classic objectification of pureblood women for future marriage. Like Pansy's mother never wanted to have a child but was forced to because she's a woman and that's her duty. Would you agree with this or is she a much more sinister character?

2. In what concrete ways would you say Pansy's strengths complemented Neville's weaknesses when they began dating? We see their relationship in a super specific context where they are in their late 20s but Pansy's growth got somewhat reverted to her teenage/younger years (so it makes complete sense we see her mostly being taken care of by Neville!!). But I ask because Harry's witty response to Pansy regarding Neville "deserving what he wants" made me feel a bit sad.

Like I get that Neville's a lot more emotionally sound than she is, but I guess it made me think about whether Pansy's life is "earned" beyond her trying to be better just for Neville's sake.

I imagine her fierce protectiveness of those she loves and her ability to set boundaries without taking people's shit must have been very attractive to a younger Neville?

Sorry if this question is too obvious. I think it hits close. I relate with Pansy's trauma and waking up one day as Neville's wife would indeed feel like heaven (thank you again Harry!). But I could not imagine being able to correspond to a love like that in ways that society traditionally categorizes as love.

Much love. Thank you again for sharing your beautiful brain with us xx

Thank you so much for reading! Truly so appreciative that anyone takes the time to follow a novel-length rare pair fic.

Answers under the cut!

Pansy's mother did not want kids. Full stop. Her father was indifferent to the idea, but definitely didn't want to marry Pansy's mother. My headcanon is that Pansy's mother had an ill-advised fling with Pansy's entitled rake of a father as a young woman, became pregnant, and was compelled to enter into a miserable, lonely marriage and raise a child she had absolutely no affection for. Pansy's father was interested when he chose to be, which wasn't often. Nonexistent or unreliable attachment all around. And so it's clear, this characterization isn't an excuse or attempted explanation for Pansy's cruelty as a child. I've known many casually cruel children over the years. It's not at all unusual. Heartbreaking and yet garden variety example: a few socioeconomically privileged kids in my son's class recently approached another group of children, some of whom have serious challenges at home, and told them that their mothers didn't love them as much as their mothers. Kids can be mind-bogglingly vicious people, even with the "right" parenting. They're kids! Their brains aren't fully cooked yet. Moving the empathy needle and fostering healthy culture in a school requires skillful adult intervention, which obviously was not happening at Hogwarts. Pansy's upbringing in this story is an explanation for why she struggles to be vulnerable, why she's so deeply haunted by a history of feeling unlovable, and why the prospect of motherhood in general and an unplanned pregnancy in particular carries a special horror for her. Basically what makes your second question a little tricky to answer....

...because she's such an unreliable witness to her own life in this. I love fanon Pansy more than anything. She's abrasive, sometimes filterless, terrifyingly perceptive, doesn't suffer fools. Which I just love so much. She's someone who cannot be other than herself, and that self is often pretty spiky. But if someone can get inside, she's also unrestrained in her tenderness. Once Pansy is on your side, you're ride or die. She'd do anything for you. Definitely would help you bury a body. And what I deeply love about Panville is that Neville gets to go further: he gets the innermost parts of her, which truly are so, so sweet and open and loving. She's an incredible partner. Neville has it made and knows it. And to try to answer your question, I don't tend to think about what they bring to the table, or whether anyone "deserves" anything, which is the error Pansy keeps making. I see them very much in the vein of, "I was in the middle before I knew I that I had begun." They're the catching feelings pair, whether it's friends to lovers or casual hook up to something more, because absolutely no way does she ever go into anything at all intending to be vulnerable. But he has the intuition of someone used to paying attention from the sidelines. He's curious. There's something there. He doesn't know what it is, but he'd like to. With enough patience, she unfurls. It's about the power of attentiveness and the inexplicable magic of deep connection. The payoff for Neville risking getting close enough to Pansy to peek inside is a spiky little wife who can't get enough of him in bed, has a full life of her own with passions and interests and relationships and is also deeply invested in their domestic happiness. She is profoundly, unswervingly in his corner. She sees and knows him. The payoff for Pansy risking her heart is this beautiful, kind, loyal man who adores her and whose sensibilities and preferences perfectly align with her own practical nature. He also happens to make great scones. Neither of them grew up understanding what they have was even possible, and I hope it's clear in the story that they both deserve every minute of it. 💜

#you asked I answered #remember one thing #panville #pansy parkinson #neville longbottom #long post

[ironstrangle]

Ficlet: Sore Throat - @badthingshappenbingo

TItle: Sore Throat

Pairing: Kate x Yelena

Rating: PG

@badthingshappenbingo​ - prompt sore throat. 

“You’re acting like a baby.”

Yelena smiled and it was impossible to hide the fondness that lay beneath. Kate Bishop was indeed acting like a baby, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t adorable. The younger girl had come down with some type of illness and her throat was evidently killing her. 

When Yelena had asked her how one was killed by a sore throat, Kate had responded with a rather undignified whine. Now, she was sitting on their couch, arms reached out for Yelena to hug her. 

“My immunity better hold up,” she muttered, as she caved immediately and pulled Kate into a tight embrace. Kate cuddled into her side, making that soft whining sound. Yelena rarely got sick, the enhancements to her body affecting both her metabolism and her immune system. Still, she couldn’t care less if she got sick doing this. “If you get me sick…”

“You’d forgive me because you love me,” Kate said, her voice raw and scratchy. Yelena hated that she was sick, even if she was a whiny baby about it. She leaned over and pressed her lips to Kate’s forehead, feeling a bit of heat there. “I hate being sick. This sucks so bad.” 

“Luckily, you got me here, huh?” Yelena teased, lips still pressed to Kate’s warm forehead. 

“But my throat hurts…” Kate sighed. “And I can’t talk!”

Yelena chuckled at that one. 

“Oh come on, Yelena.”

“You set yourself right up for that one,” she chided, eyes warm. “I mean come on, Kate. You do enough talking for the both of us most days. A little of silence won’t kill you.” 

Kate groaned and nuzzled herself further into Yelena’s arm. Yelena tucked that arm around Kate and relaxed. It was easy to do when she had the girl in her arms, sickness or no. Kate settled and Yelena had to admit that it was weird holding her there, no words between the two of them.

For a little while, she just contented herself with listening to her girlfriend breathe. The sound of her breath came in a nice, even pattern. It slowed down and became more even as Kate fell asleep in her arms. It was quite a precious thing that now she lived in a world where she could lay here, holding onto someone she loved, while that person recovered from illness. Enjoying the little things didn’t just mean enjoying the good, but also the struggles and the difficult. 

#yelena kate #yelenakate #kate x yelena #yelena x kate #bishova

[faofinn]

4. Hiding an Illness

It was the first week of winter term, which meant exams were looming and Finn wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest. The week he'd had off had been spent with his head in his textbooks, drowning in mock A-level exams, and wishing he was literally anywhere else. Jess had helped, where she could, but law and medicine didn't really mix, and they were often left to study in silence. 

He was sure that the headache that had refused to budge was just tiredness, but the worry about his lack of sleep bringing about another seizure only made it hurt more. The cough, too, was just because he'd not had enough to drink that morning, every morning, that was all. He wasn't getting ill. He didn't have time for it. 

Jess noticed it, of course she did, but Finn was stubborn and there was only so much she could actually do. They sat together at lunch, in the rare times they had a spare period off together, her fingers running through his hair. It gave him a reprieve for a few minutes, some relaxation between what felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

It was just normal for Fred and Sheila to worry about Finn, and the occasional cough and sniffle were just that - occasional. Finn was old enough to tell them when he wasn't well, he knew his limits, as much as he tried to push them. 

There was nothing they could do other than worry and keep an eye on Finn from a distance, and hope he’d see sense in the end. Jess kept an eye on him, and that made them feel a bit better about things. She was sensible, she’d make sure he didn’t do anything too stupid. They just hoped he could rest over the break, though they knew it would be difficult. With his mocks looming, he spent more and more time holed up in his room studying. 

The end of term grew closer, and Sheila sent Finn off to school for his last day, dropping him at the gates despite his protests. She fussed over him, definitely not well but too stubborn to admit it, and told him to call her whenever if he needed to come home. 

They’d made it through most of the day, but Finn was looking worse and worse by the time they got to final assembly. As head boy and head girl, both him and Jess were required to sit at the front, and Jess nudged her boyfriend. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked quietly, aware of the deputy head’s gaze on them. 

He dragged his fingers across his collarbone. "I'll be better once this assembly is over. My throat is killing me."

“You should go home.” 

"I might after this assembly." He gave a one armed shrug. "The head wanted a meeting with me."

“It’s the last day, not like you’ll miss anything.” She whispered. 

He took a beat to reply. "I need to finish the assembly."

“Are you going to be able to do the speech?” She asked, glancing at the head. 

"Why wouldn't I?"

“You just said you had a sore throat.”

"Everyone gets colds over the winter."

“I know.” She said, but couldn’t say anymore after a stern glare from the head, glancing down at her lap. She reached across to squeeze Finn’s hand, though.

He laced his fingers with hers, ignoring the shake to his own. 

She frowned at his shaky hand, but didn’t say anything else. She couldn’t, she was going to get told off as it was for talking. She kept an eye on Finn as the teachers droned on, trying desperately to look interested, given the whole school could see them.  

The assembly seemed to both take forever and no time at all, and Finn wasn't sure it wasn't due to absences. He felt alright enough to at least try, holding onto the fact he should be able to feel an aura if he was going to have one. The head turned to the pair of them, inviting them up to speak to the rest of the students as they had done in all the main assemblies prior. Blood raced in his ears as he stood, and he swore to himself for not keeping his legs moving as he'd been sat. 

Jess stuck close to him, aware of the way he wobbled slightly as he stood. She’d agreed to speak first, as she always did, to give Finn a chance to catch up. She finished her bit, grinning at the rest of the school, and then nudged Finn to start his bit.

He took longer than he'd normally would to start, his attention seemingly drawn elsewhere. The silence was deafening as he came back to it, a blush spreading across his already red cheeks. He quickly caught up and carried on, his enthusiasm making everyone forget about it. He was vaguely aware he'd had a few more, the slightly uncomfortable stares from the audience a red flag. As he always did, he stretched a hand out towards Jess, searching for comfort and guidance. He linked their little fingers together, made a small joke to ease the tension, and tried again. 

The absences weren’t unheard of for Finn, especially when he wasn’t feeling well or was tired, and Jess knew full well that he was both. The school were used to it too, it often happening during speeches or in class. Normally Finn could recover it, but Jess started to get concerned as it went on and they were more apparent. One or two was one thing, but the amount he’d just had in quick succession was a big warning sign. As he took her hand, their pinkies linked, she knew he wasn’t coping well. She glanced over at him as he tried again, but it wasn’t long before he was hit with another absence, and then a myo that tugged at his shoulder, and she knew a grand mal wasn’t far behind. She cleared her throat. 

“Sorry, we’re gonna have to go.” She said, resting her other hand on Finn’s arm. “Come on.”  

"Have a good Christmas break, everyone, make sure to rest and take time for yourselves too." Finn gave the kids in front of him a warm smile, letting Jessica move him away. 

“Yeah, Merry Christmas everyone.” Jess murmured, and gently steered him away. 

Finn's face fell as they left the assembly, his facade shattering, his stomach flipping as he pulled her down to the floor. "Need to sit."

“Yeah, okay.” She said, pulling her jumper off over her head. “Here, you can lay down.”

He knew the drill all too well, an unfortunately well practised routine for barely a minute's warning. His throat was dry and scratchy, his head pounded, and each cough only made it worse. He fought unco-ordinatedly against Jess' hands trying to help, grumbling in frustration.

“I know, I know.” She said to him, trying to help despite him fighting back. He was stronger and bigger than her, but she knew he’d settle eventually. This was something they went through often, Jess regularly getting in trouble for a messed up uniform. Once Finn was laid down she could run her fingers through his hair, reassuring him the best she could before he went. 

One of the support teachers finally appeared as Finn started seizing, their lack of experience showing in their panic. It was one of the many, many reasons Finn hated his seizures, despite his repeated attempts for education and familiarisation with members of the public and even the apparently trained teaching staff. 

Totally unflappable, Jess didn’t care about the teacher’s panic. She sat quietly with Finn, a timer running on her phone, and glanced up as they arrived. 

“Can you call his mum? He needs to go home.”

They pulled a face at her. "He needs an ambulance, not his mum."

“No, he has a care plan. He doesn’t need an ambulance right now.”

"This sort of thing needs an ambulance."

“He’s an epileptic, he has a care plan. He doesn’t need an ambulance yet.”

"But he needs his mum?"

“Yeah, because he’s having a seizure and when he comes out of it he’ll need to go home.”

"Not hospital?"

“Not necessarily.” She grumbled. 

Finn's seizure had begun to stop, and he let out a groan. He still didn't know where he was or what was going on, but let Jess push him onto his side.

She took to ignoring the teacher, glad Finn’s seizure had stopped before he’d needed midaz, well within the bounds of ‘normal’ for him. She helped him onto his side, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Hi, welcome back.” She said softly. “You had a seizure, you’re okay.”

Something in his blazer pocket was digging into his side, breaking through the haze. Blood coated his tongue, too, and he hated it, pulling away with a whine. 

She stroked through his hair. “It’s okay.”

He spat as much as he could, trying to move away from it. It barely worked, and Jess' fingers in his hair quickly pulled his attention. He turned to face in her direction, squinting an eye open. 

“I know it’s not nice.” She soothed. “But you’re okay.”

Finn had enough cognition to recognise he was at school, that the floor was uncomfortable under his side. He stretched out slightly, which did nothing to help, and so, with a grumble, forced his arms under him. He almost made it upright before he flopped (against his will) into Jess, resting his head in her lap.

She rubbed his arm, trying to help him to get comfortable. She finally looked over at the member of staff that had been with them. “Did you call his mum? Or do I need to?”

"I'll go call her."

“Thanks.”

It was a difficult phone call, the TA very much out of his depth and not able to answer Sheila's questions. Of course Finn had ended up seizing, she knew something had been wrong, and she hated herself for not pushing him harder to stay at home. She could tell the assistant wasn't the most helpful, so made sure to get him to promise to tell Jess she was on her way, emphasising that the sixth-former was in charge. 

Jess was relieved Sheila was on her way, the TA having finally seen sense. Finn was taking a while to come around, as he often did, but he was safe and she could keep an eye on him. 

Finn stretched out again, squinting up at Jess. "My arm's itchy."

“Itchy? You’re laying on the carpet.” Jess pointed out. 

"It's itchy."

“It’s a shitty carpet.”

"Fix it?"

“Do you want to try and sit up?”

He thought about it. "Yeah, okay."

“Then you’ll be away from the itch.” Jess reasoned, offering him her hands. 

It took a moment for both arms to comply, Finn giving a frustrated huff as they didn't immediately work. He pulled himself upright, leaning heavily against the wall to stop everything spinning. It was all still not quite right, the post-seizure haze still in full force. 

“Better?”

"No." He sighed heavily. 

Jess moved closer, kissing his cheek. “How about now?”

He grinned. "Yeah."

“Good.” She said. “Was only a little one, and your mum is coming to get you.”

"Oh. I'm going home?"

“Yeah, you’re going home.”

"With you?"

“With your mum.”

"And you?" He tried with a grin. 

“Don’t know if they’ll let me.”

"Please?"

“We’ll talk to your mum.”

#sicktember 2023 #sicktember day 4 #hiding an illness #whump writing #whump prompt #fic #finn daniels #jess weston #the wolf and the ghost #oc #whump #seizure whump #whump of a minor #teenager #cold/flu #jess is queen honestly #we love her sm

[paridoliaaa]

hey minty! i was wondering if you could write something along these lines! i love your work! mc offers hoodie/jacket to brothers when they are cold and brothers deny (so mc doesn't get cold) and mc misunderstands thinking that they don't want their hoodie bc they have bad fashion or it would be weird etc. maybe brothers do want to accept hoodie but malfunction since it was the first time it was offered to them maybe dia if you have time/feel comfy adding him!

yes! i ofc will try my very best to make this the best it can be! i like the prompt, however i did change it up a bit (i used scarves as the giveaway in some of the brothers.) Also, I don’t write for Belphie atm unfortunately,and I have a three character minimum for each post. This one includes Luci, Mams and Levi, and I will write another one soon for Satan, Asmo and Beel! So sorry if anyone is ooc :( So, -if its okay (and since u dont have a name posted) ill call you goldie- let’s begin goldie!

Content Warnings: Insecurity, Swearing.

Word Count:2k

Lucifer

It all started because you requested Lucifer to accompany you to shop for some new clothes. Although you did have a bit of a crush on the Morningstar, your intentions were pure- you really did just enjoy his presence. Yes, he could be blunt and brash at times, but in rare moments, you could see the suggestion of a genuine smile of joy. And, he could be quite charming as well, although you’d never admit that out loud. The Devildom had always been cold, but this night in particular was especially freezing, the cold biting at your face and hands. You were cold, but it seemed that the demon to your right was faring far worse....

Hearing Lucifer’s hands rub together for the third time this evening, I decided to finally work up the courage to do something about it. “Hey Lucifer?” I called, stopping abruptly. “Yes MC? Is something the matter?” Lucifer seemed concerned, and I almost forgot why I stopped in the first place. “No, nothing of the sort. I just.... um... you-you seem cold.” I said unwinding the scarf from my neck. “And, um I just wanted to give you this..” Holding out the scarf in one hand, I finally looked up to meet his eyes. After what felt like minutes of him staring at me without saying anything, it finally dawned on me what I just did. Red-hot embarrassment crept up my spine and bloomed across my face. ‘Shit.. did I really just offer Lucifer. Fucking. Morningstar my cheap, scratchy homemade scarf? What in the hell is wrong with you, Mc!’ I lowered my hand, and stupidly felt silent tears well up in my eyes. I willed them away before meeting his eyes once again. “Heh... forget about that.. Sorry Lucifer, I don’t know what came over me there.. I don’t blame you for not wanting it..what kind of high-class demon like yourself would like some cheap handmade scarf... I’ll hope you forgive me.....” I turned away from him, the tears in my eyes returning, threatening to spill over. I began walking to the store, taking about three steps in my own pity and shame before I was yanked back into a strong pair of arms. I was immediately shrouded in a scent I knew well. I looked up to see Lucifer holding me with a look of unease on his face. “Mc, you misunderstand me. It is not that I don’t wish to take that well made scarf from you, but I do not wish for you to be cold on my accord. Believe me, with the love I hold for you, I would love to be-” “You love me?” My heart leapt to my throat, cheeks burning. “Ah, I said that out loud. Well, I suppose there’s no harm in saying anything now. Yes Mc, I love you and I wish to ask if you will allow me to court you?” Lucifer asked, grabbing my hands gently. “Yes! I would love to be your girlfriend!” I shouted, jumping in happiness. “But one thing first.” I stated. “Anything for you love.” Lucifer replied, smiling his rare smile. “You have this first!” I proclaimed, draping the scarf around his neck. And with that, he grabbed my hand and we walked off in contentment, knowing that on even the coldest days, love can warm the soul.

Mammon

Mammon is known for his impulsive adventures, most resulting in a punishment from Lucifer and a large bill to pay. However, you loved them. Maybe it was because you harboured feelings for the white haired demon, or maybe it was because you loved his personality and spending time with him, or the thrill of an adventure and breaking the rules. But it didn’t matter. You were almost always dragged into them and you never wanted it to end. This particular adventure put you and Mammon in the movie theatre for the newest Harrison Porter movie. It was cold in the theatre like usual, but you didn’t mind much. However poor Mammon who had forgotten his usual jacket, was freezing his ass off. 

It was pretty hard to focus on the movie when Mammon’s teeth were chattering loudly in the background. I sighed, and shimmied my jacket off, turning to Mammon. “Hey, Mams, you okay?” I asked, concerned to see Mammon cradling his arms around himself with his continually chattering teeth. “Y-ya of course I a-am M-Mc! Somethin as silly as t-the cold doesn’t bother The G-great Mammon!” He said, body quivering. “Mammon, come on, you’re fucking shivering! Clearly you aren’t okay!” I whisper yelled in his direction, thrusting my jacket towards him. “Here!” It was completely silent, except for the Harrison Porter movie playing in the background, and the occasional shuffle of popcorn. I looked up at Mammon, who was looking the other way, and it finally dawned on me that I offered him my old, nerdy (f/c), (f/s) jacket. ‘Mc you dumbass! Of course he wouldn’t want your ratty old jacket! What the hell were you thinking!!!!’ Embarrassment flooded my system as I choked out, “Uh.. Mammon.. it’s okay. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable..... Um, I.. I gotta use the bathroom.. I’ll be right back.” And in that moment I was happy we got backrow end seats. Easy escape. I took off for the bathroom as the hot tears finally flowed down my face. ‘Way to go dumbass! You just ruined your friendship with the best person you’ve ever met because you couldn’t think for three goddamn seconds!’ I pushed open the bathroom door and locked myself in a stall, letting all my tears of frustration and sadness seep out. Finally, when the tears stopped spilling, I unlocked the stall, touched up my makeup and pushed open the door. Still looking at the ground, I was running through excuses to give Mammon as to why I took so long when I bumped into someone. “Oh! I-I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was goin- Oh. Mammon are you okay? Why are you outta the movie??” I felt like I was gonna cry again. Suddenly, Mammon’s cheeks flared red. “I, uh.. I was worried because ya were gone for a while an’ I.... I was worried about ya okay! I didn’t want anythin to happen to ya because of me....” He rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Hey! Mc! Were ya cryin?!?!?! What happened to ya?? Yer eyes are all red an puffy! Awe shit! Is it ‘cause of yer jacket?” He asked, suddenly looking sad himself. “Um.. Mammon I told you it was okay... My weird fashion sense wouldn’t fit a model like you anyways...” “NO! I mean.... I wanted ta take it! I jus’ panicked ‘cause it’s yer jacket an’... well, I don’t think I could take wearing somethin that smells like ya! I just love ya too much!” If his cheeks were red before, now they were practically boiling. “I- Yo- I didn- i Um” Mammon spluttered, waving his hands like a madman. I grabbed his red face and planted a kiss flat on his lips. “I love you too, you moron. Now c’mon, lets go finish the movie!” I said, entwining our hands together and happily skipping to the theatre entrance with Mammon sporting an equally as goofy grin following right behind. 

Leviathan

Levi is known for getting so invested in his games or animes that he neglects his own needs. Lately, you’ve been joining him to play/watch so it doesn’t happen as often, but he still neglects himself to an extent. This particular evening you had been playing for hours when you decided you needed a change of scenery. You had asked Levi to play on the console in your room just in case you fell asleep. He reluctantly agreed, and you headed there. Once you had settled in, you noticed Levi was shivering quite a bit...

I was carefully observing Levi for any discomfort as he usually doesn’t come to my room. I definitely didn’t want to scare the poor otaku I had accidentally fallen in love with off and I wanted him to find comfort in my room. So, when I had caught his fourth carefully concealed shiver, I decided enough was enough. I dragged the (f/c) Ruri-chan hoodie over my head and thrust it toward Levi. It took him several moments to realize I was holding something out to him, and when he did he paused his game quickly to acknowledge me. “Mc do you need something?? I’m kinda in the middle of something.” He snapped at me. Still holding strong, I explained quickly. “Um.. I saw you shiver and I thought... maybe you would want my hoodie??” His eyes grew large and he looked down at my outstretched hands. Surely enough, his eyes caught my hoodie and he quickly turned away. So quickly that it was apparent that he wanted nothing to do with my hoodie or me for that matter. He unpaused his game as the arm holding my hoodie dropped along with my heart. He was loosing. He never looses. ‘Grrreeeat! You scared the love of your life off with a hoodie because your dumbass couldn’t realize he doesn’t like you that much! Now there goes your only chance at a friendship.’  As tears threatened to fall from my eyes I slinked over to my bed and pulled back the covers, slipping under them, turning away from Levi and mindlessly scrolling through my D.D.D. as self-depreciating thoughts slowly took over. I was so lost in my own mind that I didn’t notice Levi turning off his console and leaving to his own room. Hours later, I finally realized how late it had become, and crossed the room to plug in my D.D.D. when I heard a soft knock at my door. When I opened it, standing there in front of me was a red faced Leviathan holding a small letter that he pushed into my hands and awkwardly stared at the ground. I pulled the envelope off and opened the letter which read, “Mc, I wanted to apologize for dismissing your kindness in lending me your hoodie earlier. The truth is, I noticed it was your Ruri-chan hoodie and I couldn’t believe that a normie human would give an otaku like myself such a wonderful gift. I couldn’t bear being surrounded by your scent, it would be too much! The truth is, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I think I love you for a while now. You are like Henry. Brave and kind, selfless and smart, funny, and attractive and friendly and so much more. And I’m sorry for leaving. I just couldn’t stand the fact that you were crying because of me. I’m sorry MC. 

Levi.”

I didn’t even realize the tears slipping from my eyes until Levi brushed them away with a worried look. “Mc?? D-did you not like it??”  “No Levi, I loved it,” I sobbed into his chest. “But I love you more and I can’t believe you feel the same!” He softly wrapped his arms around me and I asked timidly. “Levi.... do you wanna come in??” He nodded and followed me to my bed where I offered him the Ruri-chan hoodie again. This time he accepted and we curled up in bed together, falling asleep with goofy smiles.

#obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obeyme #obey me levi #obey me mc #obey me fluff #obey me x reader #hurt/comfort #idk if this really counts as hurt/comfort buttttt

[soft-bellied-tannies]

The Occasional Gain

Read here or on AO3!

Jungkook turned his head toward the bedroom when he heard a thump, calling out to his husband he said, “Baby, you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Jimin responded, his voice sounding slightly muffled and not entirely convincing. 

After another sound echoed down the hall and what seemed like a quiet groan, Jungkook decided to go check on his husband who was supposed to be getting dressed for their hike with Namjoon and Jin. 

The sight he found when Jungkook walked into their bedroom brought a smirk to his face, assuming that this may be what was going on. Jimin was sprawled out on the bed, laying on his back with only an ill-fitting pair of jeans that he had been clearly fighting to button for the past five minutes. 

Jimin evidently focused on his task, had not realized that he now had an audience so he continued his attempt. Sucking in his bloated stomach as much as possible, his hands pulled in both sides of his open pants with all his strength. He wiggled around a bit and just when it seemed like Jimin had gotten the button through, the fabric slipped through his fingers and returned to its open state - both sides only further emphasizing his slightly rounded belly. 

Bringing his hands to his face, Jimin let out another groan that sounded annoyed rather than upset and angry. Jungkook found the entire situation to be equally adorable and arousing as these moments were kind of rare for them. 

Three years ago, Taehyung had gotten Jimin a partially funny, partially serious gift for his bachelor party that was an interactive kink checklist to do with one’s partner. Jimin knew that it was supposed to make him laugh, but he also remembered Taehyung telling him how much his and Yoongi’s sex life improved after doing one for themselves. 

The couple already knew some more casual things considering they had been together for five years, but they were both pleasantly surprised to find that food and things related were high on the list for them in complementary ways. 

Jimin admitted that, whether it was connected to his own food struggles during his youth or just an internal desire that he was finally recognizing, he enjoyed the thought of being fed and seeing some of that care from his partner becoming visible. Jungkook, on the other hand, simply had an intense need to spoil Jimin and the idea of softness growing from his doing was something he considered to be a bit of a fantasy. 

The arrangement developed slowly, Jimin wanting to do research and fully discuss their goals and boundaries before even initiating anything. He made it clear that there were elements to it that were absolutely off the table for him. Jungkook and Jimin had an incredibly active lifestyle, both having fairly physically involved jobs and enjoying being outdoors with friends - all things that Jimin did not want to give up. 

Jungkook had no argument, telling Jimin that he was looking forward to exploring this new part of their relationship but would never compromise Jimin’s health or happiness for his own pleasure. That was exactly what Jimin needed to hear and from that point on, they thoroughly enjoyed themselves at their own pace. 

While not actively gaining with set goals they hoped to reach, the couple simply relaxed Jimin’s self-imposed guidelines on his food intake. As a dance professor at a university in Seoul, Jimin remained consistently active - although he had volunteered to add the dance theory class to his courseload so he did have more standard classroom time now. 

Without intending to hide their new endeavor from their friends, it was still supported and fostered by their sweet reactions as their assumptions were based on a different thought process. Jin and Yoongi were the first to pull Jimin aside and tell him that they were proud to see him actually enjoying food now and that he was healing from his once difficult relationship with eating. 

Over the past two years, their relationship had only gotten stronger and their casual participation in that aspect has certainly helped, especially in their sex life. Jimin had probably gained around twenty pounds since the start that had been maintained, also sometimes fluctuating higher or lower depending on what was going on. Jungkook vividly remembered how incredible their night had been last Christmas after they realized that Jimin had finally broken the thirty-pound mark with his enthusiastic indulgence over the holiday season. 

Jimin then went on to lose ten pounds during a particularly intense spring semester where he was asked to choreograph the skill test for his senior seminar students. It had been the natural course of how the process went for them. They would occasionally spend a night stuffing Jimin to the brim to celebrate something or when Jungkook knew they had a few days to recover allowing him to spoil his husband. 

There had been a few moments where Jimin would tell Jungkook that he noticed the gain or his clothes were getting tighter, but Jungkook could not recall getting to enjoy a scene quite like this one. It was obvious that Jimin was fighting against his full stomach to button his pants which meant they probably still fit prior to eating, but it was still attractive as ever. 

Jungkook finally decided to make his presence known by asking, “Having some trouble there, my love?” 

Jimin moved his fingers to look up at his husband, remaining laid out on the bed with no intention of moving yet. “Oh, shut up, this is all your fault.” 

“Is that so? How exactly is this my fault?” Jungkook asked, thoroughly enjoying himself as his eyes slowly followed the soft curve of Jimin’s middle which was rounded up into the air. After looking over his husband, Jungkook realized that this was probably the biggest he had ever seen Jimin outside of a full-blown stuffing session. 

“We need a big breakfast to fuel us for our hike today. Have a little more, you don’t want to get tired. Oh, but I made the waffles for you, Minnie. I know what you did, Jeon,” Jimin huffed, running his hand through his hair before letting his arms fall to the bed - sending a ripple underneath that slightly jiggled his little belly. 

Jungkook then sat on the opposite side of the bed to continue his view of his husband but also get close enough to drop a kiss on his forehead. “I don’t recall any complaints when I refilled your plate, darling.”

Jimin rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Whatever.” 

“You want some help?” Jungkook asked while laughing, moving his hands closer to get a feel of his husband’s taut belly for himself. 

Jimin smacked his hands away and let out another sigh. “No, just let me…ugh..” he groaned, getting his hands back in place for another attempt. Jungkook watched the poor attempt to suck in his packed stomach again and then the inevitable failure to button his pants. 

Jungkook chuckled and patted Jimin’s midsection, enjoying the tight bounce while he said, “Baby, just get your new pants out of the closet and be done with it.” 

They always kept a size-up in stock because of Jimin’s fluctuating weight. He often needed them the day after stuffing if he, for some reason, needed to wear jeans. 

Jimin’s eyes looked up at his husband in embarrassment, a light flush filling his face as he whispered, “These are my new pants.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened, eyes blinking back and forth between Jimin’s face and his still unbuttoned - larger size - jeans. “Really?”

Before Jimin could even respond, Jungkook had pounced on top of him - hands finding purchase on his husband’s bloated middle and mouth attaching to his plump lips. 

“God, baby, you are so fucking sexy, you know that? I love your body, would keep you this well-fed all the time if I could,” Jungkook said as his mouth traveled across Jimin’s soft skin. Jimin’s little gasps and wines that fell out when he put pressure on his stomach only fueled his fire. 

“G-Gukie, have to finish getting ready, need to leave soon,” Jimin stuttered out, attempting to keep his husband’s focus on the fact that they had plans that day. 

Jungkook pulled back slightly, hovering above Jimin and taking in the debauched state of his husband. “We will most certainly continue this tonight,” he said with a surprisingly soft smile considering what he had just finished doing. 

Once he was standing, Jungkook laughed again when Jimin simply lifted his arms up in a silent question for help. He pulled his husband off the bed, immediately appreciating how standing up further proved that Jimin’s pants were not going to be buttoned at that moment. 

Jimin’s hands landed on his belly and then he looked up at Jungkook with a faux pout knowing what it did to his husband. “Shouldn’t have had the second waffle.”

“Actually, I think the waffles would have been fine. It was probably the bacon and hashbrowns and eggs on top of it plus the fruit and-”

“Okay, okay, we get it. Sorry for enjoying your hard work making us breakfast,” Jimin said, cutting him off while not sounding even slightly guilty. 

Jungkook smiled and pulled Jimin into his arms, enjoying the press of his husband’s belly against his firm abdomen. “I love you.” 

Jimin’s expression softened, endeared by his husband’s sudden shift in mood. “I love you too, Ggukie.”

The sound of Jimin’s text tone filled the room, breaking up their quiet moment with a reminder that they really needed to leave soon to meet their friends for the afternoon hike. 

“Okay, I guess we are doing leggings today,” Jimin said to himself as he walked back into their closet. 

Jungkook laughed as he watched Jimin tug the tight pants from his body. Then, he was hit with an idea thinking about the fact that his husband’s jeans were only fighting with him due to his very full stomach. “Hey, love?” 

“Yeah?” Jimin called back as he was picking out which stretchy leggings to wear. 

“Save those jeans for tonight. I think you are going to be pretty hungry after our hike. Maybe we could have a little fun with dinner,” Jungkook replied, clearly hinting at feeding Jimin right out of his pants that night and enjoying the pink tinge on his husband’s cheeks when he nodded in agreement. 

Jungkook knew that this was an infrequent opportunity for them and he was going to take it. He also knew very well that Jimin was going to be starting his fall semester in a few weeks' time and this lovely added weight was probably going to melt off before they would eventually add it back on during the holiday season. 

With the goal in mind to finally pop a button on Jimin’s pants, Jungkook was looking forward to getting home as quickly as possible tonight and maybe even busting out the scale just to see how successful his hard work over the summer had been.

#bts feedism #bts weight gain #chubby bts #starter belly jimin #chubby jimin #casual feeder jungkook #soft bellied tannies

[dobiemart]

say yes, please?

pairing, edward “eddie” munson x reader

summary, finally, eddie gets down on one knee. and it’s not to tie dustin bun’s shoe.

or

eddster proposing to his beautiful partner (aka you sexy bitch)

word count, 1.9k

byr, i read a fic abt billy loomis proposing and i audibly sobbed at it cause MAN WHYY IS THAT NOT ME IRL RN

“oh yeah ill totally write a story abt kurt tmr!” - my lying ass. it’s literally been a week. istg yall cannot hold me to anything but heres my apology for that fat ass fib

i asked my guy friend what he’d do if he ever proposed to a girl and he was like “id make it somewhat sweet or funny over like rose petals everywhere typa shit” and i said OKKAAYY SIR GET YOU SOME BITCHES OR SMTH

i wrote this while i was half asleep. its pretty messy but it had to get out of my mind asap

bolded italics should be read as thoughts

warnings, fluff, swearing, crying (y’know i gotta add the waterworks), mentions marriage ofc, eddie being a nervous ass baby (maybe ooc? listen, i was sleepy.), nd projection of my need to marry this man immediately in my own quirky way.

eddie munson was a simple, outcast of a man. the proclaimed ‘freak of hawkins,’ reigned  supreme on his throne and took his title as a ritualistic, satanic, demon worshiper with as much pride as people gave him. he was never one to openly care about what people thought of him, unless it was you.

no matter what he did, what bullshit rambles spewed out of his mouth, what atrocious crime he committed, you were there with him. you’d seen him at his worst, best, and in between, yet you didn’t ever leave. and eddie loved you for that.

he could go on and on about how much he loved everything you’ve ever done for him, no matter what it was. his heart swelled whether you brought him a glass of water, kissed his calloused fingertips after his band practice, or gave him a simple, ‘hey, eds!’ when he groggily dragged himself through your shared home.

the lists of reasons to love you could go on forever, and this was the day he’d admit that to you. if everything went according to plan, of cour-

“did you hear me, ed? i asked if you wanted some eggs with your toast,” you asked, clearly oblivious to his thought process. him spacing out wasn’t anything new, but he usually came around sooner. 

he seemingly thought out his answer, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth in the process. he eventually replied with a mumbled, ‘yeah, sure babe.’ before scrambling off to your shared bathroom in a hurry. 

you shook off his jittery attitude as a result of just waking up, and started your venture downstairs to the kitchen without a second thought over the interaction. 

the sounds of him hopping down the stairs were familiar, since he’d been doing it since you moved into a home together. he slid into the kitchen quietly, gripping your waist and thanking you for breakfast with a kiss to the nape of your neck. he gave a small huff as he lifted the fragile plate over your head and shuffled his way to the couch, a.k.a. his dining table. 

this was yet another thing he loved. being able to sit with you wordlessly and do anything he wanted comfortably. he’d lost count of the amount of times you’d laid together in comforting silence and basked in the presence of one another. 

“we should go to that arcade later, babe. ‘s totally abandoned now. i know you’ve been wanting to go,” he started with a mouthful of bread and juice, gesturing with his hands as he commonly did. “plus, it’s free this time. gareth found a way in.” 

he somehow made the offer of breaking into the arcade for a date a bit less illegal sounding, so you agreed. though, you communicated your answer with a simple nod and a smile instead of a full mouth of mauled food. 

only a snippet of a smile was visible on his face before he was off yet again, skipping up two steps in his frenzied state. eddie rushing to go somewhere was a rare occurrence, which fueled your curiosity even more. he was less talkative and was in a hurry, but it’s just your eddie being eddie.

after throwing on a band tee and ruffling his fizzy curls, eddie made sure to rush your beautification process. he shot you a whiney “c’mon babe! it doesn’t take that long,” every couple of seconds, somehow trying to speed up your already scrambling form. 

yet another thing he loves. watching you battle with your hair, debate with yourself on a clothing combo, and see if your samina would allow you to slap some beauty products on. without fail, you’d continue this routine every morning and it would put a smile on his face every single time. 

“alright eddie, just lemme finis-“ “yeah, uh huh, babe. you’re beautiful without it. we gotta go!” he cut you off while grabbing your hand, deciding your half-glossed lips would do. you obviously protested against this, but he was practically dragging you out the door.

he pushed you into the passenger seat with an apologetic kiss on the forehead, and made a mad dash to the driver’s seat. his leg was rapidly bouncing as he started up the van, almost matching the beat of the random metal song he had recently been playing.

though, you still didn’t ask questions. his jittery mannerisms weren’t a rare occurrence, so it wasn't a huge concern. just in case, you placed a gentle hand on his bouncing thigh and enjoyed the ride ahead of you.

---

after an ass-achingly bumpy car ride, you arrived at the beat up arcade on the lower class side of hawkins. it was the one you and eddie would frequent when both attended highschool, which made the nostalgia run through your veins.

grabbing your hand gently, he placed a kiss onto your hand before leading you to an open back entrance. you were glad he’d saved you the hassle of climbing through a window, but the nerves were still there.

“we’ll be fine babe,” he read you like a book, squeezing your hand for comfort. “i can see the gears turning in your head. don’t stress, okay? i got us covered.” 

“alright, eds. i trust you. but i'm telling’ you right now, if there are any spiders in this place—“ he cut off your pending arachnophobic rant with a slight tug, dragging you into the somehow already lit arcade. 

the only word you could use to describe the scene in front of you was woah. the playplace childhood shined its brightly coloured lights with a special fluorescent glow you’d grown to miss seeing. the older video games stayed with their solid black screens, but the claw machines shined amongst anything else.

you looked around in awe, sprouting a small smile before letting go of eddie's hand to roam and get a closer look at everything. his tattooed arm fell by his side with a small ‘thunk,’ yet he didn’t notice.

in his hopefully final moments of just being considered as your ‘boyfriend,’ he finally realized the most important thing about these moments. he wasn’t just loving things about you, he was truly loving you. every moment, every conversation, every look shared, it was all with you. no way would the hell-raising spitfire of hawkins ever get married, but for you, things could be different.

he stared at you from the doorway, reveling in the way simply seeing your childhood building made you this happy. he could stare at you all day, studying each feature of your face as if he’d just met you. though, he did make gareth fix the lighting in this place for a hefty price and a good reason. 

he slid over to an old claw machine when you were occupied, one of those plastic ball containers you’d get a sticky slappy hand out of if you were lucky. he fiddled with the prize slot before sliding a spare quarter into the machine.

the sounds of another machine filled your ears as you turned to see eddie bending over to move the joystick around. he looked giant compared to the tiny toy grabbing game, still towering over it while he was hunched over. the concentration in his doe eyes made your heart swell before the familiar dinging of the machine rang around the building.

“babe, c’mere!” he ushered you over, pushing you in front of the framed metal box and ghosting his hand over your lower back. ”i won you something, dunno what it is though.” 

“oh really? mr. munson finally wins at a game?” you lightly hinted at the fact that he’d never win when you were younger. either that, or he let you win. 

a light pink dusted over his pale, freckled face as you said his last name. hopefully it would be mrs. munson in a second. he coughed his flushed expression off, gesturing to the prize slot of the machine.

“yeah, yeah. check what your prize is already,” he was obviously rushing you, but you still didn’t know why. nobody could really be that eager to see what coloured bouncy ball would reside in the bigger container, so something must’ve been up.

you gave him a slight side eye in confusion before bending down to the metal opening, taking the transparent ball into your palm without peeking at the toy inside first. you shook it around, raising your eyebrow even higher at the unfamiliar rattling sound it gave. 

“huh, i’ve never gotten anything but those cheap sticky hands from these. but i do remember those limited edition lego figures they had at one point,” you babbled to yourself as well as eddie, questioning what could’ve made the noise. his leg bounces as he stood behind you, seemingly impatient about something. 

you eventually ruled down your lengthy guessing process, repeating your childhood rituals for luck. the plastic lid popped open with a quick snap, revealing a delicate, silver ring with your favourite crystal planted straight in the middle of the band. 

it took you a minute to process what you were seeing wasn’t a sick trick your mind was playing on you, slightly faulturing before spinning on your heels to face the only man that could’ve pulled of this wacky declaration of love.

there he was. edward munson, the devious cult leader of hawkins, down on one knee. he was still slightly trembling, with an even shakier smile growing on his face.

“well,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “y’know i'm not exactly great with speeches, but uh– say yes, please?”

as much as you tried, you couldn’t respond to him. you damn near fell to your knees and latched onto him, still gripping onto the container for dear life. no way this shit was actually happening.

he almost fell over from the force you threw yourself onto him with. his contagious laugh rang around the arcade, matching the joyful energy of the lighting. he wrapped an arm around your waist and slid back, sitting down comfortably with you hanging onto him like a koala. 

it felt like you were sitting there for an eternity with him, clinging onto him like it was the last time you’d be able to touch him. he slightly pushed you back a couple times, just to make sure you didn’t choke him out. your sniffles drowned out into his neck as you both still sat. 

“if you aren’t gonna say anything, i’m gonna take that as a yes.” he chortled as you finally pulled away, getting a full glimpse at your post ugly crying face.  

“of fucking course, eddie!” you semi-yelled at the man in front of you, giving him a soft slap on the chest. “is that what you were wigging out about all day?” 

“was it that noticeable? there’s no way. i’m literally a master at acting normal, babe.” he replied, still giving you small laughs between words. he slid his large palm into yours, stealing the small container and its contents. he carefully removed the ring he’d hand picked for you and put it on your left ring finger, placing a quick kiss over the crystal. 

you wobbly stood up, resembling bambi when he slid across the ice. you sniffled a bit more before slightly wiping under your nose and eyes, oblivious to the amount of tears and snot you released during the hug.

“y’know, you didn’t ask me properly, eddie.” you lightly joked while looking down at your now ringed hand, the love of your life’s hand adorning yours. “that’s very unprofessional of you, mr. munson.”

his smile grew impossibly wider, pushing back on one knee almost effortlessly. he dramatically sighed and placed a hand on his heart, before starting his true eddie monologue.

“would you, y/n l/n, make me the happiness dungeon master in the world and marry me?”

pov youre me waltzing back in after missing annotherr week of not writing buttfuck nothing.. naw cause HOW HAS IT BEEN A WEEK ALREADY-

anyways this might not be great but i thought it was cute and yeah

ur likes and reblogs are always appreciated my loves (i really need friends n shit so like talk to me rn please and thanks)

- a still sleep deprived coraline

© dobiemart 2022

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #joseph quinn

[darkestprompts]

Ok I’ll straight up gonna ask for tea:

Give me your very honest opinions on popular pairings (and maybe another post, rare pairs). I am prepared for brutal honesty even towards the ships I’m super in love with.

Ha, I'm afraid I won't have any super hot takes for you, anon. The good thing about DD is that 99% of characters are unrelated adults hanging together and trauma bonding, so even if I dont ship something, generally I can tilt my head and squint and I'll be able to see what other people are getting at. Plus, I'm a multishipper, so i naturally accept multiple interpretations of relationships.

I suppose we have to start at Reymas. I'll admit, I have a suspicion of fandom flagships because often I find them dull or that it's just mashing the two main dudes together. So at first I didn't care much for it, but as I dug into lore and saw cool interpretations, I quickly changed my mind. It has interesting themes, the characters are unexpected foils, the idea that they have this whole journey of redemption that leads to the very end of the world is quality shipping material.

Just so I'm not completely boring, let me tell you a thing I dislike: I tend to find love-at-first-sight Reymas ooc and not very engaging. Physical attraction, yeah, I can see it, but they come from different enough backgrounds that I expect some build up, you know?

Leper is one of the most popular characters, and one that has a relative variety of ships, so I often see Lester and Leper/PD, but also Leper/Abom or Leper/HWM, and threesome variants thereof.

Of these, I prefer Lester. The dynamic of fallen king and regicide is just too juicy for me to pass up. Plus, Sarmenti getting close to someone kind and reliable after all he went through? But Baldwin is doomed to die? It can hit so many angles, comfort, drama, tragedy... it's about the *versatility*.

Leper/Abom made me scratch my head until I read a fic that played the old mechanic of religious heroes rejecting to join parties with Bigby being patched out as character development. It's a clever twist, I appreciate it, even though it's not a top ship or anything.

I never considered Leper/HWM either but I read What Happened to the Candlemaker's Apprentice in a fit of hunger for more Leper content and it was cute as fuck.

Leper/PD is all about that patient/doctor dynamic. I understand the appeal of good old sick fics and comfort fics, but at the same time, for me it's more of a turn off when it comes to long-term doctor-patient stuff (subjective experiences as a chronically ill person playing a role in my bias). Lately I found that I like it more as an OT3, with a third person offsetting the dynamic. Still sad though, because I love both Leper and PD.

Plaguerobber... when I first came to this fandom I was *starving* for a single wlw pairing to hold onto. Plaguerobber was my only sustenance. It was diffident at first, sort of "well, it's the only girl gays I get, even though I'm not super invested". With time and seeing a little bit more of shipping variety (for the love of the Light, people, please feed me wlw content), I softened into it. They are little shits who like their poison way too much and their dynamic can be very fun. Plus, visually they look great together.

...What else is even popular in this fandom? Reymas is so big I had difficulty coming up with anything else. Did you have other ships in mind, anon?

#asks #anon #reymas #plaguerobber #shipping #on my phone will tag this properly later maybe #sorry anon I'm a boring person that multiships and chills #plague doctor/grave robber #paracelsus/audrey #reynauld/dismas #crusader/highwayman