#(I have fight scenes that I need to polish up)

[rawliverandgoronspice]

would love to get a full, unwatchably wrangled ms paint levels of a first draft for my animatic before the end of winter. not sure how realistic that is given the amount of work I have on my plate, but I'm curious to having the whole thing to assess and see if that is even a coherent narrative, if I have left enough room for lore dumps (doubting it at the moment), stuff like this

[artheresy]

My brain is playing ping pong between a like no powers BSD au I have (that is centers around Skk and just,, their sheer awful relationship and how that collides and fucks with them as they deal with both of their awful families as well, its 100% one of those “it gets worse before it gets better” kind of aus) and a project sekai shuffle au I have (where yknow people get into different groups and so far I have Ichika’s concept and from her the rest of her shuffled unit forms and they’re a masked group qnd it’s a whole thing, I think I wanna put Nene in the same group bc IchiNene supremacy) and I DONT KNOW WHICH TO FOCUS ON MMM

I have art I’m working on for both and I can’t finish either bc I keep going back and forth

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - A Messy Fight

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

On their way to face Queen, Kris and the Fun Gang run into Tasque Manager, who demands impossible standards of order. Her criticisms might feel a little too familiar to Kris...but at least the rest of the Fun Gang have their back!

YAY, it's nice to finally get another comic all finished! This one obviously had to go on hold for awhile from my wrist injury. While I'm working on recovering, things are still going to be slow for awhile (probably the rest of the year), so it may be another wait before the next scene.

Alt text for these pages under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Kris, Ralsei, Susie and Noelle walk down a long, uniform stone hallway. Eyeless porcelain gargoyles shaped like big cats stand watch from atop pillars in the hallway. As they walk, Ralsei says, “We’re getting closer to Queen’s chambers. Stay on the alert, Kris!”

Panel 2 - Kris responds with a quick “I am.” As the Fun Gang continues down the hallway, one of the porcelain gargoyles turns its head to follow them.

Panel 3 - Im a medium shot, Lancer pops up from within Susie’s hair, and waves at Kris. He says, “Hey human person, is it hard to stay alert with all that hair in your eyes?” Susie grins, and sticks out her tongue in joking agreement. “Yeah, it’s gettin’ even messier.” Unbeknownst to the Fun Gang, in the background, one of the gargoyles starts to climb down the pillar.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris as they brush their long and messy hair out of their face. “I can see just fine,” they respond.

Panel 5 - Two of the gargoyles land on the ground, the panel’s focus on their clawed paws tapping against the stones.

Page 2 Panel 1 - Noelle turns her head, one ear perked up to listen to what’s behind them. She says, “Wait. I hear something…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on the clawed paws of the gargoyles as they charge forward.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they turn at the sound, reaching for their sword.

Panel 4 - Wide shot of the Fun Gang. They suddenly find themselves surrounded on all sides by four porcelain big cats, all snarling as they circle them. Susie glares back.

Panel 5 - Susie turns back to Lancer, still poking out of her hair. She says, “Uugh, more jerks! Better hide again.” Lancer responds with a disappointed “Aw man…” but does as he’s asked.

Panel 6 - “What are these things?” Kris asks, eyeing a gargoyle circling them, and keeping one hand on their sword hilt. “They’re tasques!” replies Ralsei.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Ralsei turns expectantly, looking ahead. “That means that their *manager* must be near…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on an armored boot as it steps into the middle of the hall. 

Panel 3 - The boot belongs to Tasque Manager. She appears as an armored knight with impeccably polished plate armor, decorated with sharp V-shaped emblems. She appears human in stature, except for her head, which is the bleached skull of a big cat, and with pointed ears. She wields a flail with seven spiked spheres on the end of a collection of cords. She holds up her hand, and says, “Halt, interlopers! I will not permit you to approach the Queen!”

Panel 4 - The Fun Gang remain surrounded by the gargoyles, but Kris still looks ready to fight. Susie sneers at Tasque Manager, and says, “Since when do we need *your* permission?” She responds, “I maintain *order* and *cleanliness* in this dwelling.”

Panel 5 - Straight on shot of Tasque Manager’s face, emphasizing her symmetry and sense of order. “Do you truly think you are worthy…of Queen’s presence in your disorderly state?”

Page 4

Panel 1 - Full shot of the Fun Gang just staring back. They all look pretty haggard, unkempt and gross in their own ways.

Panel 2 - Same shot as previous, although now Noelle tilts her head to the side. “Um…yes?” she offers quietly.

Ralsei helpfully gestures to Kris beside him. “Certainly! Kris even bathed just two weeks ago.”

Panel 3 - Tasque Manager is not having it, and yells back at the group: “LIES!! I can see the *filth* all over you, human! I can smell your STENCH!”

Panel 4 - She continues, “You’re unfit for these halls…you belong in the wastes that you reek of!” The insults are especially focused on Kris.

Panel 5 - Kris shuts their eyes, remembering something from their past…

Panel 6 - A series of flashback images, to when Kris was just a little kid, living as an orphan on the streets. They try to sneak around the back of a food stand in the market, looking for something to eat, when they’re spotted by an empire soldier in armor.

The soldier yanks them up roughly by the shirt and yells in their face: “What’re you doing around here, you filthy urchin?! This is a *nice* place!”

The soldier then throws Kris down into the gutter, splashing street water all over them. “Go stink up a gutter where you belong!” the soldier screams. 

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris opens their eyes again, grimacing. This is clearly an unpleasant memory for them.

Panel 2 - They pull out their sword, and point it towards Tasque Manager. “Maybe my stench will give your dull and tasteless halls some character,” they say.

Panel 3 - Extreme close up on Tasque Manager’s unnaturally sharp teeth. “Human…”

Panel 4 - “I’ll flay your filthy skin from your bones!” she shrieks, and pulls the flail tight in front of her, ready to fight.

Panel 5 - Ralsei immediately teleports out of the range of battle with a burst of flame and smoke. Kris and the beasts eye the gargoyles as they begin to close in on them.

Panel 6 - “Susie! Noelle!” Kris begins the fight by giving them the ACT command. 

Panel 7 - Closeup on Noelle as she opens her mouth and uses her icy breath attack, aiming at one of the gargoyles.

Pavel 8 - However, the gargoyle runs just out of range of the incoming frost, and sprints towards Susie’s unprotected right side.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Closeup as the gargoyle leaps onto Susie and sinks its large teeth into her side, latching on like a lamprey eel. 

Panel 2 - Susie roars in pain and anger at the gargoyle, even as another one coming in from her left bites down into an empty space on her chest.

Panel 3 - Wide shot as the beasts struggle to shake off the gargoyles, but they’re too hard to reach. One more bites into Noelle’s flank, while the last circles, looking for another opening. In the foreground, Kris faces Tasque Manager in one on one combat.

Panel 4 - Kris, being less skilled at swordfighting, only manages to block incoming hits from the flail. All the while, Tasque Manager yells at them: “You humans are so *irrational! Unorderly!*” 

Panel 5 - Tasque Manager flings the flail at Kris’s face as she continues: “Wretched, chaotic creatures…it’s horrid how the gods and demons here desire your souls!”

Panel 6 - Kris remains face to face with Tasque Manager, the flail partially wrapped around their sword…way too close to their face. Still, they are curious about her statement. “Horrid? Never come across a human soul pure enough for you?” they ask.

Page 7

Panel 1 - Tasque Manager leans in to grab the flail, as Kris struggles to keep appropriate space between them. “Never. There is no such thing as a pure human soul,” she replies. 

Panel 2 - Noelle runs in a circle with the gargoyle still attached to her flank. Behind her, Susie lashes her tail angrily, trying to shake off the two biting into her own hide.

Panel 3 - In a fit of desperation, Susie finally rolls onto her side, trying to crush the gargoyle against the stone floor. A sound like breaking glass is heard.

Panel 4 - When she raises up again, the gargoyle is now in shattered porcelain pieces on the floor, although it did leave a nasty wound behind.

Panel 5 - Noelle turns her head, noticing the shattered remains. “Oh, Susie! They break like stone!”

Panel 6 - Susie also takes note of the shattered gargoyle, and gets an idea.

Panel 7 - Thinking fast, she goes and snaps her jaws around the gargoyle on Noelle’s flank, and tears it free.

Panel 8 - Still with one more gargoyle hanging from her neck, she swings her head around in a wide arc and tosses the gargoyle in her jaws at the far wall.

Page 8

Panel 1 - The gargoyle hits a pillar by the far wall, and shatters like porcelain.

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager is momentarily drawn away from Kris as she notices her shattered minions’ remains cluttering up the pristine floor. She shakes with rage. “You’re all making…”

Panel 3 - “SUCH A HORRIBLE MESS!” she screams, and rears back to attack Kris with her flail again.

Panels 4-5 - Kris is momentarily struck by another memory, and they wince in anticipation.

Panel 6 - In a flashback scene. Kris has somehow knocked over a cart full of fruits, and they lay scattered across the cobblestones, broken and smashed. An angry vendor stands nearby. 

Meanwhile, another empire soldier is already there, and grabs Kris by the hair. “LOOK AT THIS MESS YOU’VE MADE!” he screams, shaking Kris. 

Panel 7 - Tasque Manager charges forward, the flail coming in fast at Kris…

Panel 8 - And hits home, striking the, in the head, above their eye. Blood bursts from the head wound.

Page 9

Panel 1 - “KRIS!!” Closeup on Ralsei as he yells in alarm, his eyes wide.

Panel 2 - Kris staggers backward, shaking, and pressing their left hand to their temple.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Kris pulls their hand away, and finds it covered in blood.

Panel 4 -  Meanwhile, Susie rolls onto her chest again, crushing the gargoyle on her neck against the floor. It crunches into pieces like the others.

Panel 5 - In the background, Susie gets up and brushes the remaining shards off her neck. In the foreground, Noelle stomps the remaining gargoyle into pieces with her hooves.

Panel 6 - Kris turns and looks up at Tasque Manager. She raises her flail to strike once again. 

Panel 7 - Despite the fact that Kris is bleeding considerably from the head wound, they smile with realization, and charge in towards Tasque Manager. “The best part about human messes…”

Panel 8 - Tasque Manager takes a wide swing with her flail, but Kris swiftly ducks under it, and slides in close to her. 

Page 10

Panel 1 - Kris finishes, “Is that you can *always* make them worse!” Kris leaps up in front of Tasque Manager, and smears the blood on their hand across her polished breastplate. 

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager pulls back and shrieks in horror at the bloody stain on her armor, both arms raised.

Panel 3 - Kris pulls back, their head still bleeding, and points decisively at Tasque Manager. Noelle and Susie are standing ready behind them, and they give the [FIGHT] command.

Panel 4 - Tasque Manager tries in vain to wipe the blood off her armor, temporarily distracted…

Panel 5 - Which is enough time for Susie to come in from above and snap her jaws around Tasque Manager. She screams, and drops her flail.

Panel 6 - In a wider shot, Kris and Noelle look on as Noelle violently shakes her head with Tasque Manager in her jaws, like a dog shaking a chew toy. Pieces of her armor fly out as she’s tossed back and forth.

Page 11

Panel 1 - Finished with her attack, Susie spits out Tasque Manager, now a complete disassembled mess of armor and bone. Her pieces scatter across the stone floor.

Panel 2 - Noelle opens her mouth wide, and uses her frost breath again…

Panel 3 - …And her icy breath freezes the scattered pieces to the floor, leaving no chance of an easy reforming. Kris watches as the cat skull head skids free of the rest of the mess…

Panel 4 - And slides to a stop by their feet. Although broken up and frozen, Tasque Manager’s severed head can still speak, albeit weakly. “So disordered…scattered…filthy…”

Panel 5 - Low angle shot at the skull glares up at Kris with contempt. Kris has won, but she still has last insults to get in: “No wonder…you were discarded…”

Panel 6 - Kris closes their eyes again, another flashback coming back…

Panel 7 - Another series of flashback images to a younger, orphan Kris. They’re hiding in a pile of trash behind some boxes, shivering, terrified of encountering another soldier. Someone else can be seen approaching.

“Hey…” Kris looks up from their hiding position at the sound of a calmer voice. They see a hand being extended to them.

The hand belongs to a younger Asriel, reaching down to help them up. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Page 12 Panel 1 - Back in the present, Ralsei approaches Kris again, putting a reassuring hand on their shoulder. He smiles down at them. “Well done, Kris! We’re that much closer to Queen now.”

Panel 2 - Higher shot as the Fun Gang begins to regroup ans start back down the hall again. Susie leans back towards the frozen and broken Tasque Manager with a taunt: “Good luck cleaning *that* up, you stupid snob!”

Panel 3 - Lancer pops back out of Susie’s hair, one hand raised to his head to look around. “Did we win?” he asks.

“Obviously!” Susie replies with a grin.

Panel 4 - Lancer turns to Kris, who is walking at the head of the party. “Wow! I guess you really *can* see through that string bean hair!” Kris is still injured and messy, but doesn’t seem to mind. “Well enough.”

Panel 5 - A shot from behind the Fun Gang as they continue down the dark hall, heading towards the Queen. Behind them lies a giant mess of shattered porcelain, frozen armor pieces and broken bones. “You know…” Kris says, “I think I will let it grow wild and ugly for the foreseeable future.”

[inkspiredwriting]

A Life Worth Fighting For

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

A/N: It's time we all got our five back. Five needs y/n, in every timeline. If I'm honest, I don't want to read anything more about this Five/Lila relationship. For me that never happened. From now on I'll be posting the stories that I've already finished writing

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6

The air shimmered with energy as Five and Lila landed in yet another timeline, they found themselves in a cozy, well-kept house that radiated warmth and comfort. The scent of fresh coffee hung in the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of flowers from somewhere nearby.

Lila glanced around, her brow furrowed with suspicion. “This doesn’t look like any of the timelines we’ve been to,” she muttered, her hand instinctively moving toward the handle of the knife strapped to her thigh. “Too quiet, too… perfect.”

Five didn’t respond immediately. He was scanning the room, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. The polished wooden floors, the cushy furniture, the family photos lining the walls—it was all so domestic, so ordinary. It felt like the calm before a storm, and after seven years of battling against the odds in a timeline where everything was wrong, he couldn’t trust it.

“We need to be careful,” Five said finally, his voice low. “This place looks safe, but it’s too familiar. We could be in one of those timelines where something’s just a bit off.”

“Like that time where your younger self shot at us??” Lila quipped, her lips curving into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Exactly,” Five replied, the memory flashing through his mind. “Let’s find out where we are and who’s running the show here.”

Just as he was about to suggest searching the house, the door to the living room swung open. Both Five and Lila instinctively tensed, ready for whatever was about to step through.

But what they saw caught them completely off guard.

Another Five stood in the doorway, looking just as surprised as they were. This version of Five was dressed casually, in a button-down shirt and jeans, a far cry from the suits that the time-traveling Five was used to. He looked… settled.

“What the—” the other Five started, his eyes narrowing as he processed the scene before him. “What are you doing in my house?”

Five stepped forward, his gaze locked onto his counterpart. “We’re from a different timeline” he said, his voice steady.

The other Five’s eyes widened in recognition, then narrowed again with suspicion. “A different timeline? What do you want?”

Before Five could respond, Lila spoke up, her tone laced with annoyance. “Listen, mate, we don’t want to be here any more than you want us to be. We’re just trying to get back to our own timeline, but we’ve been stuck in the wrong one for seven years. Seven years!”

The other Five’s expression softened slightly, though the wariness didn’t leave his eyes. “Seven years? What happened?”

Five took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as memories of those long, grueling years came rushing back. “We got trapped,” he explained, his voice quieter now. “No way out. We were stuck there for what felt like a lifetime. And… well, we ended up together.”

For a moment, there was silence. The other Five’s eyes flicked between his counterpart and Lila, his expression growing darker with each passing second. “You ended up together?” he repeated, disbelief coloring his tone. “You and her?”

Five nodded, bracing himself for the reaction he knew was coming.

The other Five’s jaw tightened, and without warning, he stepped forward and smacked his counterpart on the back of the head. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped, his voice a mix of anger and incredulity. “Do you even know what you’ve done?”

Lila’s eyes flashed with anger, but Five raised a hand to stop her from retaliating. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, though even as he spoke the words, he knew how weak they sounded.

“There’s always a choice!” the other Five shot back, his anger unabated. “You’re telling me that in seven years, you never once thought about the consequences? About Diego? He’s her husband in our timeline, for Christ’s sake! They have three kids together!”

Five flinched at the mention of Diego, a pang of guilt stabbing through him. “I don't have a girlfriend or wife,” he said defensively, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I have no one.”

At this, the other Five’s anger seemed to shift, turning into something more like pity. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because you gave up,” he said quietly. “You gave up on yourself, and you gave up on your family.”

For a long moment, Five couldn’t find the words to respond. The weight of what his counterpart was saying pressed down on him like a lead blanket. Had he really given up? Had he allowed himself to lose sight of everything that mattered because he was too tired, too lost, to keep fighting?

The silence between them grew heavy, filled with all the unspoken regrets and what-ifs of a life that could have been.

“Look,” the other Five said, his voice softer now, “I know how easy it is to get lost in this mess, to lose sight of who you are and what you want. But you can’t just throw everything away because things get hard. You have to fight for what matters.”

Five looked down, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to believe that it wasn’t too late, that he could still find the life he’d always wanted, the love he’d convinced himself was out of reach. But the last seven years had left him scarred, beaten down by a world that had taken so much from him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughter coming from outside. He looked up and saw that the other Five was gazing out the large bay window, a small smile on his lips.

Five followed his gaze and felt his heart clench at the sight that greeted him.

In the garden, a beautiful pregnant woman was playing with a little girl, who looked to be around four years old. The woman’s laughter was like music, her face glowing with happiness as she twirled the giggling child around in her arms. The little girl had a mop of dark hair and eyes that sparkled with mischief—eyes that Five recognized all too well.

“That’s Y/n,” the other Five said softly, his voice filled with warmth. “And that’s our daughter, Maddie.”

Five stared at him, his mind reeling. “I want what you have,” he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I want… her.”

The other Five nodded, his expression firm but not unkind. “Then fight for it,” he said. “Don’t give up on yourself. Don’t give up on her.”

Five’s throat tightened as he watched them, his heart aching with a longing he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. This was it. This was what he had wanted, what he had fought so hard to protect but had never truly believed he could have. A family. A home. A life filled with love.

He could have had this. He could have had her.

“I can’t believe…” Five started, but his voice broke, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat. “I can’t believe I gave this up.”

“You didn’t,” the other Five said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Not yet. You still have a chance to find her. You still have a chance to make this life your own.”

Five closed his eyes, trying to block out the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to drown him. He didn’t deserve this—this kindness, this hope. But he wanted it more than anything. He wanted to find his y/n, to have his own Maddie, to fight for a life worth living.

When he opened his eyes again, he found the other Five watching him, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Go,” the other Five said gently. “Find her. Fight for her.”

Five nodded, and then turned to Lila, who had been watching the exchange in silence. She looked at him with a mixture of sadness and understanding, knowing that whatever they had shared was over.

“We should go,” Five said softly, his eyes meeting Lila’s. her expression unreadable, and with a final nod to the other five, he teleported them both away, leaving the other Five standing alone in the quiet house.

A few moments later, the front door opened, and Y/n and Maddie walked in, their faces flushed with happiness from their time in the garden. Y/n smiled warmly at Five, the love in her eyes undeniable as she approached him.

“Everything okay?” she asked, a note of concern in her voice as she noticed the tension in his posture.

Five looked at her, his heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he kissed her gently on the lips.

“Everything’s perfect,” he murmured against her lips, his voice filled with emotion. “I’m just… so happy that I have you. You’re my one true love, y/n. No one else. Just you.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes shining with love as she leaned into his embrace. “I love you too,” she whispered, resting her head against his chest.

Five held her close, the weight of everything that had just happened slowly fading away as he focused on the warmth of her body against his, the sound of her heartbeat, the soft rise and fall of her breath. This was his life, his family, his everything.

And he wouldn't give that up for anything in the world...timeline or not.

[wizzdot]

*short fic alert* (fic under page break)

Hear me out. Is this….John Price?!

The 141 get home late from a mission, Johnny and Gaz go straight to the showers and Simon slinks off to wherever it is he winds down after a tough few days.

You have been sat on the proverbial bench for the past few weeks with a bullet wound to the shoulder. While rendered useless to the team, you decide to take up a new hobby. So far, the boys have been lab rats for the taste tests of whatever concoction you pull from the oven.

The burnt cookies (that you’d forgotten to put eggs in) that Kyle had whined about almost breaking his perfect teeth. Johnny managed to gobble them up and didn’t seem to understand what the problem was, leading Simon to joke that the man had no taste buds.

Or the time you accidentally used Salt instead of Sugar in the Victoria Sponge cake. Kyle subtlety threw his slice in the bin while you weren’t looking making sounds as if he had enjoyed in. Johnny ate it, making it look so delicious that you were getting confident that your baking skills were finally improving. Simon took a slice back to his room and in the privacy of his own bed, took a bite, and immediately spat it down the toilet. “Christ Almighty, that fuckin’ twat really doesn’t have taste buds” he cursed.

You perfect your skills over the next couple of weeks, with Johnny and Kyle remaining endlessly supportive of your new venture. But the entire time, John avoids your baking attempts.

“Need to watch my weight, love”

“Wish I could have a bite, but I’m on a diet, sweetheart”

“Can’t afford to pile on the pounds at my age, Dove”

They are John’s favourite excuses. You won’t admit it, but it makes you sad. You want to make all of your boys happy. Also, he isn’t even that old for gods sake.

Simon knows that the Captain is avoiding your god awful attempts. But even Simon notices that your skills are slowly improving. He keeps sneaking cupcakes and cookies into his room and this past week, especially, they’d been… alright. Well - apart from the horrifically deformed attempt of decorating a cake like Yoda. It looked like a slimy goblin with wonky eyes - but it tasted ok.

So picture this, they get home from a three day long mission. You’d missed your boys. You’d left your most recent cake on the kitchen counter before going to bed. You climb out from your bed when you hear their tired footsteps heading down the hall.

You poke your head out of the door. Johnny and Kyle come over and give you a soft hug. “Christ, you boys stink” you say. “Fuck off” Kyle laughs, before stripping himself of his shirt “gonna hop straight in the shower anyway. See you in the mornin’, yeah?” he asks. I nod and watch as he leaves towards his room.

Johnny stands, watching Kyle retreat. “I smell even worse than him, hen” he says, trying to shove your head into his armpit. You fight him off and shoo him down the hall.

Simon walks past and gives a small nod, “you might want to go and see Price. He made a beeline for the kitchen” he grumbles, continuing on his way casually.

That comment puts you on edge. Is John hurt? Is he looking for you? You quickly slide on your fluffy slippers and shuffle down to the kitchen as quickly as you can.

The scene that greets you is the last thing you expect to see. The Captain, in a wide stance, leaning one hand on the counter, devouring your Cake (the best one you’d baked so far!!!) with just a single fork. He’d polished off at least half of it, showing no signs of slowing down.

You can’t help but giggle at the scene. “Is it good…?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Love. It’s delicious”

The blush that erupts over your cheeks is immense.

“That was supposed to be shared..” you mumble.

“Not in a sharing mood” he says through a mouthful of cake.

“It’s rude to chew with your mouth open, Captain” you joke.

“Teach me some manners then, sweetheart” he teases, stabbing the fork into the top of the remaining quarter of cake before crowding into your personal space.

“Cakes almost as sweet as you” he whispers into your left ear before leaving the kitchen with a smug smile as you stand frozen in place.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten something!” He mentions from down the hall before turning back and snatching the cake box from the counter. He pauses on his way out, pecking you on the cheek and heading to his office as if that was totally normal behaviour.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t stand touching the spot that he’d kissed for half an hour after he’d left.

Your phone interrupts your frozen state. It’s a text from the group chat.

………..

Johnny: “Kyle, d’ya think Cap told her how he feels yet?”

………

Johnny: “c’mon ya cunt, don’t ignore my message. I know your out the shower I can hear you laughin through the wall”

………

Simon’s voice bellows throughout the hallway “wrong fuckin’ chat, you moron” followed by Kyle cackling and Johnny swearing loudly.

You’re still standing in the doorway of the kitchen, in shock, when the door to John’s office opens.

“Guess you saw that, eh?” he asks, sheepishly.

You nod your head, zoning in on a piece of icing on the corner of his mouth. As if on instinct, you reach up and wipe it with your finger, sticking it into your mouth, before freezing again, realising what you’d just done.

Johns eyes follow your finger, hungrily.

“If you wanted to taste it, you could’ve just asked, love”

[syrma-sensei]

→ Hush Hush Behind The Shield.

gif credit.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Wife!reader.

Rating: Explicit.

Warnings: Vought's ungodly shenanigans, mentions of cheating, couple fighting, angst, misogyny, antiquated mentality, dub-con, power imbalance, fingering, forced orgasms, angry sex, cock riding...

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Being america's greatest hero's wife has its perks, but they don't come for free...

A/N: I'd like to thank my two pretty moots, @kaleldobrev who's been always there for me, listening to mental blurbs and chaotic spews of unhinged ideas and continuous mind dump ❤️ and @zepskies who bares my energy, which can be a bit much, each time I spam her dms with life cringing memes and awaful reacts ❤️

Kneeling down on one knee, your mitted hands hoisted the oven door close as you hummed a melody to yourself. Turning on your heels, you stood up and gave the dining table a once-over before allowing a proud grin slip on your lips.

“Perfect.”

Then your eyes glanced at your watch. It was half an hour past seven in the evening. Perfect. There'd be enough time to pamper yourself in a relaxing shower and spruce up with no rush before your husband was home.

You gave the dining room another glimpse to make sure everything was in place before you headed to the bathroom upstairs, walking through the living room where the T.V. displayed a Soldier Boy anti-drugs commercial.

A snore escaped your nose upon hearing the phrase: “Just say no.” Remembering how your husband threw a fit behind the scenes at how stupid it was, to the point of getting Stan Edgar himself on the line for him to find an alternative to it. Because no way he was saying that shit.

“God, I sounded like a fucking douchebag,” He'd told you in his dressing room, a smouldering reefer hanging between his lips — the irony, after they wrapped filming up.

You'd giggled, playfully plucking it from his lips to take a drag of your own, “No, baby, you did just fine.” You purred, and his mouth curled up into a small grin, “The public needs that y'know…” You tipped his chin up, your polished, long nails grazed lightly to his skin, “You're America's golden son, right? You're the man everyone should look up to.”

“Damn sure they should.” He'd chuckled, leaning down for a kiss which you gladly welcomed.

Being Soldier Boy's wife came with many many perks, but it also had its downsides, one of which was to have to deal with his short temper. But what could you say? You loved the man. Ardently so; you literally fought the world to have him all for yourself despite Vought's disapproval of your nuptial.

You savoured the victory when you married Ben in a small ceremony without Vought's blessing. It was like a slap to them when Ben imparted upon them the happy news, he delivered them a severe black eye, especially the vainglorious bastard Edgar. Who had once told you that you and Ben wouldn't work out, for it was simply "inconvenient" for a superhero like Soldier Boy to be involved in a serious relationship with a mere… human; it'd be a "disappointment" in the public eye, as he put it. Like he had a say in the matter.

But here you were, with a ring on your left hand to swagger about, and happily married to America's first hero, Edgar and Vought could say hello to your middle finger.

To nobody's surprise, you resented Vought, and held such abhorrence against them for not letting you and your husband live the life you wanted for yourselves. Despite your personal efforts, your proclaimed triumph was soon cut short because Vought declined to go public and endorse your marriage. Not that you and your husband gave two shits about their approval, but the rules were rules. And their lawyers affirmed that a public exposure of your marriage might damage Soldier Boy's rep, therefore, Vought's; given the fact that you were more than thirty years younger than him. They couldn't have it said that the hero of heroes was a creep even though they'd tried to conceal his age when he and Phoebe Cates starred in Love And War because it started to seem fishy. It was expected, though. But what you didn't see coming was Ben's response, or lack of response as to put it.

Despite being even more obdurate about this marriage than yourself. You felt terribly abjured by your husband. You'd thought he'd fight for you, for what you both had, and he'd want to let the world know about you. It'd broken your heart when it dawned upon you that Ben wouldn't risk his fame and glory for anyone, for you. Reluctantly, you bit the bullet, you had to, for him, because you loved him, and would do anything to keep this marriage intact. If you had to compromise for it, then so be it. You didn't care.

To your solace, Ben never changed after the frustrating incident; he was still the man you fell in love with. He might be smug, crass, and insufferable to everyone but you could still perceive the tender side he had though he'd never actually admit it, and you never pushed him too much. You were subtle enough to know when to stroke his ego and when to tease it. He was a man, after all. But it was obvious; he was a doting husband who cherished you in his own way. He showered you with gifts, and pampered you when he could. And he was eager to have babies with you. He never ceased to express how rapturous he would be if he were to have a son. A child with you.

Sure, you had your own qualms about that particular day, and there was more than a time you wanted to have a conversation with him about it. But you couldn't bring yourself to screw it up with stupid doubts. If Ben hadn't truly loved you, he wouldn't have treated you the way he did, he wouldn't have brought you to his workplace to have you at his side — and to poke Vought's eye every single time. He wouldn't have let you in and told you about his family and his dad, about his fucked-up childhood and how he became a hero.

No, your bond was bigger than any fleeting thoughts of incredulity.

You crooned softly as you wrapped a towel around your body after you finished your shower. Stepping out, you rubbed your hair with another towel and made your way down towards the kitchen to check on the pie.

Oh, Ben liked pies. You found it amusing how he'd swallow a whole pie alone and wouldn't affect him one bit; a supe sure required a lot of calories. Sometimes, you wished you had his great metabolism.

The moreish scent of baked dough and chocolate told you it was ready. You opened the oven door with a protected hand and placed the delicious pie by the window to let it cool down while you dressed up.

On your way back to your bedroom, you padded through the living room again. Your eyes glanced fleetingly at the screen only to stop abruptly in your tracks. A slight frown made it to your face as you saw a picture of Ben and Crimson Countess together. You never liked Countess. Something about her always disturbed you, and your guts were right.

Your eyes roamed the headline over and over, dilating in stupor.

Breaking News: Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess are officially together, Vought announced.

You shook your head in disbelief, hand grasping the remote control from the couch, shivering fingers shuffling through the channels.

Soldier Boy finally found the one!

Your heart paced up with each press.

A long awaited power couple is now here!

Vought just shocked the world by—

And here's Soldier Boy and Countess's statement…

It was hard to quell your simmering anger when you saw your husband smiling face with that bitch between his arms. Camera flashes and clicks swarmed around them with an entourage of reporters and interviewers.

“Hey, Soldier Boy, now you're together, what can you tell us about the first time you saw Countess? Was it love at first?” A reporter asked.

Ben scratched his beard with his gloved hand, drawling “First time I met Tess was when Vought concocted a hero collab years ago, remember that honey?”

You did remember that event very clearly. You were still Ben's secret girlfriend at the time, and it was exclusive to superheroes, yet Ben brought you there as his date.

Ben grinned as if dreamily reminiscing about the memory as he continued, “And lemme tell ya one thing, this one is a firecracker.”

Countess giggled playfully, gazing up at your husband in the most flirtatious way, it made you gag with disgust.

You scoffed bitterly at the blatant lies spurting right in your face. That specific night, Ben had childishly grumbled and complained about how much he wanted to be out of there. And to spice things up, he playfully dragged you from the pristine hall the event took place in, and fucked you raw against one of the wall of some other hall, keeping your panties as a souvenir for the rest of the soirée. He kept teasing you through the entire night, riling and messing you up. At the time, it was thrilling and venturous. Now, however, it knotted at the tip of your stomach. His focus that day was solely on you. He wasn't even aware of the bitch's presence for all you care.

“And when I first saw her… knew she was the one….”

You couldn't comprehend what Ben said after that point as a deafening buzz bolted through your ears. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and soon they were streaming from your eyes as you stood numb on your spot. Your tears splattered on the ground along with your heart.

“Honey, I'm home.” Ben announced once he stepped in the house. He sighed, putting his shield down and making his way to the kitchen where you usually would be, making his dinner. He didn't take his boots off though he knew you'd throw a fit about it, but let's just say that teasing and screwing with you was his favourite hobby. His anticipating grin soon dropped and a small scowl knitted his brows when an odd mixture of scents wafted into his nose. His eyes dilated at the unusual messy scene in the kitchen; the table was flipped over, glass splints scattered all over the floor, freshly-cooked food covering the carpet beneath the dining table, and a chocolate pie was squashed into the wall.

With a pacing heart, Ben cried your name, and hurriedly climbed up the stairs. His feet darted to the bedroom when he heard you sniffling and weeping.

An audible sigh of relief flouted out of chest when he saw you. Your hair was wet and a damp towel wrapped around your body, but his eyebrow quirked up when he noticed you packing a bag on the bed. The fuck?

“(Y/N), the fuck is going here?” You scared the shit outta me. He wanted to say, after the shitty day he had, he just wanted to have you in his arms and play with your hair.

You startled for a moment when you heard his southern accent. You used to be fond of it, but today you were certainly not.

“I'm leaving.” Your answer came out curt, your hands tugging your bag zippers close.

You heard his footsteps getting closer until you felt his hand on your bare shoulder, “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You pulled yourself away from his hold, hissing, “Don't you fucking touch me!”

He didn't seem to heed your warning as he reached a hand to your face. Gritting your teeth, you spun around with your hand ready to deliver a slap to his cheek. However, and no matter how fast and pissed you were, he was always quicker and alerter. Fucking supe.

“You don't get to touch me ever again you asshole!” You shrieked, yanking your wrist from his grasp, your wet hair stuck to your face, chest heaving with each breath. 

“The fuck is wrong with you, woman?!” He growled with a deep scowl, “Just left you all happy and giggling in the morning, is it here? Your time of the month again?”

“Fuck you!” You spat, clenched hands rising up to his chest, “You're my fucking problem,” You jabbed a fist to chest, though he didn't move an inch, but damn didn't it feel good! You blew another punch to his stupidly firm chest again and again.

“Fucking Christ!” He grumbled, and with one strong arm, Ben wrangled your back against his chest and caged you in his steel hold, one hand securing both of your wrists above your head, “Calm the fuck down!”

Legs kicking and hands tugging, you tried to wriggle out of his arms but to no avail, you felt so helpless against his raw strength. Your anger and frustration poured out of your mouth in a wailing, broken voice, “Leave. Me. Alone!” You bellowed, “Go to your fucking Crimson Bitch!” Two rivulets of tears drizzled from your eyes again, “Go to your fucking Tess and let her fire-crack your nuts, you fucking pussy!”

“Christ on a cross, do you hear yourself talk, woman?!”

His eyes widened before his eyebrows scrunched deeply. He took you off guard when he brought you down to the floor as he crouched on one knee. Your towel unwrapped at the sudden movement and you were naked beneath his eyes. His hands were still holding you in place.

Two green eyes regarded you softly, “You really took that marketing shit for real?” He thumbed your lower lip, and his free hand trailed down your naked form. “Fucking hell, thought you were way smarter than that, sweetheart.” You shivered from both the cold and his touch, his sinful reaching your mound, “You really think I'd fucking leave you for her?”

You couldn't suppress the moan when he stroked your throbbing clit. A shot of arousal seeped out of your opening much to Ben's satisfaction. Anger made the colour of your face rise, “Fuck you! Fuck your bitch! Fuck Vought!” You spat, your eyes burning holes into his as he proceeded toying with your flesh until your voice broke, “Y-You want me to buy your shit — Ah!” Two of his thick and expert digits entered your slit, massaging your love spots thoroughly. “After you didn't stand up for our marriage?!” You groaned, hips rolling to the rhythm of his fingers.

“Is that so?” His brow quirked up amusedly. Was this funny to this bastard? Was your marriage some kind of a joke to him?

You gasped as he deliberately hit your weak spot; sweet, delightful coils fluttered at the tip of your stomach, “I was under the fucking impression that you had your pretty, little head wrapped around how this fucking business worked!” He snarled.

“Fuck you! I hate you!” Your body snapped as you came abundantly on his fingers which made him grin slyly down at you.

You felt his grip on your wrists loosen, so you took your window and jerked yourself free. He was shocked when you pushed him down on the floor and straddled his hips, your dripping cunt was drenching his pants with your cum. He raised a playful brow at you but soon was replaced by a shocked frown when you slapped his irritatingly handsome face.

“Fucking hell, you fucking little ballbuster—”

You shushed him with a finger on his lips, “You're fucking mine, Benjamin, you hear me! You're fucking mine!” You hissed, having no idea where your vigour came from as you tore his shirt off of his chest. His length poked you when you gazed with searing fire in your eyes at his, “You. Belong. To. Me.” You furiously tucked his pants and boxers down, his cock springing out with life.

A wanton moan came off your lips as you sunk yourself down his cock, whereas he grumbled in pleasure as you hugged him tightly with your wet and warm insides.

You snapped your hips harshly and he growled, “Fuck, doll—!”

Another snap, your voice was laboured, “I own you. You're married not to that whore, not to Vought, but to me!”

Your skin slammed against his meat vehemently as you gritted your teeth when another orgasm was spiralling in your body. You paced up your movement, a hand banging demandingly on his chest, “Say it! You're fucking mine!”

“Holy shit!” You watched his eyes roll backwards as he rasped, “Yours, babe,”

“Holy fuck, Ben! Ben, I'm coming again!”

That was his cue to take control again. He sat up, cradling you in his warm hold, “Cum to me, babe, fucking soak my cock.” You wabled his name, clinging to his shoulders as your climax stormed out of your body like a mad hurricane. You whimpered pathetically when his two large hands on your hips kept making you ride him through your high.

“Fucking stupid girl,” He growled, shooting his seed up your insides.

With laboured breaths, you glared at each other. You felt his cock softening inside of you, “Fucking idiot man.” You scoffed.

He chuckled with a boyish grin on his sweaty face, “That was fucking hot, think I like this wild side of you, darlin'”

You snickered, “You bet, wait until you see what I'm gonna do with that little fuck, Edgar.”

Ben rumbled a deep chortle, much to your annoyance, would this man ever take you seriously? “I swear to fucking Christ, Ben, if they—you don't break off that stupid shit with Countess and go public about us, I'll fucking burn that fucking tower to the fucking ground, because I'm fucking done with this—mhmmm!”

He cut you off with a scorching kiss and its heat made you thaw against his lips. His cock twitched inside of you.

“Jealousy looks pretty on you though, sweetheart” He teased, his lips brushing to yours.

God, damn this man and his endless ego! “Ben!” You nudged him playfully.

“Can't wait to see you wanting to snatch some ladies' heads off when we go to balls together.”

You smiled at him, biting on your bottom lip. The idea of finally being acknowledged as Ben's wife warmed your heart, and his willingness to do so made your heart race. However, disturbing thoughts loomed in your head again, “Think Vought will let us be?” You asked with hesitation. Fuck, that shit really got too deep into you.

He rolled his eyes, “Try not to work your pretty head hard 'bout this, doll,” He tucked a tress of your hair behind your ear, “The man who fucking beat the Nazis can handle some sweaty fucknuts at Vought.” There was something warmly reassuring about his smugness.

“See? All that shit wouldn't happen if you didn't stay silent while they fucking tried to play their fucking game!”

Ben chuckled, “Well, the fucking was totally worth it.”

You groaned in frustration, “Ben… I thought you abandoned me.”

Your husband furrowed his brows at you, “You women hardly think sometimes, don't you?” You scowled at his remark but he sighed, cradling your cheeks in his warm hands, “I fucking fought to make you my wife. I fucking put my whole career and name at risk for you.” You blinked at him, “The day before we tied our knot, I fucking told the boardroom that I was marrying you, that I'd fucking walk off if they tried anything funny… they didn't, till fucking today.” He sighed, “They fucking announced that bullshit before I was even told.”

“Assholes,” You whispered.

“After that pathetic act, I fucking stormed to Edgar like I stormed Normandy. Let's say that he and I did a little bit of chatting,” He gave you a conceited smirk, giving you no detail of how he got scared shitless when he saw the mess in the kitchen. He thought Vought dared to fucking do something to you. And when he heard you cry he feared the worst. But of course, he wouldn't tell you anything about that. Because he was the fucking man of this house; if his feelings of fear appeared, the sense of security he provided to this house, to you, would crumble. And he wouldn't have that. Ever.

You, on the other hand, had a weird combination of pride and happiness sprouted within your chest.

“I'm so sorry, Ben…” You said, cupping his face in your hands, “I-I don't know what came over me when I saw you with her,” You couldn't even say her name.

“Couldn't have your man stolen away, could you?” He teased you.

“Never.” You answered, “And I'm sorry for what happened, husband.”

“I mean you did make it up for me, wife,” He flashed you a cheeky grin, “Though, I don't feel particularly in a forgiving mood… yet.”

Head tilting to the side, your raised an eyebrow, rolling your hips teasingly on his cock, “Don't push your luck…”

“Try me.”

🦅 Soldier Boy Masterlist.

taglist: @zepskies, @deansbbyx, @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deans-spinster-witch, @venus-haze, @thebiggerbear...

[erwinsvow]

i feel like bitchy reader is definitely bossy and demanding and a total princess but in private she’s sweet (still has that bad princess attitude😭) with rafe. like he gets her to a level where she softens.

omg! you get them! ♡

sprawled on rafe's bed with your open magazines and a bottle of pink nail polish—despite how many times rafe had told you to not bring that shit onto his bed—you've made yourself comfortable.

balancing your phone to your ear, you fan your nails with your other hand. one of your friends is on the other line, he can tell you're fed up with whoever it is, even more than usual, by the way you talk to her.

rafe walks in and watches the scene in front of him while you observe your nails and flip another page, dog-earing something that's caught your eye, something he's gonna be buying you soon if you don't buy it yourself first.

"who is it?" he mouthes when you finally look up.

"your stupid sister," you say back at a normal volume, not even blocking the speaker or muting yourself.

"hey! i heard that-" his sister's voice comes through the speaker.

"yeah, i meant you to," you reply, blowing on your nails.

"y'know she's downstairs, right?" rafe asks, though you don't answer, just roll your eyes while you ignore him and continue your conversation.

"anyways, stop chasing people. especially people lower than you. it's embarrassing, sarah."

"stop calling john b 'lower people'!"

"tell him to stop behaving like lower people then. it's not that hard. or maybe you should up your standards."

though he's a little confused by what you're saying, rafe goes back to focusing on the reason he came in here, opening up his laptop. you and sarah keep yapping back and forth, until you finally hang up.

you look up at rafe expectantly the second you hang up the call, but he's too focused on the screen to see you. you set aside the magazines, tightening up the nail polish bottle and setting it on rafe's nightstand carefully—you didn't need another fiasco like the time you spilled it everywhere.

but just like your boyfriend, you were too stubborn to listen to anyone but yourself.

"okay! i'm ready now," you say, sitting up against his headboard.

"ready for what?" rafe asks, still not looking up. you want to chuck the nail polish at him to get his attention, but you foresee it ending badly, settling on tossing one of the magazines instead. it lands with a thud by rafe's feet. "huh?" just confused, not angry, he picks it up and sets it down on his desk before looking at you.

"i'm ready to hang out now." for all your stubbornness, even the irritating way you fight with him and somehow always have a better comeback ready than he does, when he looks at you, it's hard to hold back a smile.

"what about twenty minutes ago when i was ready to hang out, huh?" you roll your eyes.

"oh, shut up, liar. you came to get your laptop."

"you don't know that."

"if you came to hang out, you would have come here and hung up the call." you say it matter-of-factly, looking up at him with an irritatingly pretty smile, the one reserved for when you're reading him for filth.

"shut up." he closes the laptop and makes his way to you anyways, but when you curl into his chest and get quiet for a moment, he has a hard time remembering what the two of you were even talking about to begin with.

and though you would never admit it, you don't either.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ short bucktommy angst/whump with a happy ending, coz i love torturing my boys. 8x07 spoilers and verrrrrry loosely insp by a still from 8x08

typing

Why would he type type type and not send anything?

The alarms blare and Buck throws his baking back in the oven and sprints downstairs, but his mind is elsewhere. This? This is all muscle memory at this point. His mind occupies itself with other things, wondering what exactly Tommy might have wanted to say.

Evan. No. Buck. God, he still hates it that he called him Buck.

Can we talk? Tommy always was a man of few words. Or maybe Buck is just a man of many. But what does 'can we talk' even mean? He'd be spiralling just as hard as with the silent disappearing bubble. It's better this way.

MARRIAGE, EVAN??

God, he's an idiot. A pathetic, clingy idiot. Even now he would kill for a second round, just to dig that knife in deeper. At least then maybe, he'd be able to pick up what he'd missed before; where exactly that big dimpled grin and soft eyes had turned to hard words and hidden pain. At least then, he'd be able to fix it.

Hen watches him with a knowing eye.

“Stay strong, Buck,” she reminds him as they pull up to the scene. “Head in the game.”

Buck nods. He drops his phone on the seat and packs it away to the back of his mind, as best he can. Maybe he'll get to whip out the jaws of life. They always make him feel better. Shake it off, Buckley, let's go.

He's the last one out of the engine, and he hits the ground already triaging the scene. His senses expand, cataloguing the vehicles, the passers-by, the direction and nature of the accident. Eddie and Bobby are getting a run-down from a uniformed police officer on scene and it happens a splt second before Buck's mind catches up.

“A silver-” he overhears - “oh-”

He can see it in his minds eye, almost feel it even as his own heart sinks; the way recognition sets into Eddie's face. And then horror. He looks further down the road, to a sight that's partially obstructed from Buck's view. Partially, but not so much that he doesn't start running toward it because he has a feeling he knows, he knows, he knows who it is.

Why would he type type type and not send anything?

“Buck-” Hen warns, reaching to grab him but she's already missed.

Buck knows he should be helping but his world is caving in. Bobby's barking commands but all he hears is a wordless echo. Ravi hustles the balloons and the jaws up to the worst hit of the vehicles and Chimney is already there; medkit tossed over the worst of the shattered glass as he kneels by the dangerously crushed window and tries to make contact with the person inside.

“Buck.” It's Eddie this time, blocking with his body as much as he can – and he can, even with the full force of Buck throwing himself forward - but even he can't stop the terrible, terrible knowing.

“TOMMY!”

The name rips out of his lungs, because it's the truck: it's Tommy's pride and joy. It's singing along in the passenger seat and Tommy's smiling – sometimes he joins in, even though he wouldn't otherwise care for Buck's taste. It's Tommy slinging a greasy towel over his shoulder and hitching himinto the truck bed and making out until they both can't breathe. It's spilling the salt from hot chips in there; it's shoulder to shoulder at the drive-ins; it's getting fucked into the seats; it's polishing and vacuuming just last week because he can't help with the engine for shit. He'd put a little thing of jellybeans in the cup holder after - like his old detailer used to do, just to be cute - and it hits him that that's what those little coloured smudges are, intermingled with the crushed glass littered across the road.

What if he's in trouble and he needs my help?

“Oh, God, Tommy.”

The howling turns to hopeless. Breathless. The fight evaporates right out of him and he collapses forward into Eddie's arms. Eddie's embrace is firm and steadying as he lowers them both as gently as he can manage to the curb. Buck closes his eyes, sapped of the strength to watch any more but cursed by the knowledge of what's still got to be happening. Hen and Chim will be extracting Tommy's bruised and broken body onto a backboard right about now, and then lifting him onto a gurney. They'll be doing CPR if he's lucky – and they are, he can hear it, so at least there's that.

Then it stops.

For a few, horrible seconds all he can hear is his own hammering heart. Eddie's ragged breathing. Footsteps. Bobby.

“Buck.”

It takes a second, for him to gather the courage to open his eyes and look up. Bobby's demeanour is solemn and serious, but there's a softness Buck recognises well. A lightness that promises things might just be okay, as he offers a hand to pull Buck up from the roadside.

“He's asking for you in the ambulance,” Bobby says, and there's just a flicker, just an iota of a smile as he urges - “Go.”

[n0t--fr3ya]

ALL I NEED

desc: dilf!art has just had an argument with female! reader and suddenly he's back in college, fighting then crying in her lap.

a/n: this is my first short lil story so tell me how it is!

ALL I NEED

- radiohead

The row had stemmed from Art's poor play during a doubles match earlier that day. As a former college tennis champion, you knew all too well how the pressure could get to someone. But it was hard to remain calm when you felt compelled to critique his performance in the spotlight. He watched you, his eyes darkening with frustration as you expressed your disappointment, and the conversation had quickly spiraled into something familiar—words sharp enough to cut, voices rising like the crescendo of a dramatic symphony.

Now, as you picked up a brush to smooth your hair, you couldn’t help but remember the late-night debates you shared during your college days. Those nights were filled with laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, each emotion woven through the fabric of your bond. You could still picture the scene—the cramped dorm room filled with the scent of popcorn and your favorite takeout, the tiny desk cluttered with books and tennis gear.

In a moment, the flashback hit him. Art’s mind slipped back into a busy college campus, wild thrill and youthful defiance pulsating in the air. You were sitting on his bed, eyes blazing as you argued fiercely about a match he had lost, his uncharacteristic mistakes due to overthinking. “If you just trusted yourself!” you had exclaimed, hands gesturing animatedly. “You play best when you’re not afraid to lose!”

And your words had struck a nerve. Art had folded his arms, staring at the floor, the silence laden with unsaid feelings. Moments later he had burst into frustration, “You think it’s that simple, don’t you? You’re perfect, and I’m just trying to keep up!”

The argument had escalated, voices growing louder as the tape of your history replayed itself—passions clashing, the competition between you fueling each fight. Eventually, it had ended with him sitting on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, tears spilling over as he uttered a heartfelt apology. You had rushed to comfort him, your arms wrapping around him as he cried out his frustrations, and the love that lingered between you both felt so real in those vulnerable moments.

Now, standing in your bedroom, Art’s recent mistakes echoed in your ears. You didn’t mean to get so upset. As you finished brushing your hair, the door creaked open, breaking you from your thoughts. Art stood there, his posture sagging, eyes glistening like polished agates.

“I... I’m sorry,” he started, voice small yet heavy, as if carrying the weight of a million apologies. “I couldn’t think about anything else.” The shimmer of vulnerability in his gaze mirrored the Art from college, reminding you how he struggled even then with managing expectations and his own inner critic.

You set down your brush and crossed the room. His eyes fell, avoiding yours, a flicker of shame evident in his features. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he mumbled, his hands trembling slightly as he toyed with the edge of his shirt. But you could see it—the turmoil roiling inside him, the remnants of the argument still fresh.

You reached out, gently cupping his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Art, look at me,” you coaxed softly, your voice a balm to the heated moment. “It’s okay to mess up. We all do.”

His breath hitched, a tear escaping down the side of his cheek. “It just feels like I let you down.” It was a soft confession layered with frustration and self-doubt, reminiscent of those college nights where emotions unfolded under the weight of expectation.

Without saying another word, you enfolded him in your arms, holding him tightly against your chest, as if you could shield him from all doubt. You both sank to the edge of the bed, the world outside fading into mere whispers. You could feel his heartbeat against your ribcage, each pulse a reminder of the love that had weathered storms even stronger than this.

“Remember the nights in college?” you whispered into his hair, fingers threading through his hair that eveyone loved so dearly before he cut his curls off. “We always made it through those arguments.” The warmth of your voice coaxed Art’s head to lift, his eyes searching yours like a sailor navigating by starlight.

“I remember,” he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder. “It was always so... intense.” His hands clutched the hem of your shirt, drawing you closer, as if attempting to bridge the distance the argument had forged.

You both reminisced about those fiery debates, where passion fueled your verbal sparring—the way you fought, not just with words, but with love, forging a bond deeper than the court’s surface. Each memory drew you closer, rekindling the warmth that had dimmed during the chaos of your argument.

As minutes unfurled into a soft embrace, Art finally broke down fully. The tears flowed freely now, a release, and you held him tighter as he cried out all the frustrations he had bottled up inside. “I’m scared,” he whispered in between sobs. “I’m scared I’ll never be good enough.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, your heart aching for him, knowing that he was more than enough for you. You whispered reassurances into his ear, cradling his head against your chest, physically grounding him as he battled his insecurities.

Eventually, you felt his breathing steady, the evening calming around you both. As you shifted slightly, his eyes fluttered shut, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. You lingered there, basking in the tranquility, the closeness—an intimate reminder that through turmoil and arguments, love thrived still, resilient as ever.

Your fingers brushed softly through his hair, tracing the familiar contours of his head, until, eventually, he fell asleep—exhausted but comforted, cradled in the arms of a love that had survived countless storms, still entwined in a life shared both on and off the court. The world outside faded, leaving only the sounds of his breathing, the heartbeat of a home built on passion, patience, and an enduring bond.

[chaconne-ikeu]

FIGHT NIGHT: A Street Fighter's Guide to Glory (M)

An Enhypen Hyung Line! Street Fighter AU Series

Main Masterlist / Playlist

Overall Series Genre(s): Angst, Smut

Synopsis: 4 Men, 4 Stories, 1 Ring.

Please leave an ask to be added to the taglist

18+ content: minors dni

[HEESEUNG]

Pairing: Street Fighter!Heeseung x Reader (ft. Ex!Mingi)

Genre: Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers

Synopsis: Your best friend's friend's indifference towards you always steered you away from him. You two rarely crossed paths unless it involved a gathering put together by your mutual friends. It's not like you had any time to pay him much mind anyway with your hectic work schedule, your overload of class work, and your ex consistently sending you threats in the form of roses on your doorstep. That is, until your best friend finds himself in a compromising situation that forces him to look into unconventional means of earning money, introduced to him from his friend. Fearing for your best friend's life, you find yourself in the man's presence night after night as you watch your best friend and others participate in an illegal underground boxing ring in order to secure cash. As your ex becomes bolder in his efforts to regain your attention, you find yourself needing guidance from the same man who you presume couldn't care less what would happen to you.

Status: Training…

PART I | PART II | PART III

[SUNGHOON]

Pairing: Street Fighter!Sunghoon x Neighbor!Reader (ft. Ex!Jaemin)

Genre: Angst, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating

Synopsis: Given the ultimatum to find a respectable, well-off man to spend the rest of your days with before you graduate or move back home and marry the man of your parents' choice, you chose to do what any responsible adult would and lie to your parents about your relationship for the past four years. As graduation approaches you find it increasingly harder to find a man who will marry you on such short notice. So when your unrefined, illegal boxer, neighbor Sunghoon presents you with an offer to be your faux fiancé in exchange for assistance with his own problems you find it hard to decline his offer. He'll just need a bit of polishing up to sell the act to your parents. In your efforts to mislead your parents your ex pops up in hopes of taking your hand and an old abandoned property in town in the process.

Status: Training…

PART I | PART II | PART III

[JAKE]

Pairing: Street Fighter!Jake x Best Friend's Sister!Reader (ft. Newcomer!Donghyuck)

Genre: Angst, Smut, Enemies to Lovers

Synopsis: Being in any form of benefits relationship comes with its challenges. It just so happens that entering one with your older brother's hot-headed roommate comes with more than others. Especially when the aforementioned man has loathed every last bit of you from the moment he met you six years ago. Your unconventional relationship dynamic combined with a feisty newcomer to the fighting scene, and the consistent reminder of your past wrongdoings following you throughout the school year, prove to be more than any young lady can handle.

Status: Training…

PART I | PART II | PART III

[JAY]

Pairing: Street Fighter!Jay x Ex!Reader (ft. Fiancé!Yunho)

Genre: Angst, Smut, Exes to Lovers

Synopsis: It's safe to say that nobody ever wants to have to face that one ex that you walked out on when they were at their lowest. Especially not at your temporary place of employment. Any time you are forced to tend to his wounds after fights the feelings you had thought you had buried for the past couple years bubble to the surface. The reminders of what you once had with him start to reappear when you're with your new fiancé. Your new fiancé who is now a father figure to your two year old son with you ex. These feelings you harbor for him become even more complicated the more you look at your child. The reminder of your ex hangs heavy in your chest, day by day, but you can't bring yourself to reveal to said ex that your child is even his.

Status: Training…

PART I | PART II | PART III

[Coming Soon]

[saddleups]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 3k

★ 𝐒��𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . drabble , complete. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . pillow humping. dry humping. mating press. cervix kissing. breeding kink. possessive/dominant arthur. explicit dirty talk. mid to low arthur ngl. p_rn w/o plot.

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .  taking advantage of everything the hotel has to offer. arthur is too busy to notice until you leave him with no choice.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . erm,,,idk what to title this....it's a scrapped scene from honor among thieves. didn't think y/n in that story would allow arthur to be so dominant without any fight tbh. plus i lowkey need a short break from that fic , it was meant to be just pure smut across the board after they finally have sex but i got carried away with the relationship dynamic lmao. so, it'll be delayed and i'll fill the time with short drabbles like this that just didn't make the cut </3

The maid sets a basin of warm water on the vanity in the plush hotel room, the steam rising up and filling the air with a fresh scent. You thank her before eagerly plunging your hands into the water. Forming a puddle in your palms, relishing in its warmth as you splash it onto your face before washing away any traces of makeup and grime from the day. The pigments dissolve into the water, revealing your natural complexion underneath, and you can't help but sigh with relief at finally being able to unwind after a long day.

As you dry off, you replenish your skin with rose water, a sweet scent lingering on your skin, knowing all too well it'd drive him mad. Across the room, Arthur sits by the window with his gaze fixed outside, his gun carefully placed on the wooden table behind him. The quieter type, he leaves you to unwind alone. Stealing quick glances when he needed extra motivation.

In nothing but your chemise, you sink into the plush mattress beneath you with a contented sigh. It's a luxury that you rarely have in your line of work - a cozy hotel bed instead of a hard cot or rough bedroll. The distant sounds of city life drift in through the open window.

You can't contain a giggle as you roll around on the large bed, unintentionally unraveling the sheets in the process. Arthur quickly hushes you from his spot in the chair, lounging comfortably with his long legs stretched out under the table. He takes up more space than he realizes, his broad shoulders tapering down into a lean V shape. You can't help but admire him as he meticulously cleans each of his guns, his calloused hands gently caressing and polishing them until they gleam like new. In that moment, you wish those hands were on your own body instead.

Is he oblivious or just plain stubborn? You couldn't quite tell, but either way, he seems completely focused on his task at hand - oblivious to your half-naked state on the mattress only a few feet away. Your chemise clings to your curves, revealing hints of your allure underneath. Your fingers trace down your stomach and between the valleys of your chest, imagining his rough hands exploring those same areas. You hike your chemise higher, giving him a suggestive glimpse of your bloomers in hopes of sparking that primal desire in him. A gentle breeze brushes over your skin, causing you to moan softly as your hardened nipples strain against the thin fabric.

"You need somethin?" Arthur finally hums, breaking you out of your thoughts. Oblivious or just playing it cool, you can't quite tell. But despite being slightly annoyed at his lack of attention, you couldn't be too upset - after all, the hotel was meant for a mission that ended up lasting longer than expected. And now here he is, diligently keeping guard by the window. Though it's been long enough that you both should be able to relax for the night. But Arthur is always so meticulous and dedicated to his work, even if it means neglecting other desires...like yours. You sigh and continue to explore your body with your own hands, wishing they were his instead.

Without hesitation, you firmly respond with a breathless "no." You refuse to come across as desperate, but deep down, your desire for Arthur burns like a wildfire. You want him to take you and show him what he's been missing. And so, you shift your position once more, sitting up on the bed to face him. Grabbing a spare pillow and placing it between your legs, straddling it tightly while letting out a soft cry. Biting your knuckles, you grind your hips into the pillow, trying to contain your pleasure. But it becomes too much as the bed creaks under your movements and your whimpers grow in volume. Under the impression that you were settling into bed, Arthur pays it no mind until the creaking continues. A slow, continuous rhythm that he'd only heard one place else.

Arthur watches intently as you tease yourself, unable to resist any longer. He sets his guns aside and gives in to the hypnotizing sight of your body moving against the pillow. The fabric stretches over your bloomers as you move agonizingly slow, building up the pressure until you can no longer hold back. Lost in the throes of ecstasy, your eyes lock with Arthur's as he stands up and walks towards you with hunger in his gaze. Your lips part as you whimper and confess your need for him, "Oh Arthur," it sounds orgasmic and it's sending him into a frenzy. He stands above you with his legs slightly apart, feeling his own desire grow within him.

You lean forward and press your face against his clothed groin, leaving open mouth kisses on his covered length. He sucks in a sharp breath and reminds you of his previous question: "I asked if you needed somethin."

But you are too consumed by desire to remember. All you know is that you need him desperately. You continue kissing his clothed cock, wondering if it hurts him to keep it restrained like this. You know he wants you just as badly. The heat of his member radiated even through the fabric. Arthur grips your cheeks tightly and repeats his question with a firmness that sends shivers down your spine. "Answer me, girl."

You tremble as you reach for his thighs, using them as anchors as you grind your hips harder into the pillow. Your fingers dig into the fabric, grasping onto it for dear life. "I need you," you moan.

With a deep and husky voice, Arthur responds, "Dirty girl. Tell me what you need."

Your head is pressed against his lower abdomen, drooling at the thought of him filling you up wherever he pleases. With desperate need in your voice, you tell him exactly what you want: "I need you inside me."

The vulgar praise echoes in your ears, causing a surge of sweat to break out across your body as you ache for him. "I want your cock," you confess with a desperate whisper, your face pressed firmly against his groin. You can feel his heart pounding for you, the fabric of his pants the only thing keeping you from devouring his throbbing member whole.

"What was that?" he taunts, thrusting his hips forward as the length of his shaft slides up your face. A guttural moan escapes your lips, your skin flushed and hot with desire. "All them times you drove me crazy," he begins, gripping the crown of your head tightly against his cock. "Teasing yer'self while I'm trynna work."

"What makes you think I'll pleasure you so easily?" You challenge, looking up at him with pride but feeling an overwhelming need for him. Arthur leans in closer, pushing you down onto the mattress. The pillow between your legs acts as a barrier between him and his cock, you can still feel it pressing against your soaked bloomers, threatening to push inside you. He thrusts with such force that it's instinctual to wrap your legs tightly around his waist. You cry out his name over and over like a sacred chant.

"Yer gonna wake up the entire town if you keep goin' on like that."

"I don't care," you fight back, tears welling in your eyes. You crave him so intensely, it's almost maddening.

He chuckles darkly, "my filthy girl."

The intensity of his possession over you drives you wild with desire. Without warning, Arthur begins dry humping the pillow against your wet opening, soaking through your bloomers and leaving wet marks on the fabric caught between you two. Your jaw clenches so tightly that you fear your teeth might shatter. Desperate to remove the barrier between you, you try to pull the pillow out from between your legs, he stops you with a wicked smile. "Not until I say so, darlin'," he growls, driving you closer to the brink of madness with every rough thrust.

Your fingers claw at his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer as he continues to tease you mercilessly. The friction of the pillow against your most sensitive areas is maddening, bringing you right to the edge but never quite enough. You whimper and writhe beneath him, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. With each movement his groans and grunts join yours, a hushed tone growing more guttural when you retaliated his thrusts. Even more so when you cried his name, begging him to devour you whole.

"Arthur, please," you beg, your voice a breathy moan. "I need more. I need you."

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Patience, darlin'. Good things come to those who wait."

With agonizing slowness, he begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing tantalizing glimpses of his broad chest. Your hands itch to touch him, to run your fingers through the coarse hair there, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one large hand. His grip on your wrists is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control. You squirm beneath him, desperate for more contact, but he holds you in place effortlessly.

"Now, now," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Be a good girl for me."

With his free hand, he slowly trails his fingertips down your throat, across your collarbone, and down to the swell of your breasts. Your nipples strain against the thin fabric of your chemise, aching for his touch. When he finally brushes his thumb over one hardened peak, you arch into him with a gasp.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear those pretty sounds."

He continues his torturous exploration of your body, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. When he reaches the hem of your chemise, he pauses, his eyes meeting yours with a wicked glint. Slowly, achingly slowly, he begins to inch the fabric up your thighs, exposing more and more of your flushed skin to the cool air of the room.

You whimper, trying to buck your hips up to speed his progress, but he tuts disapprovingly. "Patience," he reminds you, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Finally, he tosses the pillow aside before he pushes your chemise up to bunch around your waist, revealing your soaked bloomers. Arthur inhales sharply at the sight, his eyes darkening with lust. "Look at you," he murmurs, running a finger along the damp fabric. "So wet for me already."

You moan at his touch, desperate for more. "Please, Arthur," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you so badly."

Arthur's eyes flicker with desire as he watches you writhe beneath him. "Tell me exactly what you want, darlin'," he growls, his fingers teasing along the edge of your bloomers.

"I want you inside me," you gasp, arching into his touch. "Please, Arthur, I need to feel you."

With a low chuckle, he finally relents, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your bloomers and slowly sliding them down your legs. The cool air hits your heated core, making you shiver with anticipation.

Arthur's gaze rakes over your exposed body hungrily. "Beautiful," he murmurs, before lowering his head to press a searing kiss to your inner thigh. You cry out at the sensation, your hands fisting in the sheets as he works his way higher.

When his lips finally reach your aching center, you let out a keening moan, your back arching off the bed. Arthur's tongue delves between your folds, tasting your arousal with a growl of approval. His stubble scratches deliciously against your sensitive skin as he explores every inch of you.

You writhe beneath him, gasping and whimpering as he works you closer to the edge. His strong hands grip your thighs, holding you open for his ministrations. When he sucks your swollen bud between his lips, you cry out his name, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmurs against you. "Let me hear you."

He slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them just right as his tongue continues its relentless assault. The dual sensations are overwhelming, and you feel yourself hurtling towards release. Your wetness gathering around his fingers, flooding down your thighs, pouring into his mouth like a fountain. "Oh my god, Arthur." You seize your thighs, an odd sensation forming at your center.

"That's it, sweetheart," Arthur growls against your sensitive flesh. "Come for me."

His words are your undoing. Hips buck on his face, that coil tightening finally snaps. You arch forward hand digging into the crown of his head. Your nectar squirts from your core and with a keening wail, you shatter, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. High off the taste of you, Arthur doesn't let up, working you through your climax until you're a quivering, oversensitive mess beneath him.

As you come down from your high, panting and flushed, Arthur rises up to hover over you. His eyes are dark with desire, his lips glistening with evidence of your pleasure. Without warning, he captures your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is deep and passionate, filled with hunger and need. You moan into his mouth, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders and down his muscled back.

Arthur breaks the kiss, panting heavily. "Gonna take care of ya," he growls, his voice rough with desire. You nod eagerly, spreading your legs wider in invitation. "Please, Arthur. I need you too."

With a fierce determination, he rips off the last remnants of his clothing, revealing a massive and throbbing cock. Arthur's length is like a weapon, thick and girthy with veins pulsing in shades of green and purple. The tip is a deep red, glistening with pre-cum, beckoning you to taste it. You can feel your own desire building as you lick your lips at the sight.

You ache for him to fill you completely, and he knows it. With a devilish grin, Arthur positions himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock.

"Tell me you need it," he demands, his eyes locked on yours.

"I need it," you breathe, unable to resist any longer. "Please, Arthur. Fuck me."

With a guttural groan, he thrusts inside you in one powerful motion, his coarse hair blending with yours as your bodies meld together. But even this closeness isn't enough for Arthur; he lifts your thighs higher up towards your chest and presses you against him with an animalistic force. Your foreheads press together as he claims you as his own.

"Whose pussy is this?" he growls.

"It's yours!" you scream without shame.

He pounds into you with an unbridled ferocity.

"That's right," he grunts.

And with every thrust, every moan that escapes your lips, you know that you belong to him completely

Arthur's relentless thrusts drive you wild with pleasure, each powerful movement sending shockwaves through your body. You cling to him desperately, your nails raking down his back as you match his irratic rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your breathless moans and Arthur's guttural groans.

"You feel so good, darlin'," he growls in your ear, his hot breath fanning across your flushed skin. "So tight and wet for me."

His words send another jolt of arousal through you, and you clench around him involuntarily. Arthur hisses in response, his hips stuttering for a moment before resuming their punishing pace.

"That's it," he encourages, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub tight circles on your sensitive bud. "Let go for me, sweetheart."

"Please, fill me with your hot cum," you beg, voice trembling with desire.

His lips curl into a smirk as he teases, "You want my cum inside that pretty lil pussy?"

Without hesitation, you nod eagerly and thrust your hips into his with a desperate need. Arthur's composure crumbles as he becomes a moaning mess above you, his sweat dripping onto your face as both of you lose yourselves in the moment. Your mouths hang open, drooling as your bodies move in perfect harmony.

Seizing control, you hold your own thighs up and allow Arthur to press his hands onto the mattress, his weight surrendering on top of you. A gasp escapes your throat as the tip of his cock hits against your cervix, sending electric shocks through your body.

"Yes, give it to me all, Arthur! Fill me up!" You cry out, urging him on as you feel yourself being pushed over the edge. In a frenzy of passion, your tongues tangle together in sloppy kisses as he finally gives in and releases himself inside you. It feels like every inch of your body is on fire, consumed by the intense passion between you.

Arthur's hot, thick cum fills your swollen pussy, and you both watch in awe as he pulls out, leaving a trail of sticky strands that connect the two of you. He playfully slaps the tip of his still-hard cock against your slick folds, eliciting shivers of pleasure throughout your body. With gentle circles and flicks, he teases your throbbing clit, sending electric pulses of desire through every inch of you. Your voice is caught in your throat. Eyes sealed shut as he leans forward, kissing your face so intently.

"You did so good, my sweet girl." Arthur's praises are filled with admiration for you. You lean in and kiss him lazily, still feeling the intensity of it all. "Do you think our neighbors are angry with us?" you ask, your voice strained from the relentless moaning that just moments ago filled the room.

Arthur chuckles, his hand gently stroking your back. "Probably," he replies, "can't deny we gave them quite a show."

Playfully slapping his chest, you sink into his embrace as he wraps his arm around your waist. Resting your head on his chest, you feel comforted by the steady rhythm of his beating heart. Tracing half circles along his abdomen, you look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Should we give them an encore then?" you suggest with a sly smile.

[pearl-tarotist]

* ༺ Your beauty ༻ *

In this tarot reading I will describe the beauty that you have and I will mixed it with some poems, things, feelings and situations that remind me of you.

Disclaimer: I do not consider beauty only as physical attributes.

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes...

PILE 1

Dear Pile 1,

Your beauty is sweeping and easily strikes the eyes of others at first glance. Your presence is strong as a furious river, people enjoy the scene and they are in awe at it. But the strength that the river has dissolves when they try to cage the water.

Your beauty is natural and pure as the liquid that gives us life; it cannot be replicated or forced at the will of others, it just comes from you, your presence and your soul. It's not the material but the energy that shapes it.

You are passionate, energetic and pure, what in the words of Sylvia Plath would be translated as “I am too pure for you or anyone", from the poem "Fever 103°.

In the same way as the damsel in distress when sad or overwhelmed, you hide yourself in the highest tower or in the lowest cave. Your beauty can just be encased by your own hand...and you do. Your fear that the show of your real self to the world will end in a lose of stability. You hide because you feel that showing your true nature and sweet but passionate soul will destroy your own world and the relationship that you have with others.

You hide under the presence of a basic person, fashion-like or behaviourally-like, but you beauty shines in the unconsciously curves of your cheeks and lips. There's something pleasuring and round about your lips that make your words sweeter and gentler than average. There's something about your back and position that could be beautiful too, stand straight and let other see you.

Your passionate and in that passion you are sweet and cute, just like the childish heroine of a story that never gives up.

Long legs, baby-like face, pouty lips, soft skin, limitless strength, adventures that you want to live and the passion when you speak half-baked of them. I'm not going to lie, for some, your beauty resides in your bad states, when they can take care of you as if you were something to fix or defend, but I do not think that's your beauty but what others find themselves attracted to.

Your beauty is not equalled to their attraction.

Stuff that reminds me of your beauty:

A Poem: My head a moon /Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin / Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive. (Poem fever 103).

The flowing of a mighty river surrounded by grass.

The shaking pale hand of someone that has fought and won.

The elegant makeup of the Geishas.

The warm caresses of a loved one.

Knight of wands/5oW/The Chariot/10oC/5oP/4oS

PILE 2

Dear Pile 2,

You get things done. You are full and complete on your own, independent and capable. There's nothing that you can not resolve, you are efficient, strong and powerful. A scopio, pluto dominant or 8th house energy on your natal chart?

You are so beautiful on your own, so successful and victorious. Your willpower and your resistance towards adversity have created the most polished part of yourself, just like a diamond. If I have to be honest, it's not just your resistance but also your search of fights for truth and new adventures. The need to discover new things.

You are openminded and know that with a simple and small discovery, the perception of your reality can change in seconds, that's why, often, you feel that you do not belong to places or "homes" but that you are your own home. Your ideas and mental world is the only place you should be comfortable with.

There's also a characteristic of foreigner to your beauty, you could travel a lot or be "exotic" to others, in the sense of being different from them, physically and mentally. You are not a copy of the current societies but a mix of everything (past, present and future) and that's why others are intrigued by you, they want to learn about this composition. I would bet for a little bit of aquarius is in your natal chart, I guess.

You are clever and curios about everything what makes other being intrigued by you as they do not know what to expect. They can not tag you in one social group, you are way more than just that.

You do things with security, your hands do not shake in front of others and I would say that you are also quite social as you want to learn about everything, like a bee that goes from flower to flower, you go from person to person.

Piercing eyes, beautiful eyebrows, a nice chest, some of you could have a voluptuous body, an accent when speaking, and knowledge that extends for miles.

Stuff that reminds me of your beauty:

The sword of Arthur Pendragon, Excalibur.

The satisfaction after a job well-done.

The mist of the forest before the faes appear.

“For she had eyes and chose me.” (William Shakespeare, Othello)

"fuck it I love you" by Lana del Rey.

The World/ The Chariot/ The Fool/ Knight and king of Wands/ King of Swords

PILE 3

Dear Pile 3,

I fear that some of you are unable to see your own beauty. The cards that I got are unpeaceful and represent fights and loses.

Nevertheless, let's start with the reading. Your beauty is different from the rest, I like the way that you do not want to be exactly like the others. I applause you for not following the trends, the viral products and the fast-clothing industry. Your best quality is the uniqueness and respect for your natural state. Somehow, I believe that this is also one point of hurt for you, because you are not like the others, so you feel less...but, in my opinion, it lifts you higher than others.

To have an opinion of your own under a society that push us more often to have a single mindset is of respect and admiration.

Following the last idea, you are someone with spark, with cleverness, someone that has great ideas and potential that you can develop endlessly. You are a pool of ideas full of different points of views that need growing and development, a little bit of Gemini/ Sagittarius energy on your natal chart, no?

These ideas are not developed to the end, I think you jump around and start a lot of ideas that do not end up in a solid project, but that does not stop you from enjoying it nevertheless. I feel that there's two types of people: the ones that focus on just one thing and the ones that know a bit about everything. You are the second one, and in it resides your beauty.

Curious, fighter, powerful, with potential and creativity. Soft and uniform skin, probably short height but with a good posture, hands that are warm and search for the touch of others, lover of animals, young but wise. You may decorate your hair with caps, bows or similar. That's your beauty.

Stuff that remind me of your beauty:

Jeanne d'arc - Albert Lynch

The soft fur of animals like a horse or a deer.

The coldness of a knife close to the neck of the main character carried by their "enemy". (Enemy to lovers AU fr).

The endless routine of the sun (sunrise and sunset).

The smell of an old book.

5oS/2oW/The Tower/ 8oS/7oW/Page of Pentacles

This reading belongs in exclusivity to @pearl-tarotist.

[katzske]

Thoughts on Earthspark Season 2 (first half)

Spoiler Free:

I must admit I’m dissatisfied.

The animation and rendering definitely looks cheaper. Sometimes it feels like frames are missing, animations not polished, scenes not fully rendered. 2d and 3d poorly blends. It’s quite noticeable unfortunately. Characters also do the TFP Megatron stare now.

That being said, time was taken to revisit old models of characters and give them a new appearance. (4 i’ve noticed) It makes sense given a lot has changed during one year time skip.

The writing often feels either like exposition dumping or naruto filler episodes. I was never at the edge of my seat even during the climax. I ended up skipping through episodes due to the lack of relevant plot information.

Something ES managed to maintain were carefully composed shots that make great still images. While that’s nice for screenshots and redraws, I also feel like it’s the only unique aspect of ES’ animation style that remained. The rest, as previously mentioned, has lost quality.

Character Details I’ve noticed and want to talk about (spoilers ahead)

half of season 2 part 1 is filler. optimus trailer episode, great america with cosmos, a pachycephalosaurus-truck fighting mushrooms, hashtag taking ten years to dispose of hard drives…. each episode did have a few minutes of either cute or important moments. but the majority is a waste of time.

I was hoping that we would learn more about the decepticons. now that they’re free, what are they up to? how are their dynamics? how did season 1 finale change their perception on things? would they try to convince the terrans THEY are the good guys? nothing like that though.

There is no satisfying character development for starscream. ES Starscream was perfect to explore a more neutral version of him, who does not do bad things out of pleasure, but due to necessity; following his desire to be free. In the show he mentions he wanted to get rid of his oppressors (in his eyes autobots and humans), but a real “bruh” moment was when he told Hashtag the only reason he opened up to her last time was to tell her “take care of yourself first”. It completely disregards the fact he came to help in the season 1 finale after reflecting on Hashtags words. It also aggravates me that the writing could have been a very easy fix. “hey i’m not being selfish by destroying this town. im doing this for the decepticons, we have lived under the control of the autobots and then of humans. this needs to stop, we deserve freedom and i will do anything it takes.”

the show managed to establish some friction between starscream and shockwave but for deception standards it was very tame. overall i think it was written okay; he purposely let the Terrans escape with the fragments, and he bailed on Starscream once he went bonkers. I hope that he gets to be a Decepticon leader in the second half; i don’t think we have seen that in any TF TV show before. i also like that his antennae and eye color give away his emotions now.

i feel like the autobots are treated even worse than the decepticons this season ngl. they merely exist; and when they do have the spotlight it’s often for comedy.

why the fuck did shockwave not wait for hashtag to just dump the hard drives and leave. if someone walked up to me yelling “give me your trashbag” as i’m trying to dispose of it i’d be weirded out too lol.

i hope the chaos terrans don’t return. aftermath imo was, plot wise, redundant. spitfire at least was interesting and had an impact.

i wish there were more interesting fights like in season 1 instead of, oh no they’re hitting the trailer with sticks, oh no we are an abomination of dinosaur and vehicle for what feels like 15mins straight. i miss seeing soundwave slay.

[it-happened-one-fic]

10 Seconds - Floyd

Author Notes: I'm not gonna lie, I had a lot of fun writing this. This fic was pretty much entirely inspired by a scene in chapter 111 in Akagami no Shirayukihime (Snow White with The Red Hair). After I found out that Floyd and Obi had the same voice actor, the temptation was to great for me to resist. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Fluff/ flirtation/ romance/ kind of spoofy/ Reader does have a pushy admirer so be warned on that note

Word Count: 1890

There was something about persistent wanna-be lovers that made one nervous enough to look to even the most shady sources of help. Including Octaveinelle.

“So this young man has been bothering you for…?” Jade trailed off as he looked up from the glass he was currently polishing to where I sat, right in front of him, at the bar.

“A little over a month now, I think.” I frowned as I recounted the numerous times the Pomefiore junior in question had just ‘happened’ to be right where I would inevitably run into him.

 I would be trapped there, having to interact with him and dodging his advances until I was saved by some passerby or thought up a reasonable excuse to leave.

I could’ve gone to Vil for help, considering it was one of his dorm members. But I also didn’t entirely want to put my annoyingly persistent and considerably pushy admirer through quite that much sorrow.

I did, however, want this handled, and me turning him down numerous times as politely as possible simply wasn’t cutting it. Which was why I went to Octavinelle to seek the advice of the infamous tweels. After all, they handled a lot of Azul's issues. Surely they would have advice for handling one persistent admirer.

Floyd let out a low whistle from behind me, causing me to twist slightly to glance at the young man who ought to be sweeping but was now just propped up on the broom’s handle as he shook his head, “Stubborn guy.”

His eyes found mine as a grin crossed his face, and I realized very quickly that I didn’t want to know exactly what Floyd was thinking. That wasn’t really one of his nice grins….

“Come now, Floyd. We can’t exactly blame the poor fool for being quite so smitten with our darling little Prefect, can we?” I almost grimaced at Jade’s teasing tone as I turned in time to catch his mocking, sharp-toothed smile.

“Guys,” I didn’t even bother fighting the whine that slipped into my tone. “I just want some advice. I can’t get him to go away, and I’ve already tried being blunt.”

Jade smiled in an indulgent manner down at me before a frown crossed his face, “I suppose it is rather problematic and concerning if he’s been at it this long.”

He sat the glass down with a tiny clink on the bar as he continued to ponder my plight, “You said he’s a Pomefiore student?”

I nodded, wondering exactly what Jade was thinking as Floyd slipped up next to me, propping himself on the bar, “Should I just scare him off? That’d probably do it.” 

Floyd sounded perfectly willing to do just that as he looked at me with that sharp-toothed grin of his before looking towards his brother. 

But he was soon frowning in confusion as Jade started to shake his head with a slight frown, “No, if he’s as determined as I fear, then I doubt that would solve the problem for little more than three days.”

That mocking smile appeared on Jade’s face again, even though he wasn’t actually looking at either me or his brother, as he continued, “Besides. Those Pomefiore boys are the schooling sort. Always flitting about in a group. If we tried aggression, he’d just come back with his friends, and that would make things more difficult for you, wouldn’t it, Prefect?”

He looked towards me as he finished, and I nodded glumly, “A squad probably would make it tougher.”

Especially since Pomefiore squads were known to be aggressive. Turning him down in front of his posse could be risky at best.

A chuckle slipped from the vice-housewarden’s lips as he smiled at me, “Now, now. There’s no need to make such a face. The solution is really quite simple, isn’t it?”

I perked up at his words, looking at him hopefully before I frowned once I noticed his grin, “What’s it gonna cost?”

The twins laughed together, their voices joining in a strange harmony that made me tense ever-so-slightly. 

“Oh, it’ll be on the house this time. After all, this will be most amusing for both of us.” Jade’s words seemed to surprise Floyd as much as they did me.

Unperturbed by our obvious confusion, Jade leaned forward with an undoubtedly conspiratorial grin. Propping himself on his elbows as he gestured both of us closer with a single flick of his long fingers, “Listen closely…..”

And that was what had brought me to this moment, as I let out a quiet exhale before rounding the corner.

I didn’t even have to worry about setting the guy up. I knew exactly where he’d be.

Propped up on the wall in that careful pose he was always in when he was waiting for me to come and just ‘happen’ to bump into him.

And sure enough, there he was. Leaning against the wall with one arm raised so that he had me slightly caged in from the very second I rounded the corner.

“Prefect! What a surprise,” His perfectly white teeth flashed almost blindingly, and I fought not to gag at the raw amount of perfume he was wearing. 

It was a good thing he hadn’t brought his posse; I probably would’ve passed out from the raw amount of perfume that would’ve been in the air.

But I smiled. Pretending to be surprised and not at all frustrated by his persistent, unwanted affections as I carefully went back through the plan that Jade had laid out in my head.

Interact with him like everything was normal while waiting until reinforcements came, and then follow those very simple directions that Jade had given.

So I waited. Awkwardly exchanging pleasantries and smiling up at the young man who now leaned increasingly closer despite how much I would like him to say far away. He was no doubt about to drop some sort of new line that was intended to sweep me off my feet but would be far more likely to make me grimace.

And right as he opened his mouth with a grin that spoke of some very misplaced confidence, I heard the exact thing I’d been waiting for.

“Shrimpy~” Floyd’s sing-song call came from behind me, and I turned so fast that I almost missed the deep frown that appeared at impressive speeds on my admirer’s face.

“Floyd!” I didn’t have to fake my joy at seeing him, though I couldn’t say the same for him considering that Floyd himself looked entirely bored as he looked towards the Pomefiore junior that now stood stiffly silent. Already frustrated by the mere presence of Floyd.

For a brief moment, I was honestly worried about how well Jade’s scheme was going to go over until Floyd’s gaze shifted and his eyes met mine. Because then there was an entire change to his person.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, and his lips twitched up in an absentminded smile as he walked over, all but cooing at me affectionately, “There you are.”

He didn’t stop until he was right next to me, looking down at me, and then I knew the moment of truth was upon us.

I could hear Jade’s amused voice in my head as I braced myself, swallowing as I recalled his words: “Ten seconds. You will need to stare into each other’s eyes for ten seconds. But that’s all it will take.”

Floyd was far calmer than I was as he slipped off his blazer and draped it over my shoulders, blocking the cool breeze that came through the open window.

 His voice was quieter than usual, though still playful as he spoke, “There you go; can’t have you getting cold.” And that was my cue that we were beginning.

One.

My hand reached up to tug his oversized jacket a little closer around my body, and my hand brushed lightly against his fingers that lingered at my shoulders.

Two. Three. Four.

I twisted just a little bit more so that I could look at him better as his hand slid down my arm so that his arm was wrapped around my shoulders.

Five. 

It was already getting sort of awkward to keep staring for this long into Floyd’s mismatched eyes for this long. But now I was beginning to think more about the color of his irises than the actual situation we were in.

Six. Seven.

One was a yellow color. Not a sickly yellow, but rather it was a warmer color that made me feel oddly safe considering the young man I was looking up at. The other eye was a surprisingly gentle olive that was also welcomingly familiar and spoke of how, in certain moments, Floyd himself could actually be quite gentle.

Eight. Nine.

I could feel numerous people staring at us, and I was fairly certain that one of them was definitely Jade. He was probably utterly delighted by how uniquely embarrassing this really was. Because even though I’d been prepared to feel a little self-conscious, I hadn’t been expecting to be this flustered. Especially since it was just Floyd….

Ten.

Floyd’s smile grew by just a fraction, and then he blinked, “I reckon I’ll see you later. I know you can’t miss your class. Good little student that you are~” He let go of my arm with an affectionate squeeze as he continued to look down at me. But this time with amusement in his gaze and a teasing lilt to his voice.

I swallowed down my overwhelming shyness as I looked away, blinking as I attempted to force my recovery by focusing on his teasing. 

But even then, my voice wobbled as I quipped back, not quite able to look back up at him, “Unlike you, I actually have to study to keep my grades up.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I could tell he was fully grinning now, “Aww, if you ever need help, you can just ask. If you're nervous about Azul, I can help you out.”

He leaned down and into my line of sight so that he could wink at me, and I let out an exhale. Reminding myself that this was Floyd I was dealing with. Not some incredibly romantic male lead who was here to sweep me off my feet and actually be successful.

Which brought me back to my admirer, who was still standing there, staring in open-mouthed shock. 

“Ex- Excuse me, I lost track of time with Floyd and really do need to get to class now,” I  was still flustered enough that I stammered slightly before I flashed him an apologetic grin before I trotted off. 

As I fled the scene, I passed a chuckling Jade and mouthed a quick, ‘Thank you,’ before hurrying on. Attempting to outrun the oddly shy sensation I now felt at the thought of being near Floyd and entirely missing what happened behind me as I fled the scene.

“You haven’t gotten anywhere in a month, and it only took me ten seconds.” So saying, Floyd glanced down at the Pomefiore student, who almost immediately puffed up with indignance that quickly deflated as Floyd grinned in a way that perfectly displayed his too-sharp teeth.

“You might as well just try somewhere else, ‘cause you aren’t going to be stealing Shrimpy away from me anytime soon.”

[myloviestar]

Against the Tide

Rafe Cameron was never the type to settle down, or at least, that’s what everyone thought. His reputation was one of reckless decisions, late-night parties, and too many secrets buried beneath his polished exterior. But the moment he saw Y/N, something shifted. She wasn’t like the others in his world. She was grounded, sharp-witted, and fiercely independent—a force to be reckoned with.

Theirs wasn’t a simple love story. It was messy, full of fights that ended in heated apologies, and late-night confessions whispered in the moonlight. But for all their differences, they found a rhythm together, a balance that made them both better versions of themselves.

And then everything changed.

Y/N stood in the tiny bathroom of their house on Figure Eight, the pregnancy test trembling in her hand. Two pink lines stared back at her, clear as day. Her heart raced, a mix of excitement and terror washing over her.

She hadn’t planned for this—not now, not with the chaos still looming in their lives. Rafe was doing better, working on himself, but there were still moments when his demons clawed their way to the surface. Could he handle this? Could *they* handle this?

When she walked into the living room, Rafe was sitting on the couch, flipping through a surf magazine. His blond hair was tousled from the wind, and a faint smudge of grease marked his cheek from working on the boat earlier. He looked up as she entered, his blue eyes narrowing in concern.

“Y/N, you okay?”

She nodded, clutching the test behind her back. “Yeah, I’m... I’m fine. Just need to tell you something.”

Rafe sat up, tossing the magazine aside. “What is it?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the plastic stick. “I’m pregnant, Rafe.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His face was unreadable, and Y/N’s heart sank, the silence stretching between them like an ocean. But then, to her surprise, he stood up and walked toward her.

“You’re serious?” His voice was soft, almost disbelieving.

She nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “Yeah. I am.”

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, and then a grin broke out across his face—a real one, the kind that lit up his features in a way she rarely saw. “We’re having a baby?”

“We’re having a baby,” she repeated, a shaky laugh escaping her lips.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “Y/N, I’m gonna be a better dad than my old man ever was. I promise you that.”

She believed him. For all his flaws, Rafe had a heart buried beneath the layers of pain and bravado, and she knew he would do whatever it took to keep that promise.

---

The months that followed were a whirlwind of change. Rafe threw himself into preparing for the baby, trading late nights at parties for early mornings fixing up a nursery. He was nervous, of course—terrified, even—but he leaned on Y/N, letting her steady him when the weight of his past threatened to pull him under.

When their daughter, Ava, was finally born, everything else faded away. Rafe held her in his arms, his eyes misting over as he whispered, “She’s perfect, Y/N. She’s everything.”

In that moment, he knew he’d found his purpose.

---

Let me know if you’d like more scenes! Cause I have more in my drafts.🥹

Part 2

[crappy-writings]

The Run and Go

Natasha RomanoffxEx-Widow!Reader // Enemies to Lovers(Ish), Angst, Series (?)

*Images are not mine, credit to its sources and creators

Prompt: You, an ex-Red Room graduate turned mercenary, take up an assignment to retrieve some sensitive information from the Triskelion. You run into Natasha as you escape, much to your anger. You can’t seem to escape her after this first encounter as different circumstances force you to work together.

Summary: The Triskelion’s infiltration was going so well. That was until a certain redhead makes an appearance, leading to a long-awaited confrontation.

Trigger Warning: Poorly researched hacking concepts and lingo, bad spy/escape sequence, guns, google-translated Russian, swearing, canon-typical violence, implied/mentioned physical and emotional child abuse, the Red Room, bad fight scene, minor injury, let me know if I need to add more.

Word Count: 3,858

A/N: Did I watch Iron Man 2, Captain America and the Winter Soldier and Black Widow, analyzing Nat’s and other Widows’ fight styles? Yes, yes I did. Was I successful in writing an interesting fight scene in line with what I saw? Probably not, no, but here we are. 

Let me know if anything needs to be fixed!

Part 2 ->

Main Masterlist��| MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics

Breaking into the Triskelion had been almost effortless. It was easy to slip into its walls without raising suspicion, to become invisible once inside. No one expects a mouse to simply walk into the cat’s den. Then again, you were not a mouse, and the cat thought itself untouchable. 

There was no air of importance to your stride, no urgency in your steps. Your clothes showed little rank, most agents barely sparing you a first glance as you walked through the hallways alongside them, not realizing you were most definitely not one of them. Pride was always the downfall of man, you thought. 

The hallways and floors all seemed the same to you. The absence of windows was glaring in the lower levels, being only lit up by white, fluorescent lights, basking the stone walls in a similar hue. The floors were a familiar, polished, gray color, reflecting the light upwards. Despite the unoriginality of the corridors, you’re able to find the control room rather quickly, having already memorized the interior layout of the building before even dreaming of stepping inside. It was somewhat dark inside the control room, mainly lit up by the several rows of screen monitors and a few of the same fluorescent lights that decorated the hallways.

There was a singular agent in there when you stepped inside. He barely looks up from his screen, unbothered by your sudden intrusion. You pick a desk and sit down, beginning your search for the files your employer had asked for. 

There was a vulnerability in one of the system's firewalls, one you quickly exploited. It took you longer than you wanted to admit, but you were able to completely break through it, making it easier to find the necessary files. A cough interrupted your concentration, causing you to turn to look at the agent sharing the space with you. His eyes never strayed from his own monitor, raising a cup to his lips as he continued to type away on his keyboard. After confirming you were still in the clear, you returned to your work.

It took you a few extra minutes to find the ones you were looking for but were able to download all of them onto the pendrive given to you by your employer. Once you had everything, you deleted all the information you took from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers. You even deployed a nasty virus that will keep them occupied for a few days for good measure. 

There is a small part of you that feels satisfaction at having been able to take something from the organization as easily as you had. You stand nonchalantly from the seat you had claimed as yours, approaching the communal pot of coffee hidden away in one of the room’s corners. The singular agent hidden behind his monitor just barely acknowledges you, his eyes leaving his monitor for a few seconds before returning to his work. You serve yourself some coffee in a paper cup, taking a few sips before slipping out of the room.

The problem had never been getting in. No, it was about getting out.

The walk to the elevator was relatively short, the hallway empty as you made your way towards it. It was almost eerie, the way things were going, given that it was typically around this part where you would walk into some form of trouble. You knew that downloading that information was going to tip off some server moderators, adding an extra layer of difficulty to your escape. Even so, the invisibility you have managed to maintain is still your greatest weapon.

Two agents stepped out of the elevator once it had reached your floor. One of them acknowledged you with a singular nod while the other barely spared you a glance. 

You step into the now empty space, the computer screen showcasing your face, along with a fake alias and a serial ID number. The creation and uploading of the fake S.H.I.E.L.D. agent profile had taken you weeks to accomplish, but its completion was the key to slipping in and out of the building mostly undetected. Having some of the organization’s face-changing technology would have made the infiltration a lot easier, but that technology is too safely guarded for you to have been able to get your hands on it. 

The doors had not shut closed yet, waiting for you to state your destination. “Lobby,” a voice that is not your own rings out from your vocal cords. The voice moderator that you had nicked from one of your past jobs had come quite in handy, especially for this mission. The piece of technology was hidden away under the collar of your stolen uniform, its detection nearly impossible. 

“Confirmed,” the automated voice of the computer rang out into the enclosed space, and finally began its descent. Breathing was becoming an easier task as you were one step closer out the Triskelion’s door. 

The elevator stopped a few times as it continued to go down, letting agents in and out on different floors. Most of their trips were short, some engaging in small talk before exiting the confined space. 

“Controls,” an older man dressed in a blue suit commanded, followed by the computer’s robotic voice, “Confirmed.” He had a kind face, dark brown eyes aged with crow’s feet and his hair white and thinning.

“Working hard or hardly working?” the man asked, his tone light and jovial, as the elevator continued its descent. You sent him a friendly smile, adding a small chuckle for good measure. 

“Not sure yet,” you replied, not dropping the smile, “Every day is unpredictable in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The man replied with a chuckle of his own, “That, it is.” The elevator opened into another level, allowing the man to step out. He sends you a friendly smile as he departs, leaving you alone in the confined space once more.

You reach the lobby shortly after. The space was wide, a glass canopy overhead, allowing the warm glow of sunlight to stream in. The walls were decorated with a mixture of off-white stone, dark tile and stained wood, the floor a dark gray that complemented the space nicely. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s emblem was showcased proudly in the very center of the room, reminding everyone who walked inside of where they stood.

The lobby was full of people, some dressed in nice, neutral-colored suits, while others were dressed in tactical gear. Security hung around the entrances and exits, eyes sharp as they overlooked the crowd. 

There was purpose in your stride now. The longer you took to get out, the larger the possibility of getting caught. It was only a matter of minutes before someone noticed the missing information that burned in your uniform pocket, if they did not know already. 

You made your way across the lobby unperceived. The sense of satisfaction from a successful mission had begun to bloom in your chest as you easily blended into the large group of agents that zipped in and out of the building. That was until you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, the sensation of a pair of eyes staring you down from somewhere behind you making you come to a stop.

Your eyes scanned the room methodically, until you spotted a set of familiar green eyes and fiery red hair, ones you thought you would never see again. There was a flicker of recognition in her features, but it lasted for less than a second, slipping on her perfectly crafted mask of indifference, her expression unreadable as neither of you break eye contact. A wave of burning hot emotion overcomes you, before you stamp it out. Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed. 

Neither one of you had looked away from each other, as if a silent conversation was being held between the both of you. You subtly raise your head, your eyes narrowed and daring. It was a silent challenge, and invitation to your long-awaited encounter. It was a dangerous game to play while in the confines of hundreds, if not thousands, of highly trained agents, especially when one of those agents was Natasha Romanoff, but it was one you would play, nonetheless. 

You’re the first one to break eye contact with her, quickly becoming invisible within the crowd of agents. A cat has spotted you and was about to give chase. 

It would almost be thrilling to be running from the Black Widow turned Avenger, were it not for the blazing resentment snaking its way through your chest. It had been years since you last saw her, her defection to the very organization you just stole from had left you filled with a sense of bitterness and betrayal. 

The rest of your journey towards the garage went uninterrupted, but you know she was somewhere nearby, following your moves closely as you weaved through the lower levels. Spotting the redhead had suddenly made you itch for a fight, adrenaline fueling your body. 

Your bike comes into view as you reach the final garage level. The vehicle was hidden away in a secluded part of the parking space, far away from the other cars. The keys jingled in your hand as you pulled them out of your uniform pocket. You would have closed the distance between you and your escape, except that you felt her ghost-like presence lurking from behind you, finally making herself known. 

With a singular deep breath, you stick your hand out to the side, showcasing your keys to her before tossing them forwards, the sound of metal clattering against the smooth asphalt a few feet from your motorcycle.

“I didn’t expect to ever see you again, Romanoff,” your modified voice echoed in the vastness of the garage. Your hand instinctively reaches for your concealed gun, pulling it out in one swift movement as you turn to face her.

“I would say the same to you,” she stood a few feet away from you, her stance paralleling yours, guns raised and aimed at each other’s heads. Her eyes had a hard edge to them as she stared you down, “Why are you here?”

“Just seeing the sights of Washington, D.C. There’re so many museums here, you know?” there is vexation in your tone despite your sarcastic words, “Plus, how could I skip out on admiring the Triskelion’s architecture? Bet the engineers had fun building it.”

The both of you had stepped closer to each other without realizing it, her firearm about a foot away from your own. She ignores your quip, instead choosing to make a go for your gun. You mirror her movements, both of you trading guns before aiming them at one another once more. 

Neither of you said anything as you continued to stare each other down, the tension thick enough to be cut by the edge of a knife. Her eyes were studying yours, searching for something and you’re not quite sure what it is. There was a subtle change in her stance shortly after as she dared you to make the first move. So, you did. You went for her gun again, this time flinging it across the empty garage, the piece of metal skidding across the asphalt. She does the same, the Red Room’s training being activated on pure instinct. 

The beginning of your fight was not a fight at all, though. You were both following a basic combat sequence of simple parries and blows taught to you in the confines of the Red Room. The drill was the one that was taught to the youngest of girls, set to provide them with the basics. It was more of a dance for the both of you, perfectly choreographed and in sync with the others' familiar response. It was child’s play.

For a brief moment, you felt like you were back in the Red Room, the both of you locked in the familiar dance as your handlers watched you engage in a sparring match. The parries and blows you sent each other’s way were predictable, neither of you having the heart to truly fight and hurt the other. Your punishments for your defiance would vary, the ones you remember most being obligated to practice the same ballet move until your feet bled. The other usual punishment was to be made to fight an older Widow, one that would not hesitate to hurt you, to teach you a lesson for holding back. Eventually, your sparring sessions no longer started with the predictable routine of parries and blows, replaced by hard tackles to the ground, bruising kicks and skin-breaking hits.

Old habits die hard, it seems.

Your mind snaps out of it as she grabs hold of your arm mid-swing before securing a hold over your shoulder, allowing her to throw you onto the ground. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and it takes you a few seconds too long for you to recover. 

“What did you do?” She asks as she manages to hold you in place, her legs straddling your waist while her arms have you pinned down against the ground.

“That’s not your concern, dorogoy,” you smirk up at her as you smash your forehead against her mouth. The distraction allows you enough time to securely grab her by her forearms, your freed legs find her stomach, flipping her over you. She lands roughly a few inches over your own head, the force of the flip enough to leave her stunned for a few moments, allowing you to quickly get to your feet.

“I have to go,” the voice moderator that had been hidden under your collar was knocked loose, your voice sounding strange as you taunt her, “It was nice seeing you.”  You were scooping your bike’s keys from the ground before she pushed you into the vehicle, knocking you both onto the ground.

In hindsight, it was dumb of you to believe she would stay down. 

The back of your head hits against the floor, stars filling your vision for a few moments, your bike tangled under your feet. You feel her grab the fabric of your stolen trainee uniform, dragging you away from your bike and towards one of the garage's walls. 

You struggle against her, managing to break free from her hold. Once back on your feet, you send a few firm punches her way, and she is unable to dodge a few of them. 

You were sloppy in your attack though, as she gets a firm grasp on your arm once more. Her other hand gets a hold of your shoulder and pushes you back up against the building, slamming you against the wall once, twice, three times. A string of coughs escapes you, air not reaching your lungs. You feel the fight begin to leave your body and hate that she was able to incapacitate you. In a last-ditch effort, you press your hands against her face, forcefully pushing against her with all your might. This somewhat works, placing a bit more space between you, enough for you to raise your leg, and knee her in the stomach. This sends her back a few inches and you send another swift kick to the affected area. Your legs react before your mind does, trying to close the distance between you and your knocked over bike, the keys within your view on the ground.

You were still a few feet away when you felt a sharp and burning sting emanate from your lower back, your body locking up against your will and effectively sending you tumbling to the ground. She threw a fucking Widow Bite at you.

“Cheater!” you yell at her, your body completely unable to move. She catches up to you, one arm cradling her stomach, before grabbing you by the scruff of the stolen uniform and dragging you up against the nearest wall. Your body felt numb, every single one of your nerve endings having been lit on fire mere seconds ago.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, what the fuck are you doing here?” her tone is hard and almost dangerous, her eyes scanning over every single one of your features in search of any telltale signs of a lie. It was only now that you realized that she was bleeding from her slightly swollen lip, a trail of crimson running down her chin. There’s a small, sick sense of pride that settles within you as you watch the blood flow from the split lip you gave her. 

“Fuck you, Romanoff, I don’t owe you shit,” the familiar sparks of anger were building up inside your chest. 

“Answer the question,” her tone is even and low. It was not until now that you realized she had picked up one of the discarded firearms, the barrel of the gun being pointed directly at your head. Something within you was emboldened by this, leaning forwards as the tip of the gun presses lightly against your forehead.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” your eyes staring directly into hers in defiance.

“How are you so sure about that?” she asked through narrowed eyes, digging the barrel further into your skin, her finger hugging the trigger but not squeezing it. 

“Because you would have shot me the second you saw me if you truly wanted me dead,” you reply, and the words taste bitter in your mouth. There is a visceral hatred in the gaze you level at her, the teasing air that had coated your initial confrontation having completely dissolved. 

“Why are you so angry at me?”

The question had been so simple. It made you want to explode. 

“Did-did you seriously just ask me that? I have to tell you?” you almost choke on the acidity that coursed through your tongue as you spoke those words. A bitter laugh makes its way past your lips, your head shaking slightly as a sense of indignation floods your chest. 

“Tell me Natalia, did you think that everything would be magically solved the day you defected?” The burning sensation of unfiltered anger and overwhelming resentment are spilling out of you, and you do your best to push them away forcefully. Your mask cannot break. Your mask will not break.

Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed.

The words repeated over and over again in your head, a never-ending chant driven into you by your handlers. Emotion had always been the one thing that you struggled with in the program as a child, constantly making you hesitate and clouding your judgment. Your handlers recognized this weakness in you, and they worked you tirelessly, trying to stomp it out of you. Your struggle against emotion is what got you recycled four times before you finally graduated.

Natasha’s face gave away no indication of what she was thinking. Her features were schooled perfectly into a mask of indifference, and that made you all the more angry.

“I had to get out,” she defends herself; the gun being slightly lowered. 

“I don’t care,” you want to yell, you want to scream, but you don’t, “You leaving made The Red Room all the more difficult to survive.”

Something about what you just said made a crack in Natasha’s mask. It was nearly imperceivable, but you saw the twitch her brows made at your statement. 

“The Red Room doesn’t exist anymore. Dreykov is dead,” she states factually. Her tone was so confident, so sure, you almost believed her. But she was wrong. He may have gone into hiding, never showing his face, but his whispers still rang inside the halls of the Red Room, his fingers choking the life out of every Widow still stuck there. His presence was a stain that would never leave.

You can’t suppress the bitter laugh that escapes you, “Is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. told you?”

The numbing feeling that had spread throughout your body was beginning to wear off. There’s a small twitch in your leg, one that Natasha notices and she knows she is running out of time. 

“I was there, we rigged bombs up a five-story building,” Natasha recounts, her eyes taking a similar hard edge from earlier. 

“The Red Room still exists, Natasha,” you talk low and slowly, your tone was no longer defensive or angry. She needs to know she is wrong. “Dreykov isn’t dead.”

“It’s impossible, I killed him,” she restated adamantly. Her mask was slowly cracking, but you do not feel victorious about it. 

“He’s alive, Romanoff. I’m not fucking with you,” your tone was exasperated, “Why would I lie?”

“Why are you here?”

“Chert poberi,” the curse slips past your lips, your annoyance at the redhead radiating off of you, “I took a job, I’m a mercenary now, that’s all you need to know.” You finally push yourself off the ground, your legs stumbling slightly as the pins and needles continue to prickle under your skin. She allows you to stand, backing away from you with her gun still trained on your head. 

“Listen, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Dreykov is not dead, and the Red Room is still alive and well. You don’t need me to tell you what happens in there,” you shook your head gently as the familiar, bitter taste of your words coat your tongue. 

You made no effort to move away from her yet, despite desperately wanting to leave. Her gun was still trained on you, and you were beginning to doubt whether or not she would actually shoot you. A single wrong move could mean the difference between life and death, or worse, getting turned in. 

But she was no longer focused on you. Her mask had slipped off, and for the first time since you were children, you could read every emotion in her eyes. There was conflict there, torn between the lie she had convinced herself of and the reality of your words. There was wariness in her gaze, but there was something else too, something bigger.

It was guilt. 

She believes you.

You begin to move away from the wall she had you pinned against, your bike about ten feet away from you. It’s clear she has no intentions of stopping you, instead lowering her gun slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.

She… she was letting you go.

The gaze you send her is cautious and untrusting, but you continue to move away from her, nonetheless. She eventually breaks the eye contact you had maintained, her eyes dropping down to the ground, her breaths slow, heavy and unsteady. There is enough space between the both of you for you to run. You caution one last look at her, but she has not moved a muscle. 

“See you around, Romanoff,” Your tone is not victorious nor teasing, it’s dejected and almost sad.

With that, you run towards your bike, scooping your keys from the ground swiftly before driving away, leaving Natasha behind with her thoughts.

Part 2 ->