#but he is making the objective decision to go on all of these missions that he technically doesn’t have to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talesofadragon · 6 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader

Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.

Word Count: 12K

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away.

Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it.

“What in the name of God are you doing?”

Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.

You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.

“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?”

You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.

“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought.

Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt.

“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.”

He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street.

“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.”

“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes.

Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.”

“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.”

“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.”

Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.”

“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.”

It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.

You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.”

“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.”

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie.

“You mean like right now?”

“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.”

Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge.

“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“…I hate that house.”

“The nice house down our street?”

“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.”

“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.”

“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted.

You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”

Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you.

“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.”

“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.”

“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist.

“It was one time!”

“For five days.”

“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.”

Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got, he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.

Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.

Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly.

“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”

“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?

“It looks like it,” Steve answered.

Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”

The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.

Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”

“For what?”

“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing.

You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud.

We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.

To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows Join the Halloween Feast Tonight

And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM

“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.

Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?”

"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."

The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.

“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.

“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something.

“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.

Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window.

And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet.

“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”

He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.

“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?”

The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side.

“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.

You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy.

“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.

Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.”

“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.”

“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.”

“I’m the Head of the Avengers.”

“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.”

You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.”

“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?”

“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.”

“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.”

“That’s too dangerous.”

“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?”

“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.”

“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.”

“And you judge me about my common sense?”

“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”

It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house.

The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.

Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.

“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.

“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”

With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.

You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.

"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"

You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness.

“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.”

“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied.

“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”

You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.”

“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said.

Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.

Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?”

The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.”

With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.

The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.

“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?”

Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan.

“Steve!” you called apprehensively.

“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented.

You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air.

You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve.

“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one.

“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.”

The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp.

The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster.

One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied.

You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash.

“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer.

“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.”

Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.”

You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs.

Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.

You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.”

“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced.

In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?

Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault.

You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground.

The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms.

You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf.

“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.”

Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!”

The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh.

“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”

“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”

Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer.

“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?

Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!”

“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys.

Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit.

Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls.

Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise?

As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.

“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.”

You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright.

A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”

You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.

“How are we gonna get out?”

“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”

The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers.

“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door.

The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements.

The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy.

“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head.

“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace.

“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”

“What question?”

You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,

“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts,

Within the breadth of darkness, I reside.

Devoid of soul, I grasp control,

In my distorted mist, your will subsides.

I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes,

Tell me, soldier, who am I?"

“Son of a bitch!”

“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”

Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.

“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is a nightmare.”

A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.”

The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind.

“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”

“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak.

The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”

“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees.

As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into.

“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”

Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic.

“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.

“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”

“Tony!”

“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”

“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”

“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”

“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”

“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.

Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!”

When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume.

Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf.

“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension.

Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”

“Like who?”

“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”

You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”

Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him.

“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"

At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”

You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance.

Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different.

“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”

Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”

The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks.

“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.”

Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.

You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.

“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”

The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.

You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.

His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.

“Steve.”

He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.

It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.

“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”

“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.

In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.

“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”

Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.

Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”

You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.

He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.

Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.

Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.

Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.

Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.

Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.

“St—?”

“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”

It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.

When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.

Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”

Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.

And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.

You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock.

Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”

You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”

Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life.

In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.

The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.

And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.

He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.

“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”

You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.

“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.

You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.

“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”

“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.

He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.

“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.

You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”

You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.

Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.

He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.

You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.

Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.

A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.

You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face.

Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer.

You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.

“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp.

You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.

“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”

Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”

He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.

“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”

“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”

“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”

“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”

He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.

Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”

You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”

Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”

“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.”

You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once.

Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.

“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.

“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”

And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions.

“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.

“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”

You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.

You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.

“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.

Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Pepper. No, I swe—”

“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”

“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”

“Then, why are we in this room?”

“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”

“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”

“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”

“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”

“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”

Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”

“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.

“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”

And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”

“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”

“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.

I'm going to hell for this.

You can also find my work on AO3. 🤍

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #kinktober 2023 #marvel kinktober #steve rogers kinktober #halloween fanfic #JamiesHalloween2023

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seraphimcollections · 1 year

Text

drunk daze | NSFW Price/Reader | +18

warnings: MINORS DNI !!!! P?rn with plot, slight size kink, rough, club sex, sex pollen, multiple orgasms, sex with a superior, mutual pining, allusions to masturbation, NSFW FOR GOD'S SAKE!! Pure filth. No mention of Y/N but readers codename is "Kit"

...I regret nothing.

summary: you, Gaz and Price are all on a mission to locate a mysterious bio-weapon, the likes of you and your dear captain get an acquaintance with ;)

words: 5k <.<

a/n: ...just gonna leave this here...

______________________________________________________________

You could barely raise your chest to bring in breath. You felt like you were on fire, every inch of you covered in a thin film of sweat glimmering in the dingy lights of the cramped restroom. You sat on the toilet lid, your back arched and your head leaned over so that your hair could pool at the bottom of the basin. Cool running water ran over your locks in an attempt to increase your rising temperature. Little to say, it wasn’t working.

Oh, that’s right, you were on a mission, the objective completely forgotten at this point. You’re mind a haze, all you could think about was trying to hang on to the last piece of sanity holding you back from making a stupid decision. Your lips parted, you let out a strangled moan, trying your best to focus your gaze.

“Love,” his voice alone was able to cut through all the noise.

You looked up into his honeyed gaze, finding salvation. You smiled at him, hand reaching to catch on his tee.

“I really fucked us didn’t I,” you eyes swirled with lust staring up to the bearded man, “Captain.”

Four hours earlier, Gaz and Captain Price touched down in Tokyo, assigned to a special mission to retrieve a rumored bio-weapon.

“And we don’t have any other intel on this, Laswell?” You ask, all three of you standing around the laptop.

“All we know is that it's highly effective and mind-altering, but we’ll get the information we need once we’ve retrieved it,” Laswell said over the call.

“And this supposed bio-weapon is hidden inside this club?” Gaz said skeptically.

“Well, if I were an evil mastermind trying to hide the next hottest bio-weapon, I’d want to hide it in plain sight,” you shrugged.

“Alright, all that’s left is to get ready,” Price said, standing to his feet, “Gaz will be positioned in the building across from the club while you and I infiltrate and attempt to locate the weapon. Boots on the ground by 19:00 hours.”

You turned and waved over your shoulder as you walked toward your separate room, “can’t rush beauty, Cap!”

Gaz rolled his eyes with a chuckle, hearing the door click shut.

“Not going to lie, Captain,” Gaz smiled, “I’d kill to be in your position. Respectfully, of course.”

“Right,” Price smirked, slapping a hand on Gaz’ shoulder, “stay sharp, Gaz.”

Thirty minutes before departure time, Price sat in one of the hotel armchairs, helping himself to a cool glass of Scotch. Of course it wasn’t even close to being as good as his regular, but it would definitely be better than the drinks they’d be serving at the sketchy club he was heading to.

Instead of wearing his usual uniform, he had changed into something a bit more colloquial, a simple pair of jeans and a gray tee underneath his bomber. A beanie had replaced his trusty bucket hat. Sighing, he flicked his wrist to look at the time before his eyes shot to your door for what felt like the 10th time in 20 minutes. What was taking you so long, he thought. He had massively underestimated what went into making you look presentable, that much was apparent.

Finally, he heard your door open before the clacking of your heels on the hardwood. John felt his mouth go dry as his gaze climbed up your long legs, up to the short hemline of your skimpy reflective dress, over the canyon of your breasts -- no bra to be seen, until finally settling on your sultry gaze. He could feel his face become harder, his lips parted in awe.

“You look strapping, Cap,” you smiled.

Price gulped and tried to put on the best smile to hide his nerves. Nerves? He would’ve scoffed at the idea, but it would be a lie that he wasn’t seduced by the pure image of you. The way the dress hugged every curve, the way your skin glistened in the light, the subtle makeup on your eyelids that made your eyes pop even more than John thought possible. A goddess stood in front of him, and he hardly felt worthy.

“You look…stunning, love,” Price said.

You felt your stomach twist in a knot as you quickly averted your gaze. Love, a term of endearment, but from a friend. A superior. Your boss. Of course your Captain’s attractiveness was not lost on you, spending nights hot and out of breath as your sheets clung to your sweat body, one hand clamped over your mouth and the other slid between your legs. The image of your Captain’s bruising grip holding tightly on your hips while he-

“Should we head out then?” Price snapped you out of your thoughts as he stood to his feet.

You nodded in an attempt to be stoic and focused on the mission, despite the pure filth going on in her head, and between your legs. Price gestured for you to go first through the door, where he then realized the dress exposed the entirety of your back. He noted how your shoulder blades peaked from your skin, how the line of your back ran all the way down to the plump of your ass. Price nearly had to slap himself to get himself to stop looking, a near impossible feat. Get it together, idiot, he thought.

The ride to the club was quiet, both you and Price keeping your attention to anything and everything passing by as Gaz drove. Your leg crossed one over the other, you leaned your chin on your palm, your expression showing boredom. Gaz looked into the rearview toward your relaxed figure.

“You clean up pretty nice,” he said jokingly.

You smirked, playfully kicking his seat, “eyes on the road, casanova.”

Gaz chuckled before throwing his hands up in defeat, “just stating the obvious. Oh, you don’t look too bad yourself, Captain.”

Price rolled his eyes, looking at his watch again, “anyway, you know your positions. Gaz, keep an eye to see if any of our targets come in the vicinity. Kit and I will make our way in and locate the weapon-”

“And make our grand escape into the sunset. Mission accomplished,” you looked to him with a comforting smile, “don’t worry Cap, this will be a cake walk.”

Price sighed almost in relief as he stared into eyes. You often had the tendency to be optimistic, sometimes to a fault, but it helped with the nerves. Something Price had a feeling you knew well.

Finally the car came to a slow around the corner of the club, eventually coming to a stop underneath a street lamp.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Gaz said, twisting to look back at you two, “good luck in there, try not to die.”

“And prolong my amazing funeral? Wouldn’t dream of it,” you clapped Gaz on the shoulder before stepping out, Price following you out.

Gaz didn’t wait, immediately pulling off to dump the car in an unmarked alleyway before making his way to his rooftop position. The chill of the night air sent gooseflesh over your arms as you stood next to Price. You blinked in shock as he held out his arm to you, looking up at him. John gave you a small smile.

“Better make it look believable, right?” He said.

You smiled before snaking your arm in between his, maybe a little too eagerly.

“Who knew you were such a gentleman,” you smiled.

“Of course, you think I’m some sorry sod who doesn’t know how to treat a fine woman like you?” He said, “fine” slipping out before he could do anything about it.

This slip wasn’t lost on you, bringing a blush to your cheeks.

“You’re right, that's more of Gaz’s deal isn’t it,” you smirked.

“I can hear you, you know that right?” Gaz sounded unimpressed over the earpiece.

“Just checking if the ear piece was working,” you said coyly.

“Right,” Gaz said.

The two of you turned the corner, making your way to the growing line outside the club door. The building itself wasn’t anything to write home about, but the growing line waiting outside the door was enough to prove otherwise. By looking at the serious demeanor of the bouncer, who was obviously armed, you knew your were going to play this up a bit more. A sultry smile grew on your glossed lips, pulling gently on Price’s arm to bring him to your level. You pressed yourself closer to his side, molding into him. To anyone else, you were a young couple completely infatuated with each other, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

“He’s armed,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear.

Price went rigid feeling your sudden warmth, one of your arms wrapped his arm, the other on his chest. He quickly had to refocus, realizing the weight in your words as he looked over the bouncer at the door.

“Got it,” his voice rumbled.

It wasn't long before the two of you reached the door and the bouncer held up his hand.

“トラを食べちゃう車ってなぁに？” the large man said deeply.

Without skipping a beat, you answered, “トラック.”

The man nodded and stepped aside, letting the two of you pass by, his stoic gaze never leaving Price until they passed through the door. They walked down a short hallway that vibrated with the music until they reached the main floor. The place was packed wall to wall, on the dance floor and the terrace above where the bar was located. Price’s eyes squinted at the violent flashing lights as he looked over the room. You still had a grip on his arm. He leaned down your ear.

“How’d you know how to get in?” Price said.

You shrugged, “it’s an old riddle, my grandma taught to us as a kid.”

Price nodded, “alright, let’s split up. Keep an eye out for anything interesting, stay frosty.”

“Copy that,” with that you released his arm, much to his disappointment.

You turned and looked over your shoulder with a grin, “and loosen up, old man! You’ll blow our cover before we ever get the chance!”

Price nearly choked on his breath, “not so loud!”

You waved dismissively over your shoulder, “no one can hear us, it’s too loud!”

You continued your way down to the dance floor, your heartbeat picking up as you sunk into the waves of dancing bodies lost in the music. Yes, you were on a mission, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a bit of fun, right? Letting yourself be taken by the beats shaking the ground underneath your heels, you began to sway your hips. No one could wipe the smile away from your lips if they tried. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually went dancing, it had been way too long, forgetting how releasing it could be. The months of rough missions and being shot at had even your light-hearted jokes coming on a bit thick. So yes, you needed this. You need a release.

You ran your hands over your curves, swaying foot to foot, your hips in circles. In the same moment, you could feel eyes on you, and you knew damn well who it was. Price found you so easily in that crowd. He leaned over the railing, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he looked down at you from the terrace. His eyes never left your form, noting every way your body rolled, watching as your growing sweat began to glisten across your skin. God, you were perfect, and you knew it which made you all the more dangerous to him. A forbidden fruit.

Now, now you are going to put on a show. It was just too easy and too tempting not to. Maybe it would’ve landed you in a world of hurt later, but for now, you were going to wring every drop out of this moment. You flipped hair, your hands moving to hold your neck as you swing your hips in a circle, rolling your body in waves. You look up at Price, that smug grin never leaving.

“You little minx,” Price mumbled, taking a deep swig of his whiskey.

You had to have known what you were doing to him, this little game you were playing was slowly unraveling his resolve with each move. Not even a second later, you feel hands smooth over your waist and the warmth of someone behind you. You immediately tear your eyes away from Price and look at the man behind you.

“Haven’t seen you around here before, stranger,” the man said into your ear.

You didn’t slip, laying on the bimbo act on thick, “I’m from out of town, heard this place was a must see. Can’t see why though, am I missing something?”

The man chuckled, twirling you around before holding you tight to his chest shown brazenly through his unbuttoned shirt.

“You made it just in time for the grand finale,” the man said, his hand sliding down to your ass before squeezing.

It took everything in you to not slice his hand off right then and there, hiding your maliciousness behind a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, is that so?” You say.

The music began to reach its peak, the crowd becoming rowdier by the second. It felt like the dance floor had become even more packed, people closing you in completely. You looked over the man’s shoulder and up to Price, your gaze saying it all. Something was about to go down.

“Everyone’s storming the floor -- Kit time to go,” Price said to the ear piece to no response, “Kit, you read?”

But you couldn’t hear him over the loudness of the music shaking your bones. The air felt thinner and the heat was nearly unbearable when your dancing partner suddenly pulled you even closer to him to whisper in your ear.

“Here it comes, don’t waste a single drop,” he snickered.

Your eyes narrowed in confusion before hearing a large pop. Your head shot up to the blinding light above, seeing confetti raining down. But it wasn’t just confetti, there was a fine dust that glittered in the light and completely dominated what little air there was. The man took in a deep whiff, letting out a groan before sticking out his tongue. Before you could turn away, the cloud was upon you, blinding you while the room erupted into cheers. You shoved the man away from you, not that he seemed to mind, his attention drawn to the showering cloud of powder above.

Price instantly lept into action, abandoning his drink at a nearby table and shoving past the troves of people to get to you. You coughed and stumbled through the bodies, bumping into everyone as you passed, desperately rubbing the powder from your eyes to the best of your ability.

“John, s-shit, J-John!” You shouted in panic, hands over your eyes.

Soon enough you felt his warm hands take you by your arms.

“I’m here, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he said.

He guided away from the floor and you followed blindly. You could feel the two of you pushing through, John not even bothering with manners until you could hear the opening of a door. You stumbled through and John hurriedly locked it behind you. You swayed, letting out a groan as you felt a throbbing headache coming on. You outstretched your arms, your hands laid flat against the walls casing you in.

“Fuck, I can’t see,” you whimpered, keeping your eyes squinted.

Without as much as a word, John turned you around and forced you to sit on what you assumed was the toilet.

“Here, lean back,” Price said, his voice laced with worry.

You did as he said, leaning back far enough that your back was supported by the sink basin attached to the tank. You could feel John’s hulking frame lean over you, adding his own heat to your unbearable temperature, turning on the faucet. Gently, he took your locks and laid underneath the cool water. You couldn’t quite place it, but you felt like your skin was crawling. Was it always like that? Your blood must have been boiling in your veins, centralizing lower, causing you to clench your thighs together. This feeling, it couldn’t be…

Your head began to turn into mush, you hadn’t even realized your tight grip on John’s shirt.

“Hold on, Kit, stay with me,” John’s voice sounded too good right, too good.

You flinched as he gently poured water over your closed eyes, the liquid feeling as if it was evaporating off your skin instantly. The world sounded underwater, like this small room was all that was left in the world. Leaving only you and John. You couldn’t hear Gaz calling over the earpiece, it having fallen out of your ear in your scuffle through the crowd, but John was talking to him.

That powder, it tasted sweet like sugar and coated everything. Everyone seemed to have been expecting it, everyone except you two. Shit, it all made sense.

“F-fuck, John, the weapon,” you gritted out, “that’s what it was. It’s some kind of, s-shit, I don’t know - an aphrodisiac, maybe? Fuck it’s so hot.”

John’s eyes widened in shock and realization. You groaned, cracking your eyes open to look up at him. If you didn’t think he was a giant (compared to you) you definitely thought so now seeing him in such a cramped space. He looked over you with that piercing blue gaze, the one that sent fear into the heart of many, but now only set you ablaze. Your gaze spilled over him, over his well-kept beard and mustache -- how desperately you wanted to ride them.

You clenched your legs tighter, trying but obviously failing to hang on to any ounce of sanity. He was your Captain. The man that made sure the job got done and that everyone came back. That’s all it was supposed to be. But you knew damn well it hadn’t just been that for a long time. You found yourself staring at the man for longer, sometimes he’d catch you and return a smile. That damned smile gifted by the mischievous gods themselves, sent to destroy you. And gods, it was working. Soon everything became engraved in your mind, the way his hips winded when he walked, the way he’d chew into his cigars when he was stressed. How he would bark orders to the time, watching them fall in line so easily, wishing, begging that he’d one day turn those orders on you and you alone. How you’d pray for them in your bed, your fingers desperately rubbing circles on your overstimulated clit in hopes of even coming close to what impossible pleasure he’d give you.

All such feelings were just that, feelings, and thus had no room in the real world. But now, such feelings roared like a furnace in your belly and you feared they’d overflow.

“I’ve really fucked us, didn’t I, Captain?” You said, your voice weak.

John couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, leaning closer to look into your blown eyes. He gently tilted your head to get a better look at you.

“Kit, report,” he said gently.

You didn’t respond, your words tangled in bliss. John frowned, running a thumb over your plump lips.

“Come on, stay with me,” he whispered.

Your brow furrowed and you gulped, your mouth a desert.

“I-It’s…hot, so hot, I feel like I’m hot spring on top of fucking volcano,” your words slurred, “my head feels light, I can’t think straight…and my heart, it’s beating so fast. It hurts, John…”

John frowned, finding the odds even worse than he thought. In only a few moments, you wouldn’t be able to move let alone respond if he didn’t do something. He felt his heart in his throat. If you died on his watch, right in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He knew then, he felt more for you than a superior should ever feel. He now understood the anxiety he felt when he’d send on missions without him, and the immeasurable relief you brought when you came back to him. How he’d crack a smile at your bad jokes, so bad that they could even make Ghost chuckle. Remembering your divine image when you’d come out of a training session, covered in sweat to the point that it soaked through that little tank you called a shirt, eyeing how it clings to you, showing him everything but not enough at the same time.

John felt his mouth run dry as he pressed the earpiece.

“Gaz, keep an eye on the perimeter,” John said gruffly, “going dark.”

He didn’t even wait for Gaz to answer before dropping the earpiece and stomping it underneath his boot. John looked over your limp body, hunger clawing at him as he took in every inch of you.

“Kit, I need you to listen to me,” he said, both hands cradling your face.

You tried your best to give him your attention but you were slipping by the second.

“I need you to tell me you want this,” he said, still trying to find restraint. “Or else tell me to stop this and I will.”

You didn’t think your heart could beat any faster than it did but you couldn’t put it past John. All sense of restraint snapped like a twig. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him close until your lips clashed together. Teeth clashed as you held him tight. You expected him to push you away, you expected to have read the situation wrong, but you didn’t. He didn’t.

John nearly lost it when you moaned needily into the kiss. He tried his best not to crush you under his weight, one hand supporting himself against the wall behind you, the other tangling in your damp hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You kept your hands busy too, sliding down to his shirt and belt, yanking at the fabric. By the time the two of you separated, John was out of breath as he looked down at you with an unquenchable thirst.

“I want you to know,” his words rumbled in his chest, “if I could, I’d take you out to dinner, get you flowers, I wouldn’t, I mean-”

You giggled, “I know, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do all that later.”

John smiled, his hands squeezing under your thighs before hauling you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. The wall felt like ice against your back, but he felt like fire against you. His warm hands slither up your thighs and under dress, fingers curling around the band of your thong.

John groaned, “what you do to me…”

His fingers moved the fabric clothing your heat, swiping up the slit and gathering your juices on his fingertips.

“God, how are you this wet already?” He mumbled against your lips.

You could only answer with a strangled mewl as he slid two fingers inside with ease. Working them, you struggled to contain your moans as his thumb circled your clit relentlessly. Your vision was blurring by the second as you clawed at his shirt, moaning into his neck. You squealed, feeling John add another finger and when he curled them, spots of your vision completely disappeared.

“S-shit, John, right there, g-god!” You gasped.

John pumped his fingers faster, his mouth covering yours as an attempt to quiet you despite craving to hear you more. He watched as you fell apart in front of him, and he hungered for more. He kept his pace until your eyes flitted to the back of your head, your legs shaking around him. You came violently around his fingers, clawing at John’s muscular arms as he continued to pump them into your sensitive cunt. He only slowed when your fingers wrapped around his wrist, causing him to look up into you fucked out gaze.

Your eyes said it all. Your lips were parted and glossy with his and your own saliva.

“John, please…” you whispered airlessly.

He didn’t hold back, letting your legs fall as you tried your best to lean into the wall so as not to fall. He pulled hastily at his leather belt, peeling back the layers until he cock was finally free. You felt your mouth water seeing it slap up against his abdomen, its head red and angry. John stroked it a few times, squeezing the tip tightly. He took your left thigh, propping your heel on the toilet, spreading you and slipping between your legs. Now you could truly feel all of him. You slithered your fingers underneath John’s shirt, lifting it up to his firm pecs that you more than once caught yourself staring at during workout. Your hands felt so hot against him, he wanted more, needed more. His steely blue eyes connected with yours, looking for any hesitance, anything that would call him off.

“Tell me to stop,” his accent sounded rough, showing how much he was actually holding back. “Tell me-”

You silenced him with a kiss, softer and gentler than the last. This was true, a promise. You broke from him and smiled warmly.

“You are all I want,” you whispered.

John groaned, swiping his tip along your slit, pulling a moan from you before knocking the air out of you as he began to sink into you. He was big, the was obvious. The tip alone made you stretch uncomfortably but you craved it, longed for it. He was being careful, your cautious captain. You could see it in his face, his brow scrunched up as he sunk further and further until he reached the hilt. Your mouth hung open in pleasure, your brow knitted.

He waited for a moment before gently thrusting, kissing your velvety walls. You let out mewls, your fingers clawing against his arms.

“J-John,” you whimpered.

“Yea love?” he said, his words beginning to slur from the pleasure.

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “let go.”

John’s eyes widened a centimeter, fully blown. By a flip of a switch, he wrapped your wrists with a single hand and pinned them above you. His lips found sanctuary in your shoulder and neck, leaving smoldering kisses. His hips snapped against you and breath-taking pace, hitting deep with each thrust. You felt your mind fully melt, stars blinding your vision.

“F-fuck, how are you this tight, love?” He groaned against your ear.

All you could now was whimper pathetically in response, your hands clawing at his back as he ravished you over and over. Both your slick stuck to his abdomen and your thighs, his balls slapping against you every time he’d bury his cock into your cunt. You couldn’t control your moans, and John wouldn’t have wanted you to. He as lost in them as you were, groaning into your ear.

The way he pounded into you, kissing your cervix, it was no wonder how you were so quickly returned to the edge. Your felt your stomach tighten as slapped your hands against his chest as another orgasm came over you in a unforgiving wave. You were dripping now, juices beginning to pool at your feet.

For a moment you thought John had relented, letting out a pitiful whine as he pulled out of your puffy cunt. This thought was dashed when he dragged you over to the sink, your hands holding yourself up against the porcelain. John ruffled your dress over your ass, slapping a hand against it before tightly squeezing.

“Look at you, you’re a sight,” John mumbled, “it was pure torture watching you out there. Almost like this was what you’ve always wanted. Needed a good fuck, didn’t you Kit?”

You let out a moan, feeling John slide a hand up your back to tangle into your locks before pulling. You looked up lazily into the reflection, finding him staring back at you.

“Answer me, soldier,” he said, a smug smirk on his lips.

In any other circumstance you would want to whip that prideful smirk off his face, but right now all you wanted to do was worship him.

“Yes, sir.”

You let out a moan as he slid back into you so easily, falling back into his brutal pace. Your head rocked back as you bit you lip, your eyes rolling to the back your head. He kissed your sweet spot repeatedly, bruising it but you loved it. God you loved it.

“Good fucking girl,” he cursed, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips, “doing so well for me.”

You yelped as he picked up the pace, something you didn’t think was possible. John watched with pride as your ass slapped against his thighs with ever thrust, echoing against the concrete walls along with the pornstar moans he was dragging out of you so easily. He could feel your walls tightening around him as he rammed your womb, inching him closer to his climax.

“Where do you want it, love?” He said, his breath labored.

You didn’t even think, your mouth did all the work.

“F-fuck, fuck cum, cum inside me- fuck, John!” You cried.

“Fuuck, love, you’re dangerous,” John groaned, his grip on your waist tightening, his head dipped to your back.

His breaths left his lungs in huffs each thrust, matching your moans until you both unraveled like paper dolls. You let out a long moan, feeling his seed paint your womb and warm you from the inside out.

The two of you refused to move, both gasping for air. It wasn’t until his soft dick was forced out by your tight cunt did John look up into the mirror.

“You alright, love?” He said.

All you could do was nod, still trying to catch your breath. John stood straight, hands gently rubbing your back as he looked down at the mess he made of you. His seed dripped out lazily from you and before he could even think, he took his index, catching some before stuffing it back in. You let out a small whimper, looking over your shoulder to him.

“Can’t waste a drop, love,” he said with a tired smirk.

You shakily pushed yourself off the sink, your dress falling back over thighs. Legs feeling like jello, you stumbled to sit down on the toilet. You hung your head as you tried your best to catch your breath. Much to your dismay, the high began to subside and the regret began to set in.

As if sensing your anxiety, John gently cradled your face, guiding you to look up at him. He placed a gentle kiss on your swollen lips before pulling away with a smile.

“I meant what I said,” he said. “I want to take you out. Somewhere you nice. Treat you like you deserve, that is, if you’ll have me?”

You looked up at him in disbelief before grinning, “I’ll go anywhere you are, Captain.”

______________________________________________________________

*leaps into escape vehicle*: I REGRET NOTHING!!

help me out a please reblog and like, thank you!!

#price x reader #price x you #price x yn #cod price #cod x you #gaz #mw2 #pollen #mw2 smut #price smut #john price smut #smut #mdni #ghost #konig

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bsxcrxts · 4 days

Text

beautiful

Tech x fem!reader

MINORS DNI. AGE IN BIO TO INTERACT WITH MY WORKS.

Contains: reader has an afab body, feminine aligned lingerie descriptions, mirror sex, consensual and informed filming of a sex tape, reader who is insecure about their appearance, fingering, piv sex, teasing, questionable Star Wars terminology, fully armored Tech (touch of helmet kink?) and nude reader, Tech praising reader and being a bit of a soft!dom but nothing crazy, classic Tech rambles

Word Count: 2.9k. I was a woman possessed. Can't shut up to save my life

A/N: I'm crazy. He is literally pixels. Not proofread because I'm convinced I've gone off the deep end.

"I understand there can be an urge to be particularly critical of one's own body, but trust in my assessment that you're objectively very attractive," Tech says.

"I don't know, Tech, I guess I just don't see it," you pout a bit. "I don't think I'm 'all that'. What I've got is fine, I guess. But I have more flaws than features."

Tech's eyes narrow slightly at your phrasing. "In our time together, have I not sufficiently appreciated your beauty?" he asks almost softly, like the idea that he could have somehow contributed to this viewpoint unnerves him.

"It's not you, it's.... it's just the way I've always thought about myself, I guess."

"You are beautiful," Tech insists.

"Alright. Prove it," you answer almost playfully, knowing Tech will take it as a challenge, and curious to see where this will go.

"Prove it?" Tech repeats, and you can already see the wheels turning in that enhanced mind of his, "I can and I shall, love."

"Can't wait to see what you think up," you say, and kiss him lightly on the cheek encouragingly before the conversation moves on to something else entirely, and you put it out of your mind.

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

A little more than a week goes by, and you haven't truly thought of the conversation since. Your relationship with your looks isn't necessarily something you like to dwell on, instead choosing to somewhat ignore it and never address your thoughts about your body. Tech, however, hasn't stopped thinking about it; hasn't stopped thinking about ways he could convince you of your own beauty, to make you see yourself as he sees you. And it doesn't help that the idea that he's settled on is particularly filthy, either.

Tech already has an affinity for filming things. Anyone who knows him well will tell you that he's nearly always recording a holo, though he admits his typical motivation is far less scandalous and mostly for strategic purposes. Not this time.

There's a mirror sitting inconspicuously in the corner of the room. He's obtained a gift box containing a very special secret.

Now all he has to do is convince you to play along.

It isn't difficult.

"Do you remember the conversation we had about your perception of your physical features?" Tech ventures late one evening, after a mission. He's not even out of his armor before he can't resist asking. The tension between the two of you is already high; he's watched your eyes rake up and down his form twice in the past fifteen minutes alone.

You look up at him, curious as to where this conversation is going.

"Sure, I remember," you say nonchalantly, not conveying your eager nervousness.

"I believe I have engineered a situation where in I can 'prove' your beauty to you."

"Really?" you raise an eyebrow at him. "Okay, I'm listening."

"A good start... Perhaps you may even wish to do more than listen," Tech says, timber of his voice a bit lower than usual; his tone taking on an inviting and sensual edge, handing over the gift box to you. You feel your face flush as his tone hints at a certain suggestiveness unexpectedly.

This has not necessarily been an easy decision making process for Tech– he's generally confident, yet prone to overthinking when it comes to such gestures, and he hopes he hasn't read this situation wrong. He's comfortable with you, and doesn't want to risk making you feel uneasy or push you to dwell on your physicality unnecessarily. But it was, after all, your invitation that urged him to come up with a situation that 'proved' your physical attractiveness. Nonetheless, he's a touch anxious as you start to tear open the gift he's handed you.

The feeling melts away into a hopeful yearning as he watches your eyes widen and mouth curl into a smile as you hold up the delicate lingerie you've just unwrapped.

"You are beautiful, and the logic follows that you deserve beautiful things," Tech explains.

Your eyes dart over the fabric, or lack thereof, speechless for a moment. "Where did you even find this?" you finally manage to get out.

"Well, that was quite the endeavor. However, I am more interested in discussing whether or not you like it," he answers. "Perhaps you'd like to try it on?" he suggests, not at all inconspicuous.

Nodding, and quickly shutting yourself in the 'fresher, you find yourself staring at the sheer fabric once again. The cut is a bit like an extremely short dress, fabric only just hitting the tops of your thighs, and entirely see-though. The material hugs your chest, plunging far below anything you've ever worn where it ties in the middle. There's a matching thong that barely covers anything, but after you put everything on, you look at yourself briefly and think that you might actually look good.

Not wanting to keep Tech waiting, you emerge from the refresher into your bedroom, shyly crossing your arms in front of your chest, unsure of what else to do.

"Well, here I am," you gesture with a shrug.

You watch as Tech's eyes momentarily roam over your figure behind the amber filter of his goggles, before he pauses to look you in the eyes.

"Exquisite," he breathes, before the questions start. "Do you find the material comfortable? Is it a suitable fit?"

"I don't know if comfort is what the designers had in mind," you chuckle.

"Ah, yes. You bring up an excellent point. Then..." Tech pauses for a moment, motioning for you to step closer to him, and he guides you to where the mirror sits, propped up in the corner of the room. He stands behind you, lightly touching your bare shoulders.

"Does the outfit please you?" he asks lowly, and a heat settles deep in your stomach rather suddenly at his words. There's the solid feeling of his armor behind you, cool against your flushed skin.

Your face heats.

"Sure, I like the way it looks," you concede. And you do; it's a gorgeous set, a thoughtful gift, the way it lays against your skin is mesmerizing, and the way Tech is looking at you right now is striking a need within you.

He notices the way you don't compliment yourself, but the garment instead. But he also notices the way your heart is racing, and how you're looking at his reflection in the mirror. Of course he does; Tech notices everything.

"Thank you, baby," you say in his silence, twisting in his arms and planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I could thank you properly for it?" you suggest playfully, running a finger down the chest plate of his armor, and it's cheesy, but you often enjoying how Tech reacts to an overt advance.

He seems to ponder for a moment, the corner of his mouth pulling into a slight smile. "There is another element of my proposition I have not yet divulged," he begins slowly, as if he is convinced he'll startle you.

"More surprises?" you banter a bit, but Tech is intensely focused on you.

"Would you like to see yourself as I see you?" he ventures, holding your gaze.

"Meaning..?"

"I would like to record us as we are intimate. I would like for you to see how beautiful you truly are. I would like for you to watch the holo when we are finished and know the adoration and lust I feel for you, mesh'la."

Your face can't get any more hot, blood rushing to your cheeks as you nod, agreeing instantly, wordlessly.

"There is one more thing. I suggest the focus shall be entirely on you this evening."

"Wouldn't say no to that," you laugh a tiny bit, self conscious. You're weak in the knees, leaning forward towards him, hanging on his every word, trusting him though your embarrassment at having so much attention on you threatens to overwhelm you.

"You're even more alluring when you're flustered," Tech confesses, and meets you in the middle, kissing you. For his reserved nature, Tech is a passionate lover, wholly dedicated to you, and when he kisses you like this, you moan softly against his mouth.

When the two of you part, you expect him to remove his armor, strip down as he normally does. But what you do not expect is for him to pick up his helmet and put it on, quickly spinning you around to face the mirror again as he practically drags you onto the bed.

"Tech, what–" you start.

"It is as I have just stated," his voice crackles through the helmet, his eyes intense, "this evening's primary function is to focus on you, and your beauty, love. This is to prevent distractions."

At this, you gasp. You have to wonder if he means that you'd be distracted by him, or if he'd be distracted by you and deviate from whatever plot he's clearly planned for the night. It's very difficult not to be caught up in his reflected image in the mirror before you, the lingerie against his armor painting a stark difference. You've never had him like this, your bare thighs bumping up against his own armored ones, your ass rubbing against his codpiece already.

It's a heady feeling, not knowing how his body is reacting to you, being relegated to seeing the emotions in his eyes only, reflected back to you in the mirror before you.

"Are you ready, love?" Tech's voice breaks your concentration over his body, as he raises a hand to his specs to being recording.

"Yes," you whine, sure you're ruining the scrap of lace that's passing for underwear you've got on, just from the way he's looking at you right now, and he starts recording.

Tech's left arm extends across your chest, palming your tits and pulling you securely against his body. He's still wearing his gloves; the image of the dark, rough fabric against the delicate lace of the lingerie makes your head spin. You watch in the mirror as his other hand leaves the edge of his goggles, trailing down, down, down towards your lower stomach, pausing at the hemline of your already soaked panties.

His touch is light, and you tilt your head back against his shoulder. In the mirror, you can't help but catch his gaze, watching him intently focus on you.

"Don't look at me, look at yourself," Tech instructs as he catches you eyeing him, and your eyes snap back to where his hand rests on your abdomen.

He traces his touch lower still, gloved hand suddenly cupping your sex, drawing his fingers across you still-clothed cunt. He's hardly even touching you, his index and middle finger spreading the fabric tight over your swollen clit, obviously eyeing the way you've already soaked the tiny scrap of fabric. Slowly, he drags a finger along your slit, feeling the wetness there before he shoves the thong to the side, exposing your dripping cunt to your line of sight in the mirror.

"Have you ever seen yourself in such a state, mesh'la?" Tech starts, almost smug. "I know I have evoked a similar reaction in you before, but I doubt you have ever seen the picture you make."

You shake your head slightly, panting as your eyes lock on the way the two of you look together in your reflection. Tech, appearing as composed as ever, the only visible part of his body his eyes, and you, practically dripping in scraps of lace in front him him. He has hardly touched you. It's sin, it's debauchery, it's perfection.

Tech's fingers slide across your clit, and your body practically jolts in his arms.

"What does that word mean?" you choke out.

"Which one?" Tech raises an eyebrow behind his golden google lens, and though you feel ruined already, you don't miss how his tone is blatantly teasing you as if to remind you of his enhanced mind.

"Mm–" you start, cut off by your own moans as Tech's still-gloved fingers rub your clit expertly.

"Enunciate," he comments, and you clench around nothing, Tech having yet to even tease your hole. He's playing with you in a way not unlike how you'd touch yourself if you were alone; but then again, he has always been perceptive, it's almost unsurprising he's memorized the patterns that please you the most.

"Mesh'la?" you repeat, more clearly, trying to focus. "You call me that, sometimes."

"It is Mando'a," Tech states, and begins educating you on the subject, despite his hand being splayed across your cunt and you in his arms. "Mando'a was the native language of the man who was the genetic foundation for all clones. As such, I have found it pertinent to maintain a basic knowledge of terminology. 'Mesh'la' means beautiful, and I call you that because that is what you are."

Your eyes wander to him in the reflection and watch as he explains this, keening against his body, desperately trying to get him to give you more. His intense stare meets yours in the mirror, and unable to help yourself, you let out a moan, turning your head in a futile attempt to kiss him, any part of him, helmet or not.

Tech doesn't allow this break in concentration, no matter how brief.

"You must pay attention," Tech scolds, and moves his hand from your tits to you chin, correcting your gaze. At the same moment, he slides two fingers into your dripping pussy.

It sends shock waves down your spine.

"Fuck," you gasp, writhing against him, skin and lace colliding with the hard plastoid of his armor behind you.

"Look at your pretty little cunt, mesh'la."

Tech doesn't talk like that unless he's becoming an unraveled mess himself. You see an opportunity in his words.

"Look even better with your cock inside me," you whine.

Tech's breath stutters behind you, and one of his hands leaves your body for a moment. You feel him moving behind you, hear the click of him removing his codpiece, and before you can even think, you're pushing your ass back towards him, grinding on his hard cock, finally able to feel him.

A soft gasp escapes from his lips behind the mask, and you barely catch the sound, but it pleases you all the same.

He swiftly removes the ruined thong that's been pushed to the side until now, then pulls at the ribbon at the center of the lingerie, undoing the delicate piece and practically tossing it to the side. You are finally fully exposed against him, and you suspect he is as unclothed as he will ever be during this particular romp, cock rutting between your thighs. Still, he doesn't push into your dripping cunt, just toys with you, running his cock along your folds.

If his intention was to take you apart as you suspect, he is doing an incredible job.

"Fuck me," you cry out as the tip of his cock catches on your clit suddenly as he shifts behind you. "Please just fuck me, I want you," you insist as you stare at your nude form in the mirror, the contrast of Tech's fully armored form with his cock between your legs causing you to try and rock down against him wantonly.

You catch Tech's eyes flutter a bit, and his cock jerks against your pussy. He wants to. But he wants something else more.

"Admit you are beautiful."

"What..?" you practically moan, momentarily forgetting how this all started in the first place. The blinking of his goggles recording the entire session flusters you again.

"Say how gorgeous you are, my love, and I will give you my c-cock."

The stutter is new; his resolve is close to breaking. But he wants.

"I-"

"Do you not think you look beautiful right now? You said it yourself; you will look even moreso on my cock. Say it," he says almost softly, encouragingly, the tone of his voice intoxicating from behind his helmet.

"I-I look... pretty," you concede.

His cock slides into your wet, warm cunt.

"I suppose that adjective is ah-acceptable, but you are more than just pretty," Tech insists, snapping his hips against you, and you watch as his cock sinks into you in the reflection of the mirror, gasping.

"You are enticing." Thrust.

"Stunning." Thrust.

"Perfect." Thrust.

You've never finished so soon. He's hardly been inside you for any time at all before you're clenching around him at his words, moaning his name and gasping as you watch yourself cum around his cock. Tech follows you not long after, pulling out and spilling across your lower back as he relinquishes any semblance of control he's had during the session, moaning your name.

He quickly ceases recording, removing his helmet and softly laying you down on the bed, also taking off some of the more restrictive elements of his armor so he could hold you, no stranger to the potential comfort you might need in the moment.

After a second, you smile softly, and still a bit shyly up at him, leaning in to kiss him as you had not been able to before. When the two of you break from the kiss, Tech is still gazing at you.

"You are very precious to me," he states simply.

"Thank you," you say quietly, tucking your head under his chin. "For all of it."

"Anything, mesh'la."

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

a/n: um. so. any interest in a bonus drabble where Tech has you watch the holo? (idea courtesy of the lovely Ezra milfgreedo)

#tech ♥️#tbb tech smut #tech smut #tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #may the force have mercy on me for this one #tbb smut #tbb x reader #becca's bs

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17020 · 10 days

Text

ᥫ᭡ CAMPUS CRUSH GALORE! LOVE LEAVES BRUISES.

# CRUSH 001 — RIN ITOSHI, 20. FILM MAJOR.

Rin Itoshi certainly comes up with weird plans to go visit the nurse... 1.9 k fluff, college! au, gn! yn, mentions of injuries and a teeny bit of blood. Rin is sort of emotionally constipated but that's just him.

To a certain extent, RIN ITOSHI regretted studying film.

Yes, it had brought him emotional awareness. He acquired the ability to distinguish the various emotional factors that played a key role in a person's decision-making, as well as recognizing behavioral patterns through critical thinking, thus being able to objectively determine the logic (or lack thereof) in an actor's actions.

This led to self-reflection: his day-to-day actions, as well as his classmates, were meticulously analyzed by him, subconsciously being categorized as 'logical' or 'complete nonsense.'

Lately, he had noticed a slight—no—huge difference. A newfound pattern, if you will. His recent weekly routine was nothing short of illogical, as he had found himself sprinting to the nurse's office for (very) minor injuries.

It had all started when he was training with his teammates, as the Blue Lock football club was to prepare itself for the upcoming season, and the tournaments that came with it. A rushed direct kick and a distracted Jyubei Aryu ended in Rin's arm wrapped around his teammate's waist, with Aryu's arm draped over his shoulders, loudly complaining about the (totally unstylish) bruise he was to get due to Rin's kick.

When the raven-haired man knocked on the office door, he was met with a sweet and melodic voice, softly telling him to come inside. The door opened to reveal a stretcher, cabinets filled with medications and ointments, and a small wooden desk, with University of Tokyo's eye-catching nurse sitting behind it.

Rin Itoshi was interested in the nurse. Sure, his mission was to just carry Aryu to the nurse since he was the one to injure him, yet the youngest Itoshi had settled for staying longer than he should have. He was taking in every single one of the nurse's features, captivated by the alluring (e/c) eyes, and the worried expression on the nurse's face while inspecting his teammate's leg.

He was too absorbed in the nurse's beauty to notice his teammate grumpily asking him for help, as he required assistance to return to the field to get ahold of his bag. He mentally cursed as he carried his classmate, unable to decipher that unsettling feeling in his stomach that surged when he first entered the office.

The next day, he beelined towards the office once his classes were done for the day, swiftly knocking on the door and swinging it open, revealing the same nurse from the day before, a small smile plastered on their face.

"Is everything okay?"

"My stomach feels weird."

He then proceeded to be flooded with questions about his diet, his breakfast, or even the possibility of taking medications which could have caused a stomachache. The nurse's voice was laced with concern, which made the man's stomach fluttering worse. Rin felt childish while describing his symptoms, and how there was a constant fluttering sensation in his stomach since the day before. The nurse reassured him that it could be due to stress, or perhaps new experiences.

"Itoshi, have you had anything exciting happen to you lately?"

He furiously shook his head in response, insisting it must have been his breakfast, since his older brother was in charge of cooking that morning. After receiving a pill with digestive enzymes, he quickly swallowed it and went on his way. Before he stepped foot out of the office, he had one question to ask.

"What's your name?"

As Rin walked away he felt his whole face grow warm, a soft shade of pink decorating his nose, cheeks, and ears. He recognized that this was unlike him, his mind filling itself with confusion as his walking pace fastened. Soon enough, Rin Itoshi found himself sprinting through the university's campus, desperate to find the entrance of his dorm.

Rin Itoshi did not know how to label his feelings at first. They were a mix of curiosity, admiration, and... uneasiness. It was unusual for him, to spend the last two days fixated on the same person, spelling their name constantly in his head and having the image of them pop up on his mind. He was eager, for the first time in his life, for something other than football.

He wanted to get to know Yn Ln, the University of Tokyo's nurse.

And as time flew by, his actions went from 'weird' to 'complete nonsense'. Rin frequented your office, stopping by a few times a week with minor complaints. Sometimes he settled for a headache, only to feel your fingertips lightly graze the crown of his head, asking where it hurt the most to see if it was a migraine. Other times, he settled for a fever, purposely running towards your office after a tiring day of football practice, so the thermometer could reach just the right temperature, and so the back of your hand could touch his forehead, with his act becoming even more believable as his whole face flushed red with embarrassment.

It took him a while to realize that, the emotions that drove him to such extent as to faking sickness just to see you, were derived from love. Being a film major made him less emotionally constipated: enough to let him deny his feelings for weeks, and enough to let him comprehend that, in the end, whatever stupidity he was doing, he did it out of love.

His first love was the university's nurse.

With each visit, he managed to grow more confident, asking questions about your personal life. They started off subtle, asking about your age, why you chose the job, and how long you worked there. He was relieved when you revealed that you were around his age, and a fourth year medicine student who wanted to gain experience with treating patients, being allowed by UTokyo to work as a part-time nurse.

His charades continued, with him using every excuse in the book to visit your office. He had learned the schedules of your shifts, and had found himself thinking of you while his professor's lecture became background noise. He felt excited when he heard that they would soon learn of practical, digital, and special effects, with a collaborative work based on makeup effects and prosthetics.

Rin Itoshi thought he had the most brilliant idea.

He offered himself to be his classmate's canvas for special makeup effects. The assignment was simple: to paint a bruise, and to make it look realistic. When the class ended, he once again sprinted out, knowing the way towards your office like the back of his hand.

He knocked twice, which was his way of letting you know he was the one behind the door. You opened the door to let him in, your brows furrowed with worry as your gaze went directly to his right arm, which had a nasty, purple bruise. With widened eyes you carefully dragged him inside, forcing him to lay down on the stretcher. You delicately got ahold of his wrist, guiding it towards you so that you could have a better look.

The bruise was a blue-ish shade of purple, which was an indicator of it being recent, around a day or two old. Your fingers softly grazed the bruise, and as if on queue, the young Itoshi sibling squeezed his eyes shut, feigning the feeling of pain.

"What happened, Itoshi?"

He shrugged it off, replying that it had been a product of football practice. It was the most believable excuse according to him, seeing as his teammate had gotten a bruise (from him) by training football.

Letting go of his arm, you turned to the cabinets, opening one of them and pulling out a small, white bottle with a red cap, along with some white, fluffy balls.

Rin felt his heart stop. The color drained from his face.

How could he be this stupid?

You took one cotton ball and opened the bottle, carefully drenching the ball with the antiseptic. You turned back to him, taking notice of his current state. You chuckled at the sight.

"Hey, it's just antiseptic, okay? It's not going to sting since you don't have any cuts."

He pulled his arm towards him, as he tried to get off the stretcher. To his surprise, you pushed him back, forcing him to stay seated. You had a serious look on your face, which the man had never seen before. He was taken aback by your reaction, and was too stressed to even think of a way out.

"Rin Itoshi, this is not my first rodeo with patients who try to run away. Stay seated and let me clean."

Rin Itoshi was already planning his funeral.

The only thing left for him to do was to look away, because he sure as hell was not going to look at you. He felt like he did not deserve to, losing all staring privileges from the minute he sat down on your stretcher. Drops of sweat were trickling down his face, and his knee was rapidly bouncing up and down from the anxiety.

You took the soaked cotton ball and warily brushed his skin with it, puzzled as to why there was purple on the ball. You continued to drag the ball onto his skin, seeing as how the purple hues on his skin were magically gone with each swipe. You held in your laughter as you discarded the now purple cotton ball into the trash, then turning to look at Rin, who was too embarrassed to even meet your gaze.

"Look, Itoshi! The antiseptic was so good it took the whole bruise away with it!" you joked, with the hope of lightening up the mood.

The man's gaze was fixated onto the ground.

"...I'm sorry. Sorry I made you waste your time."

You offered him a smile, explaining how there was no time wasted, as you liked spending time with him, and how you got excited whenever he stopped by. Finally, his gaze met yours as his eyes gleamed with happiness, as he was genuinely pleased that his moment of ridicule had not been in vain. Your fingers intertwined themselves with his, and his fingers were damp from how scared he was. Not that you minded, though, as you had a front row seat to see how Rin's 'marvelous' plan failed miserably.

"I like seeing you, Yn. It's just... I don't... I don't know how..."

"If you're up for it, we can go to the coffee shop that's a few blocks down from here! My shift ends in 20 minutes, so..."

He nodded in response, his pale face now turning into a subtle shade of pink. He got up from the stretcher, stumbling towards the door from his nervousness. As he opened it he turned around, taking in your beauty one last time before he left.

"See you in 20?"

You smiled, "See you in 20, Itoshi."

He closed the door shut and you sighed in relief, grateful that the bruise on his arm was not actually real. You wondered if his bruise had to do with his coursework, as you had received a text from your friend who also majored in film, with them telling you that their group assignment was based on prosthetics.

Your pondering got cut short as you heard a loud scream, presumably from a guy, as well as some muffled yelling and threats. A few seconds later, the door opened to reveal Rin, with a small streak of blood running down his nostril, and a soccer ball in his hands.

"This time it's real, I promise."

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x y/n #bllk x you

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koisuko · 3 months

Text

Imagine:

You save Soap's life after a near death experience, but at what cost?

tw: death, blood, guns, mw3 spoilers, sad shit, violence, angst, gn reader, reader insert

Never has a mission gone this haywire, never have you felt your heart pounding against your chest in rhythm with the beeping of the bomb behind you. The burning hatred for Makarov growing brighter with every tick of the timer, this wild goose chase becoming increasingly more exhausting. What if he gets away again, what if this bomb is just another diversion for a much bigger scheme? Bullets whizzed passed your head, nearly missing you mid peak from over a crate you took cover behind, your hands sweating profusely from beneath your gloves as you took out another Konni solider. "Copy- Bear. Cutting the wire..." the sound of snipping sparked a sudden sense of impending doom, squeezing your eyes shut quickly to await the blast that never came. You glanced over at Soap, the wire cutters firm in his grasp. "Got it! That bought us some time!" he added, his face so calm and focus unbroken. It amazed you how he handled this situation with such grace and stoicism, as if this was just another mission, a daily occurrence for him.

Your comms clicked before Ghost's frantic voice reached your ear piece, "Price, be advised: Makarov is in the chunnel- He's heading your way!" you groaned with frustration, turning to glance at Price as you spoke, "remind me again why we didn't let Soap kill this fucker last time?" Before he could answer, you ducked, hearing the clang of a bullet ricocheting off a metallic surface, "SOAP—! Get your gun up…!" Price ordered over the gunfire, raising his gun to purge the Konni police rapidly approaching. "It'll blow if I let go, Captain! Y/n, cover me!" Your brain went on autopilot, rushing to his side with your gun held high. You took out as many Konni as you could, several bullets imbedding themselves in various objects just inches from you. The bodies of both allied and enemy soldiers began littering the concrete floors of the subway, bullet holes scattered across the walls in all different directions.

With the last Konni police down, Price made haste back to the snake camera while you remained a cover to the two men. "0-7 to Six - We're punching through now!" Ghost conveyed over comms. The beeping became more frantic, causing a peak in anxiety while you kept watch in front. Soap and Price exchanged various key numbers to aid in defusing the bomb, "Copy— good work— This bomb has two fuses! We need to cut both at the same time. Red wire, y/n come help me with this." You nod in response, kneeling beside Soap only to be cut short with a rapid set of footsteps from behind. Before you could turn, your body collided with the cold concrete floor. A sharp burning pain rippled through the flesh of your shoulder.

Even in your pained state, you darted your eyes around to meet Soap. He was on the floor a few feet from you, bleeding from a gunshot to the shoulder, similar to yours. Your attention averted to Price, the rat Makarov stood over him with a gun pointed to his head. “Never bury your enemies alive,” he uttered, a twisted smirk playing on his features that you despise so much. You needed to act fast, pushing yourself off the ground to attempt to potentially save Price’s life. Soap beat you to it, slamming a knife into Makarov’s shoulder with a grunt.

If you were honest, you weren’t even thinking. Everything seemed to have slowed down, as if a bubble formed around the scene for prolonged decision making. Yet, you didn’t even need to decide, your body acting for you in a blind protective instinct. It happened so fast, but so slow, with bits and pieces coming together in a faded memory. Sound seemed to become muffled around you, tunnel vision taking a hold of your sight. You had one goal in mind, one clear whisper in your head egging you on, save him.

Price lay nearly unconscious on the floor, watching the scene unfold helplessly as actions moved faster than his battered mind could comprehend. The gun was poised, aimed at Soap’s head, dangerous pressure on the trigger. This was it, Makarov was going to win, he thought. How could the man he wanted to kill so badly be this close to him, yet still leagues ahead. It all took a turn, when from the sideline came you, slamming yourself into Makarov and successfully knocking Soap to the side, where he collided with a nearby crate. Unfortunately, fate can be cruel, if one does not go, another will take its place. In a sick turn of events, Makarov turns the barrel and pulls the trigger, this time directly through the flesh of your throat. Your body was discarded to the side like a mere doll. “Y/n no!” They both seemed to yell simultaneously, but to you, they were simple whispers.

Ghost and Gaz arrive on the scene a second too late, opening fire at the Konni while a half conscious Soap and Price return to their senses. They both turned to look at your limp form, watching you briefly convulse from the blood spurting out of your neck with each fading pump of your heart. Faint choking sounds could be heard under the gunfire in your desperate attempt to cling to life, to take just one breath, before finally falling silent. Price wasted no time in grabbing his pistol, taking aim at the retreating form of Makarov, only for a train to put a barrier between them. “Bloody hell, y/n!” For the first time, you could hear a subtle crack in Ghost’s voice. Soap was speechless. He lost someone he loved so dearly in a matter of seconds. Kneeling down beside you, he stared at your face. Your once vibrant eyes now a dull lifeless hue, glossed over with a grey tint of vacancy. Those lips he longed for, now held a shade of blue, and your skin becoming a deathly pale. Your face painted in heavy red liquid, your final moments spent drowning in your own blood. The room now emanated a heavy stench of death, so thick it nearly made him gag. “This is all my fault,” he whispered in a voice laced with pure grief. He placed a tender hand on your ice cold cheek, the voices of his comrades blocked out by the overwhelming sorrow inside him. He prayed to take your place, wanting so badly for the claws gripping his heart to relent. Oh god, the agony you must have felt, the burning sensation in your lungs being the last thing you experienced before death took you from him. He couldn’t help but clutch his stomach in hopes to ease the nausea building in his system. Beside the body of his friend, lover, and comrade. Silently, he mourned.

The bomb was diffused, they had once again defeated a grand plan of Makarovs. But at what cost? “All stations - this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralized. Bomb is safe…” Price looked down at your body like a father who lost his child, “one KIA.”

—

The team gathered on a cliff overlooking a pristine lake. The sun beginning to set over the horizon, casting a golden ray upon the landscape. The view would be breathtaking, if it weren’t for the reason they had come here. Your favorite spot, they knew it was. From all the stories you told them of this place, of how much it meant to you. You had even planned to take Soap there, take them all there, you promised you would. A promise you would have kept if it weren’t for your untimely death to the hands of your enemy. Even in the afterlife, in your place among the stars, you held no regret for how you died. You saved him, saved the man you loved most, you saved Soap. “They were the best of us,” Price said, his voice low. “The toughest,” Gaz held his hat to his chest in respect, his eyes closed as he listened to the gentle tune of the birds song surrounding them. “They would have fought the world bare handed,” Ghost never once breaking eye contact where the sky meets the mountains. “They had a heart made of gold,” Soap’s voice broke as he spoke, looking up at the sky as if speaking directly to you.

He reached down to his bag, the reason they were here becoming reality. For a second, he held the urn to his chest, taking in a deep breath before holding it in the center of the group. They all collectively placed their hands on the cold metal, before one by one they spoke one last time. First, was Price, “who dares wins..sleep easy soldier,” then Gaz, “see you down range, friend, we’ll take it from here,” and Ghost, “Rest in peace, y/n.” Then, it was Soap’s turn to speak, yet the words caught in his throat. He nearly felt the tears track down his cheeks, pleading so desperately to hold it together and stay strong. Why couldn’t this have just been a fucking nightmare? When will I wake up, he thought. He took a shaky breath, before letting his deepest feelings flow, “I’ll miss ye, my love.”

They watched as the wind carried your ashes, spreading each particle into the water below. Perhaps, the wind will carry your soul with it, to the next life.

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redheadspark · 1 month

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hawuu can I request Druig with 9. casually kissing their partner

A/N - HAWWUU! I love this for Druig, thanks for requesting this, friend!

Safe With Me

Summary - Your love for Druig was your best-kept secret. But not for long

Warning - Just fluff :)

You didn’t meant to let it slip, not really.

Having Druig as your boyfriend was the best-kept secret that you have kept for the last hundred years, give or take. It was a mutual decision, both you and Druig wanted to keep it under wraps from the very beginning. On your end, it was simply because you never wanted it to jeopardize your mission on the planet with the humans. The last thing you wanted to do was to be on the bad side of Ajak, someone whom you admired and thought of as a mentor or yours.

Druig’s reason to keep it private was simple: he wanted you to himself.

Druig was not one to be selfish, in fact, he was the opposite. He loved to care for the humans, even while the others did not see it most of the time. He would rather keep his selfless heart private and do good works in the darkness and out of plain sight. It made him seem aloof and standoffish, which was far from the truth when it came to Druig and his character.

He wanted to keep his love for you and your relationship together private. It was something sacred to the pair of you, having one another and leaning on one another in such an intimate manner. Especially to Druig, since he felt like he was under a microscope with Ikaris and Ajak all the time, the last thing he wanted to deal with was judgment of his love life.

You didn’t care, not In the way Druig would love you and make you feel like the luckiest being in the universe. He was a huge fan of physical touch, whether you two were out in public or in private. Although when you two were out and about, he simply stood at your side and nothing past that. Because of you two being constantly busy and needing to be in different places from one another.

But once you two were alone, Druig’s affection heightened. He would wrap his arms around you and tuck you in close, he would kiss you loudly as if you two hadn’t seen each other for hours and hours on end, even in the way he had you in bed It would take your breath away. You were falling for him more and more as time went by, the love you two had started small like a bud of a planet but blossomed over time. No matter that it was a hidden secret, or that you two seemed to be walking on eggshells when it came to being around the others on the Ship or amongst the humans, you still loved him.

It happened one day when you two were helping Phastos with one of his newer inventions, Makkari doing inventory of her most recent treasures that she collected from the human city that you were all in. The rest of the Eternals were out on patrol for Deviants, a few of them were seen to the South and out near the rural lands that most of the human hunters would go to to find food. It felt like the four of you in the Domo, Phastos asking for you all to help him with some ideas for another invention that he wanted to run by Ajak.

“Come on, this has got to work!” Phastos huffed as he had his hands on his hips and looked at the rotating hologram of a new object and invention he wanted to perfect. Druig was perched in his favorite spot on a bench against the wall, munching on some dates in a bowl while Makkari was writing away at the treasures in front of her at her own little table. You were next to the inventor, looking at the hologram and humming to yourself.

“Wouldn’t this be too much for them? We’ve barely introduced plowing to them,” You advised him carefully, knowing that this would be a touchy subject with your friend. Phastos gave you a side eye, though you knew he would never be mad at you since you two were rather close compared to some of the others. You were one of the only ones to talk Phastos in a calming way and help him with his inventions, giving him good comments and well-described criticism.

“How about you make it…simpler?” You suggested, seeing that the inventor was bout to huff at you and start an argument when you immediately went on, “This is brilliant, Phastos. But perhaps it needs a tweak here and there,”

Phastos, drinking in what you were telling him, merely hummed and thought to himself for a long time. You could tell he was thinking hard and trying to figure it out in his head, you looked over your shoulder at Druig who was smiling at the interaction between the pair of you. He seemed content perched on the bench, snack away and low-key judging the invention that was hovering over your heads.

“I think I can take a few things off, but it’s still brilliant!” Phastos said with a smile, then shoving his shoulder against yours as his way to say thank you. You giggled, walking away from him and over to Druig who popped another date in his mouth while you made your way to the bench to sit next to him.

“Look at you making a move,” Druig commented in a snort. You shrugged, Druig then leaning over to kiss you on the cheek. Neither of you was thinking about what he just did, it was just a simple kiss and nothing too heated. But of course, once Druig kissed your cheeks and you felt a hint of flush on your skin, the fourth person in the room was the one who saw it instantly.

Makkari, who was grinning widely and looked like she caught a scandal.

Both you and Druig saw her look at the pair of you, her eyes wide and a massive smile was right on her face. The way she was watching the pair of you, you’ve seen that look before. Makkair always had a knack for catching information from others when they never realized it, her sticky fingers were just as powerful as her speed and her knack of being sneaky. Yet you need to think you would be on the end of being caught by Makkari.

This was the first time any Eternal found either of you kissing one another, let alone being close in that way before. You both were beyond careful, not standing too close together or lingering for too long. Not that you both didn’t trust the others or cared what they were thinking about you both being a couple, but you wanted to keep this together and not share it.

Neither you nor Druig moved, you trying to think of something to tell her to not say a word. Makkari was not a gossip by nature, but she knew how to handle the gossip when it was placed in her lap in the best way.

But it was Makkari who finally communicated, her smile still evident on her face as she signed:

I already knew. I won’t say a word.

Both you and Druig looked from her at each other, clearly both confused and in shock at how Makkari would already know about your secret relationship. Then again, Makkari wasn’t going to be the kind of person who would run off and gossip to the next person who would listen, that seemed to be Kingo’s kind of style or Sprite. But with Makkari, who had a heart of gold and was a god friend of both yourself and Druig, there was no real sense of danger or worry.

In fact, you felt…fine with it.

“Everything okay back there with you two? You’re awfully quiet, which worries me,” Phastos asked in a snort as he looked back at both yourself and Druig. You hummed and nodded, Druig clearing his throat and grabbed the bowl of dates to at least have something in his hands.

“Nothin’ for ya to be worried about. Don’t ya have another invention to look over?” Druig asked nonchalantly, Phastos rolling his eyes and looking back at his new hologram that was now over his work table. Druig immediately threw a date in Makkari’s direction.

She of course dodged it, laughing as she did.

The End.

#druig x reader #druig x y/n #druig x female reader #druig x oc #eternals fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel phase 4 #fanfiction #writing #barry keoghan #druig #marvel phase five #marvel #mcu fanfiction #eternals

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omi-papus · 2 months

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What to me strikes as the most impactful part of the Hope speech is the fact that Al-An dosent entierly need it. The player is not once given the impresion that Al-An has any intention of giving up. Hes even shown being offended by the idea in the deleted voice lines. But there is always this feeling that he is running purely on the obligations to continue. Of not being able to concive of stopping because what would become of him?

A few times I might have mentioned the fact that Al-An hasnt always been Al-An. Actually Al-An has only really existed at all for a very short time. There has been the part of the network that seems to be handy good at science, but all that Al-An is has been born out of crisis. Even before his disconection, he was set as the sole lead researcher of the cure for Karaah, that might have been the first time he was ever truly singled out as unique. Not one of ten thousand voices but a leader, an authority. An authority that failed. Hes a head researcher that couldnt complete his research.

He was then the one who disobeyed the collective orders. Not the networks decision but his. And subsequently the one at fault for the destruction of the laboratory and the release of the disease into the planet. These are framed not as the actions of the architects but of an individual, and he clearly belives this too. He blames only himself.

And then he was Human seed code-Almanac, a single string, alone, unable to do barely anything, and ridden with guilt, nostalgia and petrifying fear.

Al-An is a collection the worst of him. Born in times of crisis, cemented in catastrophic failure, and given a name in isolation.

Within the character we see in game there is both the collective and there is Al-An. His actions throughout the game are what is left of the collective, of the architects mission. The task of procuring a cure for the Karaah and bringing it home. A task that is inherent and unquestionable reguardless of the method. One that at no point left him. Al-An is all the rest. The bundle of autism that tries to do a sarcasm to get back at his human host, who finds the idea of being put inside a fish disturbing, who is full of guilt and terrified of being alone forever.

The mission of the architects was never going to stop. Whats left of the collectives objective is unshakable in the face of all odds. Al-An on the other hand can break. Al-An might not survive the fallout of his actions. The cure would be brought to the homeworld, and then it will be done. Mission acomplished. But then all that will be left is Al-An. He will be the one who will miss the sounds of his people, he will be the one who has to face extinction on his own if he is the last one. And Al-An cant do that. Not alone.

And Robin obviously dosent make this overly complicated distinction. She dosent know that the will of the architects will drag his corpse for as long as it has to to acomplish its goals. Because Robin dosent know the collectives will. Robin only know that pesky englishman sounding alien that bullies her about her joints.

Al-An had never been reached out to with kindness before. Al-An had never been aknowledged in the way that Robin does. In that scene, we see the first time Al-An has been told that he is worthy of any type of positivity. That he deserves some peace of mind while he completes his mission. That he dosent deserve to agonize over his fate when hes busy fighting for a better future.

On a surface level, Robin is telling him to not give up. But really when she tells him to have hope, she is telling the vulnerable, guilt ridden person behind the voice that he deserves to feel ok. That he gets to look forward to being with his family again, instead of dreading finding them dead. That he gets to be enthusiastic about finally getting home. That he can imagine his planet prospering and the sounds of the network as vibrant as ever.

Hes being told that he deserves that. That Al-An, disgraces scientis Al-An, gets to make it through this too. Al-An isnt just his failures but also all the reasons why he dosent just have to, but wants to save his people. Al-An is the one that misses the networks thrum, Al-An is the one that is afraid of loosing everything they worked for, Al-An is the one who remembers the Torloque parades and the pets they used to keep. Al-An is his feelings and his dreams. And those dont deserve to die either. Because in that moment, Robin heard Al-An starting to slip. And Al-An contrary to the collectives will does need to be told that. He would have died if he allowed himself to suffer through that distructive dispair alone. Left a husk of himself driven only by the singular instincs to finish a job.

“Have hope” means “You dont have to suffer through this. You dont have to neglect and emotionally hurt yourself in order to succeed. All the things that make you you, good and bad, are important, and deserve happyness.”

Hope, is a coping mechanism designed for people after all.

#subnautica #subnautica below zero #al-an #al an #robin ayou

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stxrvel · 10 months

Text

closer

summary: reader has had many losses in her life, and when she meets Bucky she thinks she's found the one, until life proves otherwise.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!f!reader

words: 4k

warnings: some bad words and angst? also some miscommunication, past trauma, reader letting her past dominate her out of fear, a somewhat slow and indecisive Bucky, no happy ending.

note: i was in front of the computer all day thinking about what i could write, looking for information from everywhere, and this is what finally came out. it's almost three o'clock in the morning. i think i definitely write after midnight. let me know what you think of this piece, i'm not quite sure how it came out. i'll be happy to read your comments tomorrow, feedback is always appreciated! for now, i'm going to rest! love you all and thank you for reading!! <3

there's no part two

You were being indifferent. You were trying to be indifferent. Bucky would talk to you only to talk about the missions, about the objectives and about trivial things like the weather, and you were trying to be indifferent. You'd been on that mission for a week, and you were failing terribly. Sometimes you were so dry when you responded to him that he just frowned at you with a confused look on his face. It was awful. You had never been through so much grief than when he asked you if you were okay, in front of the rest of the group.

Maybe you should put that act aside and start dealing with what was really important.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

And well, that should be normal. Innocent. Warm. But the truth was, you were afraid to acknowledge those feelings. You wanted to forget them, reject them and never have them around again. Or maybe you could let them out. Let the receiver of the message know what was going on and maybe with the rejection you could move on. But no, you were too afraid. You had clung too tightly to people throughout your life and that had never ended well. And yet, despite all the sadness and disappointments, you were still walking through life with your heart in your hand.

Not learning from the mistakes of your past had led you to where you were. You always thought you were making the best decisions, you were guided by that feeling, but those decisions had led you down a lousy path.

Bucky was talking. His lips were moving and from his throat came the words you weren't hearing. It had become a habit to get so lost in your thoughts that you lost yourself entirely from reality. It had cost you a couple of wake-up calls before, and now, seeing Bucky's expression, it looked like you were going to get another one.

Many of those days, you wished you could go back to the way everything was in the beginning, before your heart and your loneliness intruded on the equation. When you shared pleasant chats with Bucky, when you were a perfect duo on missions, when you ate in silence in the big kitchen of the Complex, when he accompanied you in the evenings to watch movies.

Everything was so much easier when you stayed away from people sentimentally, when you didn't want to see them more often, when you didn't want to tell them every single thing that happened in your day, when your heart didn't race just because your looks collided, when you didn't openly want to have someone's company in the solitude of the nights. Your life was so much easier when you didn't compromise with your feelings, and life had shown you that. You had been living well for months, alone, even when you came to the team and a couple of months later everything was fine. You didn't really know at what point things started to deteriorate.

“That's it,” the man in front of the table dismissed the rest of the team and kept his gaze on yours, as if that way he could keep you sitting quietly. And it was working. You hated that it did.

When the last person left the room and it was just you and Bucky inside the room, it seemed like the walls got a lot smaller around you.

“Are you okay?” he was the first to speak.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“It's seemed to me that you've been a little distracted these days.”

“No, no, not at all, I'm fine.”

“If you need to talk to someone…” Bucky paused, his gaze flitting across the place, and your heart leaping wildly in your chest, “…I think Sam's making small talk.”

Ah.

“Ah, I see,” you mused, trying to keep your tone normal, “Thank you.”

“Let me know when you do, and you'll be back in the field.”

“What?”

Bucky stopped at your exclamation, pausing halfway to the door. His brow was furrowed and you were sure his confused look matched yours.

“Didn't you hear everything I said earlier?”

You avoided his gaze. You had told him not long ago that you weren't being distracted and of course that lie was going to come back to you soon.

Bucky sighed, his shoulders languid at his sides. His medium-length hair fell over his eyes as he ducked his head, and with his right hand he rubbed his eyes. You missed when you allowed yourself to share smiles with him, which now seemed like distant memories from other lives.

Only when he looked at you again did you realize the weariness that dominated his face.

“You're not going on missions for a while,” he finally said, and you were about to protest when he added, “Direct order from Fury.”

“Bucky-”

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but I can't risk your safety or the safety of the team or the mission because you're not well now.”

“I'm fine. I swear!”

“You're not.”

You snort. “You only see a quarter of what I do on a daily basis.”

“And that's enough to know that Fury made the right decision.”

“What the hell do you people know about right decisions?” you muttered angrily to yourself, turning your head away.

“What did you just say?” Bucky turned back entirely, his face much more disgruntled than before.

Fuck. You'd forgotten he had good hearing.

“Just… Just leave it at that. It's okay. I'll let you know when I talk to Sam.”

You took a deep breath before standing up and matching the path of the man in front of you. His frown was still furrowed, his tense posture a clear indication that he wasn't exactly pleased with what you had said. You were close enough to catch the scent of his shampoo, but not too close to be able to decipher what was going through his head. You were never too close.

“Anything else to say?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, you couldn't decide if because of your closeness or because of how coarse your words came out, as they always did for the last couple of days.

“No.”

And without further ado, he left the room.

---

As much as you wanted to get back in the field, get back to having missions and serving for something on the team, you couldn't find the strength within yourself to talk to Sam. Maybe because he was an acquaintance and it would be weird to tell him everything you were carrying and then pretend nothing had happened. You were too self-aware to be able to do that. It also came into play that it had been almost years since you last came clean with someone, and that didn't really go well. Talking to Sam, at that time, for you, was not the solution.

Maybe the only solution was to sort out your feelings for Bucky. That was what kept you on edge. That was what made you question the life you had formed over the past few years. In any other situation or time in your life, surely a man would not move you so much; however, you knew you were facing a situation you could not repeat. That you did not want to repeat.

The stark reality of the feelings you had for him was like a dagger to the heart, because you felt you had finally found a place where you belonged, where you could be; you felt you had found a home. But it was hard to live in a place like that without making a sentimental commitment to the people around you, and you knew it. You'd only fallen easily for Bucky because…. fuck, he was so caring, so thoughtful, so kind. On the outside he looked like he wanted everyone around him to disappear, but it only took you a couple of chats to understand that he really did have a big, welcoming heart.

The reality of your feelings was the end of you, because it was something you couldn't afford. You couldn't go on living there if you didn't fix that soon. You couldn't risk it again.

“Hey.”

Speaking of…

“Hi.”

Your stoic reply made him turn his head.

You were in the kitchen, sunk deep in thought in a strange calm, when Bucky showed up after three days without seeing him. You knew they had been on a mission, Natasha had told you some things. Internally, you were glad to see that they had arrived without any complications. You were glad to see that Bucky was okay.

“How are you?”

“All good.”

“You sure?”

“Why do you ask?”

You turned your gaze from your now cold coffee to the clear eyes of the man who had pulled a bottle of water from the cooler.

“Just curious.”

Hold on. Don't see beyond what he shows you.

You sighed before replying, “If what you really want to know is if I've talked to Sam, the answer is no.”

“Why?”

You picked up the white cup in front of you and absentmindedly began stirring the liquid inside it.

“I don't think I'd feel comfortable talking to him.”

You felt Bucky move around the kitchen, until he came to the island where you were sitting and sat down across from you with his bottle. You looked up to meet his blue eyes focused directly into yours. He had such a deep gaze that, for a moment, you almost allowed yourself to think beyond what he was giving you. For a second, you felt like you were in a space that was too intimate.

“And who would you feel comfortable talking to?”

You.

You hated that you didn't even need less than a second to think about it. You had the answer so clear it hurt…..

“What?”

You looked at his eyes and raised eyebrows. Fuck.

“Did I say it out loud?”

“Yeah...”

You growled in frustration. You ran your hands through your hair as Bucky spoke again, “I didn't think you held me in such high regard.”

“Really?”

“You barely even look at me lately.”

That was true. But it was for your sake. It was all for your sake. Or at least that's what you wanted to convince yourself of. You'd rather think that than the fact that your limbs ached just from wanting to get closer to him in the middle of his everyday, when he came back injured from missions and you wanted to help him heal his wounds because you knew enough to be a nurse, or help him release tension when he got too stressed out because something went wrong on a mission or they lost track of someone. You just wanted to be a person who could be present in his life. Who could be close. Closer.

“It's because I'm going through something right now.”

“And that something is my fault?”

You pursed your lips. Maybe.

“No.”

Bucky let out a short laugh.

“Those eyes say otherwise.”

“Is there something pointed you want to know, Bucky?”

“Argh,” the man twisted his expression, as if in weariness, and turned his head away. “There's that coldness again.”

You hardened your gaze as much as you could, even though all you wanted to do was let go of the string of thoughts eating away at your head; even though you just wanted to use those arms as a sheet at night so you could sleep in a safe place.

“Okay. I'm sorry,” Bucky held up his hands, retracting under your gaze. “I'd like to know, if like you said you'd rather talk to me than Sam, what's been keeping you beside yourself the last few days?”

Mmm, tough question. You took a deep breath trying to think of a quick answer, but it was difficult having his watchful eye on every millimeter of your face. Would it be too bad to tell the truth? Your past experiences said yes, but… what if it was different with him? It had been too long, he could not be the same as the others…

You shouldn't, the rational part of your brain repeated alarmingly, but he seemed so willing to truly listen to you that you couldn't pass up the opportunity. You didn't want to.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the end of your cycle of bad luck and bad death that had haunted and burdened you for as long as you could remember. Maybe Bucky was the start of something new.

At least you hoped so. You were trying to convince yourself.

“I do what I do because I've lost too many people to give up now. Fury found me in a pot, a city where there was nothing but chaos and hopelessness. I was trying to make things different, I wanted my hope to be enough to be able to remove the evil from the hearts of the people who hurt. But no, it was not enough. And I began to work alone because all the people who got too close to me died or decided to leave on their own, they abandoned me. I was too much to bear. The life I was leading was too much.

My mother died in a raid on my house. She was the first victim of my enemies' revenge. I thought that was enough pain a person could go through in a lifetime, but the deaths didn't stop. And sometimes I didn't know if it was worse that someone died because of me, or that my last memory of them was a look of contempt and their hateful words towards me like I was in some shit they didn't have to put up with or that I was draining their vitality, among many other things.

And the truth is, that has happened so many times that I don't even try to maintain relationships with people anymore. Any kind of relationship. And every time I feel like that's going to happen, I have to leave, because I can't stand the pain of a death or a disappointment anymore. When a person leaves, willingly or unwillingly, it's not something you get used to as time goes by. Loneliness is good, but too much of anything is bad. And even though after a while you long for the company, you know you can't risk it once again because everything is at stake. Those are already things that are way beyond me, that I wish I could control, but I can't.”

You loved and hated the way those words had rolled out of your mouth like butter. It had been a while since you had been that honest with someone, because that last person had walked out on you. After listening to you, after telling you that you could lean on their shoulder when you needed it, that person left as if they weren't breaking a promise; as if they hadn't taken a big chunk of your hope with them; as if they hadn't ripped out a little bit of that hope you still held in your heart.

And you hoped that with Bucky it would be different, because you believed that the two of you were meeting at a common ground through the darkness of your minds. From the beginning, Bucky had proven to be different. Even from before you suspected that he already knew what you had been through, because he often tiptoed around you. Bucky was not a distracted person, he was someone extremely intelligent and definitely someone who knew which people he could and could not relate to. He couldn't be the same as everyone else, because you knew he could understand you.

Or so you wanted to believe.

Bucky's eyes moved over the marble of the island, his lips half-opened and his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. You had been so sure about talking about it with him that you hadn't even given it a second thought, but if he went a few more seconds without responding, you would begin to regret it and devise an escape plan.

You wished you were a little closer to him so you could dare to ask what was going on in his head.

“Wow, that was…”

“Too much?”

“Deep, rather.”

You forced your lips into a smile, avoiding his clear eyes now that he had lifted his head and seemed to have organized his thoughts.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”

“No. No, it's okay. You needed to get that out. Mmm, how do you feel now?”

You hated the way he seemed to be testing the waters when it came to addressing you after everything you just said. Before he was always sure of what he was saying. What could have changed so quickly? Could it be that you were really wrong? No, that couldn't be.

“Pretty much the same.”

“Oh, I see. But do you think you can improve from now on?”

“Well, it's a problem of years. I doubt I can solve much with a little talk.”

“Ah, yes, of course, you're right.”

Bucky folded his hands together on the countertop, his gaze now avoiding yours and entering a tense silence.

“So…” Bucky spoke a couple of seconds later, “…at this point you feel like that? Like you developed one of those relationships with someone and now you want to run away?”

“Yes,” you answered almost instantly, because there was no reason really to hide it. You had already been crudely honest, so what was the point in continuing to lie?

“With whom?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe we could find a solution.”

“I doubt it.”

You narrowed your eyes as Bucky pursed his lips. You'd been through too much throughout your life, and one thing you'd definitely learned was how to read people. With so many disappointments and betrayals, you had to learn to identify a person's true intentions, and nothing else screamed intentions more than body language. You could identify when someone was comfortable with you, when they trusted you, and also when they were uncomfortable with your presence.

“And I think you doubt it too,” you added, after a couple of seconds watching him.

“Why do you say that?”

“You don't need me to tell you who I was referring to. I think you already know.”

“What?”

“You can do with that information what you want. Time will give me the answer.”

“Y/N…”

You stood up and walked out of the kitchen as if you hadn't just opened your heart to that man, your brow raised and your breathing deep. It seemed that in the end you weren't close enough to know the truth, and you couldn't be close enough in the future either.

---

A week went by and time kept proving you right. Bucky took a mission the day after your talk and still hadn't returned. You had begun to worry, but you didn't dare ask anyone on the team. You couldn't afford to be so obvious at such critical times.

However, asking could give you the last piece of information you needed to make a decision.

Because you still had a little bit of hope. You still hoped that Bucky would appear through one of the doors of the Complex to tell you that he understood, that he appreciated your honesty, and that he could walk that long road with you. You still hoped you were wrong, because you couldn't have made such a big mistake again. You couldn't have opened the doors of your mind to someone who was going to leave you because it was too much.

But as the hours passed you only confirmed that you weren't good enough for someone to stay by your side. You just weren't enough, you weren't worth the effort. Not even for someone like Bucky, who was one of the kindest and most condescending person you had ever met.

So you'd read it all wrong, and even though you were honest, you couldn't even come up with an answer.

But you preferred to get the doubt out of your mind at once, even if it threw you overboard.

Wanda Maximoff was in the control room when you arrived. No one else was there.

“Hey.”

She flipped over the chair and returned your greeting with a small smile.

“What brings you here?”

“Do you know how Bucky's mission is going?”

“Bucky's?”

Wanda frowned and promptly moved across the room to one of the computers where she typed rapidly. You shifted your legs in anticipation, shifting your weight trying to cope with your nerves.

“Bucky is… on an indefinite.”

“Indefinite?”

“Yes, it says so plainly. It was with Sam and Natasha. We don't have a date yet.”

Wanda watched you over her shoulder, and your expression had to have told her something because she quickly got up from her chair with a frown.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you replied automatically, regaining power over your emotions. You sent her a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Wanda.”

You barely and paced for a few seconds with bated breath when you heard her call out to you.

When your eyes met hers, you didn't like what you saw at all.

“You're leaving?”

“Stay out of my head.”

You turned around and ran to your room.

Of course you did. Of course you were going to leave. What the fuck did you expect from the talk with Bucky? That you could suddenly have a happy ending with a person who seemed to care about you? You should never have taken that job in the first place. You always knew it was a big risk, but Fury assured you that you could continue working on your own without getting too involved with others. The problem was when you thought you were past the feelings stage, that you could surround yourself with people without getting involved.

How fucking wrong you were.

You didn't take long to pack a suitcase. You didn't bother to write a letter of resignation either. Before you took the job, you told the Director that you were likely to one day just leave. That you would disappear. And he agreed to that. So you weren't going to bother with goodbyes, with absolutely nothing. You were going to carry that suitcase to a cab and leave without looking back. Because that was what you always did, for your sake, because it was the right thing to do, because you couldn't afford to take risks after so much suffering.

At that moment, as you packed the few things you had, you felt every memory of every abandonment and death come back to your head, filling you with fear and insecurity. Of sadness and anger. You didn't know how you had allowed yourself to go so far when you knew you shouldn't have, that this life was not for you, that these feelings were not meant for you to experience, that you didn't deserve to have a life like this. You allowed yourself to dream, but at the end of the day it was just that, a dream.

When you left the Complex, you took a cab directly to the airport. On the way, you were tempted too many times to ask the driver to turn back, thinking that maybe it was a hasty decision, that maybe you should wait for him to come back. But an indefinite mission could last weeks, even months, and you couldn't be on tenterhooks for so long only to get the same old answer at the end. You didn't want to risk it. The cost was too high.

It was better to root out those feelings while they were still fresh, and never allow them to grow again.

---

Bucky returned from his mission two weeks later and the first thing he did was run around looking for you in every corner of the Complex until he decided to go to your room. Seeing the empty closets made his heart sink.

“She's gone,” a female voice spoke behind him.

Wanda was leaning against the door frame.

“She thought you weren't coming back and left.”

“No…”

“I know it was wrong for me to snoop around in her head, but I had a feeling that would happen. I thought I could avoid it. But her thoughts were too ingrained. She was fighting uncontainable fear. Nothing I would have said would have convinced her to stay.”

Bucky turned to look at the empty closets, not a hint that you had ever been there. If it weren't for Wanda, the man would already be thinking you were just a figment of his imagination.

“Sorry, Bucky.”

“Fuck. Damn it!”

Sitting on what had been your bed, Bucky kept thinking that the worst thing he could have done was to take that mission in Steve's stead, thinking he'd get there soon, thinking that way he could get his head together before talking to you again. But things got complicated and what was a two-day mission turned into a three-week mission.

Maybe he should have sought you out before he left instead of letting his thoughts eat away at him. Maybe he should have insisted a little more, should have come a little closer...

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