#It’s important to operate not from “this is who I am” but from “this is what I’ve been nurtured to be but I can change that”

[stbot]

Wait are you actually doing the Tile/Pairing/fic summary? Because that could be fun 👀👀

If so Yelena/Kate and title of fic: Please

Yes, I am, thank you <33

(send me a title and a pairing and I will give you the summary of a fic I will never write)

P.L.E.A.S.E.

A burst of artifically cooled air breaks across Kate's face, doing more to wake her up than the four cups of coffee with triple espresso shots that constituted her breakfast ever could. She shivers, the cold prickling at her skin like the edges of the excitement that kept her up all night before her first day. Wide-eyed and eager, she rubs her hands together and breathes hotly into her cupped palms, her spirits not chilled one bit. "This," Deputy Director Hill leads her into a massive room filled with rows upon rows of server frames, a handful of techs scattered throughout with laptops and tablets while a handful of dark camera globes in the ceiling track their movements, "is the brains of the operation. It- no, don't touch that." Kate yanks her hand back from a knot of cables plugged into a rack. Hill's eyes narrow — briefly, dangerously — and then she carries on with her little tour. "It's been a decade in the making and every other project combined is less important than this one. You will never set foot in this room again." And with that, the tour seems concluded. She turns on her heel and marches back out the sliding glass doors with a sharp, "Now, come on. We need to get your biometric scans done before my meeting at 9." With a nod and an excited hop in her step, Kate eagerly follows. But not before catching a glimpse of the S.H.I.E.L.D. symbol on the door, and the words etched into the glass beneath it. Predictive Linguistic and Empathic Algorithmic Security Enhancement. Kate snorts. Director Fury really does love his acronyms. And as she turns to follow Deputy Director Hill to go do all the boring, new-hire onboarding and paperwork, Kate catches a glimpse of a faint red light inside a dark globe as one of the cameras watches her go. (Or: S.H.I.E.L.D. accidentally creates a sentient A.I. Kate accidentally falls in love with her. Together, they accidentally find out she's not actually an A.I. at all.)

And since you are the first (and so far only) person to play, here have a bonus second summary for this same title lol

(Under a cut bc Yelena is a sex worker and some people may not want to read that even tho this is emphatically NOT a sex thing.)

Please

In this business, Yelena has encountered just about every shade of depravity imaginable. From the kind so commonplace and predictable it warrants nothing more than an eyeroll, to the kind of darkness that would convince even God himself to rid the Earth of the blight of humanity if it's managed to go this terribly wrong. There are requests that make her skin crawl. Commands that delicately untangle every thread of her concious awareness until she is not even bearing witness to what her own body has done. Shames her body will carry with it even after she has long departed its mortal constraints. But in the end, it's all just business, and she is a professional. Yelena has seen the worst that humanity has to offer. Much of it may be disgusting, unconscionable, but none of it has ever been surprising. Until, that is, she steps off the private elevator of a Park Avenue penthouse, expecting just another pretty playboy who thinks his inherited fortune can buy him anything and everything in the world, but finds instead a teetering tower of talking takeout containers. "Oh, wow, you're here already?" It says, precariously tilting beneath its own awkward weight before strong hands fix their balance and right it before it can topple to the floor. "I haven't even gotten the board games out of the closet yet!" (Or: Yelena is a high-end escort, and this touch starved trust fund painfully lonely billionaire is by far the strangest client she's ever had to work with. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing.)

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I genuinely think that any change in behavior starts w telling yourself that your worst days, worst performances, just worst moments in general aren’t who you “truly are.” It’s all about unlearning any thought process that essentially chalks up traits you aren’t proud of to “this is who I really am” “in reality I’m lazy” “in reality I’m just a bad person” bc not only is that never true, but it impedes your efforts to try to do better as well. Anything we struggle with has roots in things like childhood trauma, thoughts you’ve been fed before, your upbringing…. but never that you’re inherently a bad person. What I’m learning this year is that a lot of us doing better & being better & improving really comes down to self-talk—to disavowing the very notion that deep down we’re simply bad.

[fuckdamn]

everytime i’m faced with wild overt misogyny that’s just platformed like it’s nothing i remind myself that people don’t actually have to feel this way about women. men are fully capable of treating women like human beings and viewing them as such. “but socialization but male fantasies but patriatchy speaks through us even when we don’t recognize it” sure but actually regardless there exist men who are fundamentally not raging misogynists and they generally seem happier and better adjusted. misogyny to me isn’t disappointing because “oh i can’t believe Men, as an essentialized category of person, are like this” it’s disappointing because people make the choice to be like this. “it’s my biological imperative as a man to dominate you” okay well it’s my biological imperative as a freaky bitch to dominate you so what now. what biological imperative is making you comment “onlyfans detected opinion rejected” on every picture of any attractive woman. i think i will always be understood by most people as a woman and i’m learning to accept that and trying to like it but misogyny makes me feel very trapped of course. but misogyny is a choice. which means some people make the choice to be misogynistic which is profoundly frustrating. but many other people choose not to be actively misogynistic and i believe anyone could choose not to be actively misogynistic if they wanted. so it’s a whole thing

[psychopomp-namine]

I actually have a fic idea but lc is a show that's like. you will never ever have all the information and context until the end. and I am a writer who writes best and more confidently when I have all the info and context at my fingertips. so now I'm just like 🧍‍♂️

anyway. ramble in the tags

[bredforloyalty]

i had a good day i like having things to do but unfortunately i have just remembered i am insane</3

[afloweroutofstone]

The Trump administration accidentally included the conservative editor of The Atlantic in a group chat where they were discussing, in great detail, the US bombing campaign in Yemen

In all, 18 individuals were listed as members of this group, including various National Security Council officials; Steve Witkoff, President Trump’s Middle East and Ukraine negotiator; Susie Wiles, the White House chief of staff; and someone identified only as “S M,” which I took to stand for Stephen Miller. I appeared on my own screen only as “JG.”

...I had very strong doubts that this text group was real, because I could not believe that the national-security leadership of the United States would communicate on Signal about imminent war plans. I also could not believe that the national security adviser to the president would be so reckless as to include the editor in chief of The Atlantic in such discussions with senior U.S. officials, up to and including the vice president...

At this point, a fascinating policy discussion commenced. The account labeled “JD Vance” responded at 8:16: “Team, I am out for the day doing an economic event in Michigan. But I think we are making a mistake.” (Vance was indeed in Michigan that day.) The Vance account goes on to state, “3 percent of US trade runs through the suez. 40 percent of European trade does. There is a real risk that the public doesn’t understand this or why it’s necessary. The strongest reason to do this is, as POTUS said, to send a message.”

The Vance account then goes on to make a noteworthy statement, considering that the vice president has not deviated publicly from Trump’s position on virtually any issue. “I am not sure the president is aware how inconsistent this is with his message on Europe right now. There’s a further risk that we see a moderate to severe spike in oil prices. I am willing to support the consensus of the team and keep these concerns to myself. But there is a strong argument for delaying this a month, doing the messaging work on why this matters, seeing where the economy is, etc.”...

At 8:27, a message arrived from the “Pete Hegseth” account. “VP: I understand your concerns – and fully support you raising w/ POTUS. Important considerations, most of which are tough to know how they play out (economy, Ukraine peace, Gaza, etc). I think messaging is going to be tough no matter what – nobody knows who the Houthis are – which is why we would need to stay focused on: 1) Biden failed & 2) Iran funded.”

The Hegseth message goes on to state, “Waiting a few weeks or a month does not fundamentally change the calculus. 2 immediate risks on waiting: 1) this leaks, and we look indecisive; 2) Israel takes an action first – or Gaza cease fire falls apart – and we don’t get to start this on our own terms. We can manage both. We are prepared to execute, and if I had final go or no go vote, I believe we should. This [is] not about the Houthis. I see it as two things: 1) Restoring Freedom of Navigation, a core national interest; and 2) Reestablish deterrence, which Biden cratered. But, we can easily pause. And if we do, I will do all we can to enforce 100% OPSEC”—operations security. “I welcome other thoughts.”...

The account identified as “JD Vance” addressed a message at 8:45 to @Pete Hegseth: “if you think we should do it let’s go. I just hate bailing Europe out again.” (The administration has argued that America’s European allies benefit economically from the U.S. Navy’s protection of international shipping lanes.)

It was the next morning, Saturday, March 15, when this story became truly bizarre.

At 11:44 a.m., the account labeled “Pete Hegseth” posted in Signal a “TEAM UPDATE.” I will not quote from this update, or from certain other subsequent texts. The information contained in them, if they had been read by an adversary of the United States, could conceivably have been used to harm American military and intelligence personnel, particularly in the broader Middle East, Central Command’s area of responsibility. What I will say, in order to illustrate the shocking recklessness of this Signal conversation, is that the Hegseth post contained operational details of forthcoming strikes on Yemen, including information about targets, weapons the U.S. would be deploying, and attack sequencing.

The only person to reply to the update from Hegseth was the person identified as the vice president. “I will say a prayer for victory,” Vance wrote. (Two other users subsequently added prayer emoji.)

According to the lengthy Hegseth text, the first detonations in Yemen would be felt two hours hence, at 1:45 p.m. eastern time. So I waited in my car in a supermarket parking lot. If this Signal chat was real, I reasoned, Houthi targets would soon be bombed. At about 1:55, I checked X and searched Yemen. Explosions were then being heard across Sanaa, the capital city.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Cat Conspiracy

The Cat Conspiracy

Damian Wayne had tracked assassins across continents, dismantled crime syndicates before breakfast, and fought rogue AI while still managing to ace his Latin homework.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for Danny Fenton.

Specifically, Danny Fenton and his suspicious pattern of visiting pet stores all over Gotham, emerging each time with an armful of cats.

Damian narrowed his eyes from the rooftop across the street as Danny exited The Purring Palace with five cats in various shades of tabby draped across his arms, a smug little smile on his face.

Damian’s voice was a low growl in the comms. “Grayson. I’ve got eyes on Fenton again. He’s acquired more felines. That’s the third pet store this week. Something is afoot.”

Across the city, Dick let out an exaggerated groan. “Maybe he just likes cats?”

“No one likes cats that much. Not without a nefarious purpose,” Damian replied, dead serious.

“Damian, buddy, you live with eight trained attack bats and a demon dog. Let the kid have some cats.”

“I will not rest until I uncover his scheme.”

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton was indeed up to something.

He wasn't robbing banks or raising a ghost army or even stealing Gotham's supply of tuna fish. His plan was, in fact, adorably petty.

“Here you go, Mr. Meowser,” he whispered as he tucked the newest stray into a box carefully prepared with toys, a mini litter pan, and an engraved name tag. “You’re going to love your new home. It has three fireplaces, heated floors, and a man who pretends to hate you but secretly buys you imported kibble.”

He grinned as the box closed.

Operation: Furry Revenge was going purrfectly.

After all, if Vlad Masters—billionaire fruit loop, obsessed with power, and frequent thorn in Danny’s ghostly side—was too busy dealing with the ever-growing clowder of feline freeloaders mysteriously showing up at his mansion, then he’d have zero time for evil schemes.

Better yet, Vlad hadn’t sent a ghost assassin after him in weeks. The last thing he’d screamed over the phone was, “Daniel, I am not a cat café!”—right before the line went dead and the sound of a kitten meowing played faintly in the background.

Success.

Vlad was unraveling.

He now owned no less than thirty-two cats, each with names like “Princess Fuzzums,” “Waffle,” and “Mr. Stabby.”

They appeared out of nowhere.

Well, not nowhere. Always in tidy, clearly handmade boxes, addressed to him, complete with vet records and gourmet food recommendations.

He’d tried to be mad. He’d tried to find the source. But the cats... they purred.

One had curled up on his chest and started kneading at his robe while purring like a chainsaw, and now she had a bed on his desk and he dictated business emails around her nap schedule.

He was losing the war, and the worst part? He was starting to like it.

Damian had enough.

He dropped down from a rooftop like an avenging shadow as Danny exited yet another pet store with a fluffy ginger kitten perched on his head like a crown.

“I knew it.”

Danny screamed and nearly dropped the kitten. “What the hell?! Do you practice dramatic entrances?”

“You’ve been acquiring cats for a dark purpose,” Damian said, voice cold and accusatory. “I demand to know what you’re planning.”

Danny blinked at him. Then grinned.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a long-term plan to neutralize a billionaire supervillain through the power of feline responsibility?”

Damian stared.

Danny kept going. “I call it Operation: Claw and Order. My target now owns thirty-two cats. That’s roughly thirty-one more than he emotionally admits to loving.”

“…You’re weaponizing cats.”

“Yes,” Danny said, very proud.

Damian folded his arms. “…Interesting. I approve.”

Danny blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I would’ve used snakes, but your method is arguably more insidious. If you require assistance in continuing this campaign, I can connect you with Selina Kyle. She has... resources.”

Danny cackled. “Oh my god, is this what friendship feels like?”

“No,” Damian said immediately. “…But I’ll help deliver the next batch.”

And just like that, Gotham’s weirdest alliance was born: the half-ghost boy with a vengeance plan powered by kittens, and the Bat’s youngest, most terrifying son.

Vlad never knew what hit him.

But his cats were very well-fed.

[arinapop]

Reprise

LE SSERAFIM Kazuha x M Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut

10k words

You’ve always loved the carnival. The yellow lights splash across the land like streaks of fire, growing ever more alluring the closer you get. The Ferris wheel is the first to appear—giant, unmistakable. Then the merry-go-round with the painted horses comes into view. Nearby, a huge tent hides the mirror maze underneath.

When you’re right up there, the stalls selling popcorn and potato snacks pop up, filling the evening air with salt and warmth. Maybe you’re a little too old for most of the rides now, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s about how it makes you feel, right?

You thought you’d noticed all the highlights on your way there. But something still feels just out of sight, like the memory is yet to fully take shape.

Then you see. You’d missed something—no, someone important. She might just be the most important attraction here for you.

You don’t remember her being this beautiful.

Your gaze locks onto Kazuha, wearing a sporty white crop top and a baseball cap. Fits the theme. Her jet-black hair dances in the wind, but never blocks her view as she aims a long air rifle at the board of balloons—a fierce look in her eyes.

And when dawn breaks, she’ll disappear, like the carnival itself. Again.

“Still awful at aiming, huh?” Your voice catches her off-guard as she’s reloading for a second try.

She turns sharply—bullets slip from her fingers and roll towards you. You promptly stop them with your feet. “Careful, butterfingers,” you add as you bend to pick them up.

Her eyes stare at you for a moment, flickering with something unreadable, before going back to the natural cockiness you’ve always seen her sport.

She snatches the bullets out of your palm with a scoff. “Not awful. I was compensating for the wind—it changed direction at the last second.”

“Right,” you reply, amused.

“And someone I haven’t seen in years randomly shows up? I think some shock is warranted.”

She takes another shot. This one almost hits the operator a few feet away from the target.

“You know you’re supposed to hit the balloons, right?” You gesture to the board. “Let me have a try before you end up hitting some poor kid around here.”

Kazuha grits her teeth at that comment. As competitive as ever.

“I’m going for the harder balloons at the back. They keep moving.” She puts all her focus on this shot—posture adjusted, wind analyzed and eyes narrowed.

The bullet flies, and this time, hits her target. The balloon pops with a loud crack, startling some kids nearby.

“Yes!” She punches the air. The operator hands over a big teddy bear to her. Kazuha flips you the finger with a smug smile, hugging the bear to her chest.

“You still have a couple bullets left,” someone reminds her. She reaches for the gun—but before her hand can get close, you quickly pick it up. You point it at the same area she was aiming at and fire off two quick shots in succession. Both hit your target, much to her visible displeasure.

Two plushies for you. You turn towards Kazuha and hold them up in mock triumph, taking in the spite written all over her face. It only makes you feel warmer inside.

“Being the gentleman I am.” You offer her both the bears. “I will let the lady have her prizes.”

She rolls her eyes at that and gives the bears to some kid roaming around. He snatches them from her hands and runs away, without so much as a thank you.

A woman nearby, likely his mother, stops and chides the kid. “Go on, thank the nice lady. You can’t be rude like that.”

“Yeah, thank the nice lady who couldn’t win a single thing till I showed up,” you whisper into Kazuha’s ear. She endures the lecture with a tight, polite smile.

”No, no, it’s completely alright. I know how kids can be sometimes.” She grabs your wrist as an excuse and pulls you away with her.

Soon enough, the pair annoying her disappear from view. ”I hate kids,” she mutters, not realizing she can let go of your wrist now.

“That’s funny.” You let her lead. “Because the last time I saw you, you were one.”

Evening slowly dips into night, and more and more lights are being switched on. Kazuha adjusts her cap, tying her hair back with a rubber band. Her perfectly fitting crop top slides up a little as she raises her arms, revealing more of her toned midriff. But the view is fleeting—her hands drop back down, searching for your wrist before she notices she doesn’t need to hold you anymore.

The smell of burnt sugar and frying oil thickens as more stalls open up. Laughter from kids on nearby rides echoes through the air. You’ve walked these places with Kazuha before. But the way her fingers brush her wrist now—you hope, maybe it was yours she was reaching for.

You get the lightest feeling you're seeing her differently this time.

“Gosh it’s been…” She tries to count the years, but gives up. “Forever. Didn't even know if you were alive. Or if you offed yourself for losing to me in too many games.”

“You could’ve known, you know, if you ever bothered to reach out after disappearing.”

She ignores that comment. You want to press again, but the night is just getting started. Maybe you'll get your answers later. Maybe. But for now, you'll let it slide.

“Speaking of games in which you lose to me—” She stops, revealing where she’s been leading you: a big toy hammer leaning against a massive target, and a tower of numbers climbing all the way up to 1000.

You know you’ve been had.

“Remember this?” she asks with a cheeky grin—planned all along.

“Clear as day.” You deadpan.

“Thought I'd give you one last chance to try and beat me.”

The sting of losing to her all those years ago suddenly feels fresh and piercing. There's no way you're still worse than her at this, right? You are a grown man now, and she’s just a girl.

“Loser has to buy the other marshmallows, same rules,” she continues, sweetly. You curse yourself under your breath. You’ve given her way too much money in this stupid game.

“Fine. Who goes first?” You pick up the hammer, feeling its weight.

”Since it’s already in your hand, I’ll let you go ahead, gentleman.” She hands over some change to the operator nearby.

You cannot let her beat you. Not again. Not this time.

You take two practice swings. Grip firm. Stance solid. Hammer lined up dead-center. This can’t go wrong. On the third swing, you go for it, hitting it hard with a satisfying thump which makes the marker shoot up. It races past the initial numbers, and your heart kicks up with it. Maybe this is it. Maybe this time you finally win.

To your dismay, the pace drops rapidly near the top. 800, 850, 900, and the marker comes to rest at 950. One square away from a 1000.

“Not bad.” She almost seems genuine—then the corners of her lips slowly curl up. “But clearly, there’s room for improvement.”

“Oh, cut it out, Zuha. No way you’re making 1000.”

She doesn’t respond right away, picking up the mallet and trying to block out the crowd noise. Her fingers curl around the handle, and that familiar smirk returns. No practice strikes for Kazuha—she’s going all in. But just as she’s about to bring the hammer down, her foot catches on a rock. The swing goes wide, and the hammer almost slips out of her hand.

You burst into laughter, but she’s unfazed. She takes another swing, making sure her feet are clear this time. The sound the button makes is enough to cut through your laughter and let you know she’s smacked it.

The marker shoots up again, and it’s hard to tell if it’s faster than yours. The pace drops like it did for you: 850, 900, 950—and then it ekes out a slow, grinding climb to a perfect 1000.

Not again.

”Streak still alive. Guess you just lost a strength game to a girl, again.” Not trying to be subtle today.

Her arms don’t look remotely like they pack that much power. They’re long, slender, and smooth—not the kind that throws down 1000s like it’s nothing.

What does she even do to be so strong? Although it’s weirdly attractive in a way you don’t quite know how to explain. You don’t know how to explain a lot of things about her tonight—her eyes sparkle with the reflections of the lights surrounding you, and if you stare into the golden streaks in them long enough, it’s almost enough for you to feel something.

Though that could just be the nostalgia talking, you argue.

You have no choice but to add to the already large amount Kazuha has looted from you in this game.

“The lady in the food stall is still the same.” She dips a marshmallow into the chocolate dip and nibbles on it.

“Maybe she loves—” A running kid bumps into Kazuha, pushing her off balance. Her chocolate spills all over your fingers.

“You little shit!” you shout, but he’s long gone already. You steady her with your clean hand. “You okay? Didn’t knock the wind out of you or anything?”

“No, I’m alright.” She brushes herself off. “Was the same kid from before. I suppose this is what I get for trying to give him some teddy bears.”

“Did earn him a lecture.” You hold up your fingers, showing them coated in her dip. “He made my hand a mess too.”

“Well, can’t let my hard-earned snacks go to waste now.” She pops a marshmallow into her mouth and lifts your fingers to her plush lips. She pauses for a second, then slides them into her mouth, sucking the chocolate off like it’s an everyday occurrence.

In her defense, it could have passed for one. A few years back. But right now, it does not feel so everyday to you. Kazuha’s warmth envelops your fingers, savoring the sweetness from you so casually. You hope she doesn’t catch the flush creeping on your face. She’s quick with it—you’re in public after all, but it’s enough to get your pulse racing. Her tongue slips out to lick the remaining off her lower lip.

“Mouth clean?” she asks.

You wish it weren’t (maybe you could have offered to clean it off).

But it is, and you report that truthfully.

You were staring at her face maybe a bit too long—her delicate lips, fierce dark eyes (soft underneath, you know), strands of hair framing her face like she’s a photograph—a moment to be captured, and it’s long enough for Kazuha to notice. She tilts her head, amusement slipping into her eyes.

”All okay? Did I suddenly turn too beautiful for you to take your eyes off me?”

(You have no idea.)

“What—no, no.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting around for an excuse to change the topic. The gigantic rotating structure right behind her catches your eye.

“I was admiring the Ferris wheel behind you. Brilliant architecture, right?” And if your memory serves you right, this might just prove to be the best excuse.

“It’s alright. What’s so brilliant about it?” You can feel her smug exterior crumbling ever so slightly.

“It’s the biggest attraction here and we should definitely go on it once.” (Second biggest.)

“Nuh uh.” She knows your intentions.

“Oh my, the strong and mighty Nakamura Kazuha still pisses her pants at heights.”

“That happened once,” she protests.

“Do you know what happened every time we went on the wheel? You holding—no, crushing my hands and not letting go no matter how much I cried.”

”That won’t happen again, because we aren’t going on it,” she says with an air of finality.

“Can’t believe you’re still afraid of heights.” You shake your head in disappointment.

“I’m not.”

“Then we’re going on it—right now. Even little Zuha wanted to go on the ride. Every single time. Have you really become more of a coward?”

A long sigh leaves her mouth. She’s conflicted, but you can sense the side you’re rooting for is winning the battle.

“Are you gonna hold my hand again when we get to the top?” you ask, waiting in line after getting the tickets.

“Not a chance,” she retorts.

The queue is short, and your turn comes quickly. Kazuha’s denim shorts ride up her thighs as she sits down, and you try not to stare too long. You take your seat next to her in the cramped cabin. The operator pulls the metal bar down with a clang, locking the two of you in place.

The wheel moves a little, then stops for the next passengers to get in.

“The worst part is the loading, really.” She leans forward a bit to look at how far the ground is from her.

After peeking down, she immediately snaps back in place. “Nope, shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

“Hey calm down. Let’s maybe try to talk about something else. What have you been up to? My guess is training to be a professional athlete.”

The wheel is set into motion, and Kazuha breathes again.

“Good guess.” She snorts. “But no. Regular adult life, mostly. Nothing as glamorous as that.”

The wheel stops for the next loading, about halfway up now. You are suspended several dozen feet in the air, feet dangling below. The cart rocks unevenly, making it worse, at times tilting almost perpendicular to the ground. Kazuha’s face is red. She looks like she’s about to throw up.

“Hey, think this is a good time to ask—” She turns to you nervously, voice shaking. ”Are you seeing someone?”

“Not currently, no.”

”So I won’t get jumped by some girl for holding your hand, right?” Her hand slips into yours, palm in palm. She grips you hard—the usual, but you were the one who got her on this time, so you’ll bear it.

“Only if I won’t have to deal with any jealous boyfriends or exes either.” Your other palm moves on top of hers, affirming her grip. She relaxes a little at the touch.

“Boyfriends, no; exes, I’ll trust you to defend yourself if it comes to that.” She rests her head on your shoulder. Her hair falls behind you, brushing softly against the back of your neck.

“Tell me something. If you’re so afraid of heights, why did you want to go on it every time we came here?”

The wheel is moving again, and you’re on the way to the top now.

“Look.” She motions towards what you’re already seeing. The small-town houses look like mere dots across the landscape, none of the buildings tall enough to display any of their features. Rolling green fields surround the town, broken only by the occasional winding road.

Below, the carnival stretches out, cheap decorations and all, but charming in its own right. The striking yellow lights tie it all together. A scene worth the ride.

“I love the view. The town looks absolutely stunning from here.”

“So why'd you just up and leave one day? Seems rather unfair to the town.” (To the town.)

“Because.” She shrugs. “How could anyone be content where they are?”

“Dunno. I could be pretty content staying right here.” You turn, looking into the eyes which effortlessly held your attention the entire evening.

The wheel comes to a slowing halt right at the very top.

“Talking about the view or me?” Her eyes look back at you, pupils dilating in the lush ambient glow around. You could stare into them forever.

“I mean the view—” Your throat tightens. Words stuck in your mouth.

"Is that all you were gonna say?"

“You, you look so beautiful.” You barely manage to get it out.

“Kiss me, then.”

What happens next is a blur. Purely instinctual.

She pulls you in, your lips connecting like opposite poles of a magnet, finally allowed to meet. Your hand wraps around her waist, and her fingers thread through your hair. Her lips are soft and warm—perfect.

There’s still a trace of chocolate from earlier, not that her mouth needs any help being sweet. Her nose brushes slightly against yours, and you keep her lips locked in place, almost like you’re afraid she might disappear again.

A soft whimper leaves your mouth, letting her know how much you’ve wanted this. She tilts your head towards her, finding the perfect angle for you to feel her lips full against yours, her body moving closer. The air between you carries her scent—fresh, floral, sharp.

You wish you could freeze this moment: Kazuha’s lips pressed to yours, the kiss full of everything neither of you could say aloud.

She pulls away for a second, her fingers still tangled in your hair, not willing to let you go. She looks into your eyes, searching for a reaction to what she did.

“Didn’t think I���d ever see you like this,” you murmur.

”Feels right.” Her lips part in a soft smile.

You cup her cheeks and pull her back in, her lips crashing onto yours. You aren’t satisfied with one round. You couldn’t be satisfied with a million rounds.

The wheel is back in motion, the cart rocking gently. Neither of you care. In your world, the two of you are still, existing only for each other.

The night is warm; it’s still summer, but there’s a cool breeze flowing through you now. You’re unsure if it’s because of the ride or the released tension. No—it has to be the kiss. Normal breezes don’t feel this freeing.

The rest of the ride passes in a mix of fervent kisses and dodging onlookers whenever the cart dips too low for comfort. Kissing you seems to work better than any antidote for Kazuha’s acrophobia—you don’t hear another complaint from her. All her attention is on you.

Eventually, the ride slows to a stop. You lend her a hand getting off the cart (though she'll deny ever needing help with that). Palm in hers, barrier lifted.

“Next time, maybe I won't have to fight to get you on this thing?”

“Maybe you will.” She steps out of the cart, getting on the trimmed grass with you.

”I’d do a lot worse things to kiss you like that again.”

The lips you just kissed waver into a smile as she sweeps a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Didn’t know you had a flirt in you.”

“You weren’t around for my best years.” The thought reminds you. “You never told me why you left.”

She takes your wrist in her hand and starts walking, going who knows where again. Her eyes drift toward the fields far away, like she could find her answer there if she tried hard enough.

“Not my call, really. Mom wanted a fresh start, I think.” She kicks a stone. It skips past a nearby stall. “Said I'll get more opportunities in a big city. More exposure, yada yada. Probably just excuses.”

Her voice trails off for a second, like she’s holding back the rest. Excuses for what? But instead of continuing, she just keeps walking. You decide to give her space for now.

“So, did you? Got into any new stuff?”

“One or two.” Her gaze drops to her feet.

“Like what?”

“Ballet.”

You break into a smile. “Didn't peg you for a pirouette. All that inhuman strength—and you chose ballet?”

“Shut up. I’m good at it.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna need to see a performance to decide, live.”

She scoffs. “In your dreams.”

The walk keeps going. She pulls you past the stretched-out haunted house and the bumper cars. The carnival music fades, speakers switched off one by one as the night gets deeper.

“Do you have a place in mind, or are you just taking me in circles?”

”We are going somewhere. It’s been waiting since we got here, you’ll see.” She rounds the corner and stops in her tracks. Lifting your hand, she points to the huge tent in front of you. “We're here.”

Mirror maze.

“Why does it feel like you've been calling the shots the whole night and I'm just following you?”

“When have I ever taken a bad decision?”

You don’t even bother with a response, and just look away.

“Come on, you’re really gonna pretend we didn’t have fun here?” Kazuha continues, half-challenging. Truth is, there's a spark in her eyes you'd follow anywhere.

You shrug. “Don’t know. Don’t remember much of this.”

”So the onus is on me to make this memorable for you.” She nods like she’s been expecting this.

“What does that even mean?”

Ignored. You turn to the ticket stand—only to find it shut down.

“Zuha, it’s closed. Guess we’re too late.”

A playful smile creeps on her lips. “Just as planned. Follow me.” She heads to the back of the tent, where there’s no one around. Lifting a loose flap, she pulls you in and lets it fall shut behind you.

Shiny is the first word you’d use to describe the place. Disorienting the second. It feels like you’re in one of those high school physics puzzles: Given k mirrors at various angles, calculate how many images you’ll see. The answer to this one is millions. Millions of yourselves and Kazuhas surround you, some even intersecting at odd angles.

You take a step—only to hit yourself on the head. All the Kazuhas around you grin widely as you rub your forehead.

“Watch and learn,” she says and strides forward. Not an obstacle in her path. Eyes locked ahead, no hesitation, almost like the mirrors themselves part to make way for her.

“Caught that grace? Ballet.”

“If you brought me here just to show off again.” You roll your eyes at her. “I'd rather leave.”

She keeps walking, taking right and left turns at specific spots like she's memorized the entire map. You follow. The way she moves—self-assured, hips swaying ever so lightly—is captivating nonetheless.

Your thoughts spill out before you have a chance to catch them. “Though I’d be content just watching you like this.”

That’s not how you talk to your childhood friend.

A soft laugh slips from her. “I thought you wanted to leave a minute ago. Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to show off. I brought you here to show something, if it still exists…” She taps behind the panel of one of the mirrors. “We're in luck.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Shh.” Her finger brushes your lips—light, deliberate. It lingers there a second longer than it needs to. Your heartbeat stumbles. You want to kiss her fingertips, suck them into your mouth like she did yours, but you don't.

“I know you said you can't recall much. But try jogging your memory, do you remember when we used to play hide-and-seek here?”

You take a look around, and in the reflections, the past becomes clearer. Environmental memory and all.

“Somewhat. Didn’t you always vanish for way too long?”

“Precisely. I'm about to reveal to you where I used to hide.” Kazuha motions with a flair suited for revealing a lifelong secret.

She pulls at a mirror. It gives way to a relatively small space—just enough for the two of you to fit, with a little room to spare. Brown walls, a break from the bright and shine everywhere, make it feel like a private spot made only for you both.

You step in first, Kazuha slips in after you. As she moves past, her chest brushes against your hands—slow, almost like she wants you to touch her. You can hear—no, feel her breathing. Steady. Yours isn’t.

A second later, she's in place. The mirror slides shut behind her, darkness swallowing you both.

“Give it a minute, your eyes will adjust,” she murmurs, her hand settling on your shoulder to steady you. “Unless you’d prefer to feel your way around instead.”

You’re facing each other, backs against opposite walls.

“Is this the first time you’re here with someone?”

She nods. Kazuha’s floral scent hits you stronger now that you’re this close to her. You’re almost scared to breathe her in twice.

Your eyes adjust, just enough to make out her face. You can’t help but admire how gorgeous she is, right there in front of you, even if you can barely see her in the dark.

Almost like she knows what you’re thinking, she stands on her toes to reach a panel behind you. She pushes it open, letting a few rays of light in. They illuminate her face a little, her features even more striking in the dim golden light. The light carves across her cheekbones, emphasizing their sharpness.

And yet, it’s the same Kazuha you’ve seen a million times.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Nobody will. It leads nowhere, I know this maze inside out. We have this place to ourselves.”

Her thighs touch yours as she settles back into place. It’s incredible how sure of herself, confident, she can be even when she can’t see anything. Or maybe it’s because you’re here with her.

“Why are we here?” you ask softly.

“I’m not staying here long.”

Her words land like a stone in your chest. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, you had no idea why she was even here, but it was easy to get lost in the memories with her and pretend this was permanent.

It’s not though, and her words remind you—maybe both, that this night is fleeting. You need to make it count.

She brushes the back of your neck. The warmth of her body is comforting, even in the summer, heating you up. The silence hanging tells you exactly what you have to do.

You cup her cheek and pull her in, lips meeting yours. You slip a hand around her waist, impossibly slender against you. Maybe there was truth to her claims on grace after all.

Her fingers are tangled in your hair again, messier this time—like she wants to show you exactly how much she wants this. Wants you. She pauses for a second, her lips grazing your ear, breath hot on you.

“And when I said you can feel your way around,” Kazuha whispers. “I meant my body too.”

You don’t move at first.

Not because you don’t want to—God, you do—but because this version of her, the one offering herself to you in the dark, feels almost too surreal to touch. Like one wrong move and she’ll vanish. Disappear into thin air. Again.

“You okay?”

You nod. “I just... I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Her fingers find your chin. She tilts it toward her. “I’m here now. So touch me.”

Your hands trace the outline of her figure. You've touched her before—games, scrapes, fights—but never like this. Never with intentions like this. You slide down the curve of her back, her skin damp from the heat, before finally resting on her ass.

Your fingers hang there awkwardly—hesitant, unsure what to do. Kazuha notices. She places her free hand on yours, guiding, and presses your hand into the soft curve of her ass. It’s plump, yielding, and fits perfectly in your palm.

“Feels good?” she asks, voice low.

“Mhm,” you breathe.

Satisfied, her lips return to yours. You squeeze her ass cheeks again. A soft moan escapes her, caught by your mouth before it can go anywhere else.

The tip of your tongue grazes her lips, asking for entry. And her lips part willingly. Your tongue slides against Kazuha’s in her mouth—hungry, slick, and deep.

For once in her life, she’s happy to lose to you. Her tongue submits to yours, letting you savor her mouth at your own pace.

Her hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of your hardness, already heavy against your pants. She cups it with her palm, groping, gently stroking through the cloth. It only makes you harder. Throbbing. And a grunt slips out at how she's touching you.

She tugs at your pants, asking for more. You grab her wrist and lift it away.

“My turn.”

Her brow lifts slightly, but the corners of her mouth curl in approval. “Someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

You sink to your knees, planting kisses on the abs you've seen all night, but never really admired how fit they are. Tight, slim, built to be shown off, worshipped. And worship them you will, tasting her skin with your tongue, licking across her midriff. Her skin has a hint of salt, sweat glistening under the light, but she still manages to taste sweet.

“Can we at least take my shorts off?” she huffs.

You look up, meeting her eyes. “We've got all night.”

Still, you decide not to torture her further. You unzip her denim shorts and slide it down in one fluid motion. Her black panties greet you, fabric stretched over the shape of her lips, outline clear. You only need one touch to feel how drenched she is, and it’s immediately clear why she needed them off.

Her inner thighs are a creamy, milky white, tempting you to taste more of her. You start with kisses, then drag your tongue slowly over her soft skin. Her flavor is stronger on her thighs, more intense, addicting. You can't get enough.

Her muscles tense beneath your tongue, and Kazuha's fingers weave into your hair. Every flick of your tongue leaves her trembling, you're getting closer, but never close enough. She shifts her body, trying to press down on you, wanting something you won't quite give her.

It’s not like her to beg for anything. You’d probably laugh if someone told you she ever did. But now, for the first time, you hear her beg. Kazuha herself, whispering for release.

“Please.”

Your hands reach behind her and pull her panties down. Her pussy presents itself for you—bare, pink folds slick with a mix of sweat and arousal. Your tongue finishes its ascent, giving her core a long, slow lick. She whimpers, so satisfied. She’s warm, the heat on your tongue telling you just how much she’s been holding back.

Her grip tightens in your hair, urging you closer.

But you tease her instead, giving slow, deliberate licks—agonizingly gentle. You love how each moan slips out in rhythm with your touch, music only you get to hear.

“Someone might hear us,” you murmur, fully aware you’re the reason they might.

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Let them, then. Feels too—fuck, good.”

She gets wetter with every lick, your saliva mixing with her arousal, coating her pussy in a translucent mess. Some of her sweet nectar trickles into your mouth, and you savor every drop. Your hands wander to her ass, groping handfuls of her flesh, driving her further, closer, deeper into ecstasy.

“Clit too, please.”

You wrap your lips around her clit, one swirl of your tongue, and she’s squirming. Kazuha arches her back, trying to push herself further against your tongue, wanting all of you on her.

You pick up the rhythm, quick swipes of your tongue at her clit, and she melts into a moaning mess. Her hands clutch locks of your hair, not daring to let you go.

“Had no idea you were so fucking good at this.”

Her thighs lock on either side of your head, pushing you further and further into her heat. You can barely inhale anything but her pussy now—her sweat, slick, lust for you. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The more frantic her hands grow in your hair, the more you reward her with your mouth.

And it’s no surprise she’s already getting close. She grinds her pussy on your tongue, chasing her release. Her knees go weak, and her fingers dig deeper into your scalp, as if needing you just to stand upright. You press her further against the wall, steadying her.

Her wetness is all over herself, thighs, abs, pussy, coated in her own desire. Her moans take over the entire room—someone’s definitely hearing, and she couldn’t care less.

She’s screaming all sorts of things, your name included, and it’s the first time you’re hearing it in this flavor out of her mouth. You could get used to it.

As she finishes, a gush of juices flows into your mouth, and everywhere else. Your cheeks, lips, and neck are all a mess. Kazuha’s slick is all over you, and you could stay like this forever. (Not literally forever—good thing she always carries tissues)

“Maybe I did miss out on a few things,” she says between heavy breaths.

You look at her with an expression that says, I told you so.

You climb up and kiss her lips, offering her a sample of her own juices. Her tongue slips out to swipe at your mouth, tasting the mix of her slick and your spit, and she laps it up into her own. She lets you go once she’s satisfied.

“Not bad. Been a while since I’ve tasted myself.”

“You're kidding right? You taste incredible.” You wipe some off your mouth.

“Since when do you shower me with praise like this? Maybe I should disappear more often.”

She rests for a good few minutes, catching her breath. Once she's steady, her hand slides down to your pants once again, finding your cock pressing through it. “Can I have my turn now, Mr. Decision Taker?”

“Sure, but I don't see how anything can match up to the performance I just gave.”

“Ooh, shouldn't have gone there,” she purrs, dropping on her knees in front of you. Your pants are tugged down quickly, your hardness even more obvious on your underwear. “You have no idea what you started.”

“Or maybe I know exactly what I'm doing.” You grin, hand slipping through Kazuha's hair.

There’s no hesitation in her grip as she fondles your boner through the cloth, trying to familiarize herself with the shape before she even sees it.

“Brat…” She rolls her eyes as her fingers tighten on you.

“Just the way you like it.”

She slips her hands into your underwear and pulls your cock out. You’ve known those eyes your whole life—seen them light up over dumb jokes and game nights—but now, they’re locked on your cock like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Someone must have been feeling a little… constrained.” She runs her fingertips along your length, barely brushing. Every touch sends sparks dancing across your skin.

She glances up, catching the way you squirm. “Two can play at the teasing game.”

Your cock is throbbing, twitching for anything more than the ghost of her touch. Your thighs tense without permission, breath catching—shallow, uneven. You want to grab her hand, make her finish what she started. But you also want to stay still, because somehow the way she looks up at you, barely touching, is better than anything else could be.

Once she decides she’s done playing, she wraps her palm around you, slow strokes gliding up and down your length. You let go of a soft moan, ”Zuha…”

Her eyes meet yours and she strokes you firmer now, steadier. “I like hearing you say my name like that.”

“Keep going and you’ll be hearing it a lot more.”

She brings in her mouth close to your tip, tongue about to slip out—

—instead, a hot breath rolls over your skin. It hits you like lightning. Your cock pulses harder than before.

“Oops. That wasn’t intentional.” The smile tugging at her lips says otherwise. Her hand rubs gently over your tip, like nursing an injury. She holds your base firmer, leans in near your tip again—breath careful this time—and kisses it. Another, then another, and plants a line of kisses to your base.

Finally, her tongue slips out, and she licks you all the way back to the tip.

Kazuha gives you a few more licks, slow and deliberate, making sure not a single spot is untouched. Your cock is lathered with her spit, giving it a glossy finish.

“You taste good.” Her eyes glint up at you. “Could suck on this all night.”

You’re already getting weak for her. “Not sure I can last that long. But we’ll try.”

One of her hands drifts down to your balls, massaging you gently. Suddenly, she squeezes too hard.

“Ah—careful,” you wince, hips pulling back instinctively.

She lets go instantly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Was that too hard?”

You nod.

“Should I stop with my hands?” A flush spreads over her cheeks, as if she’s second-guessing herself. Doesn’t happen often.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You stroke her hair, trying to soothe her. “I know you didn’t mean to. You can still do it if you like, just be a little gentle. They’re sensitive.”

“Okay, I'll be careful.” Her hands return to your balls, fondling with a calculated care.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.” You cup her face with one hand. “Don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Her cheeks only flush a deeper red at that comment. She tries to ignore it and focuses her energy on your cock instead, trying to wipe that smile off your face.

Her hand spreads the slick mess all over your shaft. Your fingers dig deeper into her hair, urging her to take you in—and to your surprise, her lips immediately part open. Guilt always did make her more agreeable. Her hands rest on your thighs, steadying herself, breath hot against you.

Then she takes you into her mouth.

She’s soft. So warm. Incredibly wet. Her mouth wraps tight around you, tongue flat underneath, her spit making you slick as she slides deeper. Her cheeks hollow—sucking hard enough to pull a sharp gasp out of you. You twitch inside her mouth, and that is all the encouragement she needs to keep going.

Her tongue swirls around your cock, slurping loudly as she sucks, like she’s convinced it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

She keeps you there for a while, her eyes gripped on yours, watching them roll back deeper with every passing second. Drool slips from her tongue, soaking your cock until it runs down and lands on her own midriff.

“Your mouth feels unreal.” It takes effort to even pronounce words. “Zuha.“ More moans of her name, as promised. You see the glimmer in her eyes every time you say it.

She slides you deeper into her throat, her lips brushing against your waist. Her throat constricts around you—so fucking tight. Kazuha’s making the dirtiest noises you’ve ever heard.

And when she finally can't take it—she pulls back. Her face is a mess. Strands of her spit glide from her lips to your cock. It almost feels wrong to see Kazuha like this, but then why does it feel so fucking good?

She steadies herself with a breath, then plants kisses down your length, getting ready to take you back into her mouth. You brush a few strands of hair out of her face and lock them in your hand, still gripping her hair. Her lips envelop your length again, the sensation drawing a grunt out of you.

Her mouth bobs up and down on you, taking you deeper with every round. Your knees go weak, and you look around for something to hold onto—but nothing.

“Is it okay if I hold your hair tighter?”

She nods, unbothered, and barely reacts when you tighten your grip on her hair like your life depends on it—focused on worshipping your cock. If anything, she takes it as a sign to go harder. Her mouth moves faster on you, suction tighter than ever.

The wet, slick sounds of her lips on your shaft are somehow louder than your moans.

Her lips release you with a pop, and her hand takes over—lips kissing your tip as her grip tightens, almost possessive of you. She strokes you, steady and firm, and for once, your moans rise louder than the obscene sounds she makes. The sensation makes your back arch, every movement pushing you closer to release.

“It’s okay, you can cum on me.” Her hand keeps working you, milking you for all you’re worth, her face right below your tip.

And then you let go. Thick ropes shoot out of you, landing across Kazuha’s face—forehead, cheeks, chin, and some in her mouth as well.

A few drops drip down to her chest and midriff. She’s a total fucking mess for you—and somehow still manages to look like the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen.

“So, not matching up to your performance is out of the question.” She swipes a streak from her cheeks and licks it off her fingers.

You struggle to form a response. It takes a while before you can say, “Ouch. And here I thought you were doing all this because you were into me.”

“Of course I am, you dork.” She gestures to the sticky trails from her hair down to her body, like that alone should be proof. “And I pull off this look too, by the way.”

“Sure you do. Thank God you always carry tissues though.”

“Yeah, God,” she mutters, already digging through her bag—only to come up empty-handed. “Not this time.”

”What the fuck? We are not going out like this.”

”Yeah, I gathered.” She lets out a quiet breath while she takes one last look in her bag. “I can’t walk out covered in cum and spit. You’re gonna have to go grab napkins for me.”

”Your juices are all over me as well, ma’am.”

“All this is definitely worse. So you are going.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You stand there, staring at her, she is right. There’s no way she's stepping outside like that. Which means it's on you to dodge a dozen eyes and sneak your way to a food stall for napkins.

She looks at you, eyes glinting, lips pursed like she’s trying to suppress a smile.

”Not funny, Zuha.”

She shrugs. “A little funny.”

The packet finally comes out from her bag, and right when you’re about to grab it—it slips from her hands.

“Jesus. At this rate I might have to actually go out like this.”

She picks it up and offers one to you. “If I were you, I’d be thankful someone actually brought tissues.”

You grab it and start wiping yourself off. “We should take this someplace a little more… intimate. No point taking risks like this again.”

“That, I agree. But where?” She's dabbing at her face too. These are the wet deep-cleanse ones. Should do the trick.

”Same as usual, my place? Nobody’s home—whole reason I came here.”

“Works.”

—

“So what did you use to do there before you, you know, had a guy to play around with?” You plop on the couch beside her, packet of cookies in hand. The air conditioner drones in the background, a welcome break from the heat outside.

“Play with myself,” she says casually, grabbing a cookie.

You turn to her, brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that, dumbass,” she shoots back. “I meant doodle, sing songs, dance.”

You flip through TV channels, stopping on some old sitcom. “Prefer my company to that?”

“It’s close, but I’d say so.”

“Ever think about what life would’ve been like if you’d stuck around?”

“Sometimes.” She pulls at the strap of her top, then lets it snap back.

“Maybe we wouldn't have had to wait so many years for something between us.”

“Or maybe things would have never gone this way.” She leans back on the couch. “We were around each other all the time back then. And still—nothing.” Her eyes drill into the ceiling.

The TV screen flickers, static crackling from the speakers.

“Does that sometimes. Let me go check the connection.” You head behind the TV stand, feeling for the loose wire. You crouch down, out of her line of sight.

“Did you miss me?” Her voice is quiet, distant, like she’s not sure she wants the answer.

You don’t reply right away, spending a few seconds fiddling with wires that aren’t even loose.

“Sometimes. Like when I got sick, I half expected you to show up with juice and stupid movies again.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

You get up and walk back to the couch. “I never understood why you ghosted. Just had to make peace with it—no other option.”

“You really wanna get into all that?”

“Of course I do, Zuha. We were best friends for a decade. Whatever this is now, barely a night. I still care about you. That’s the issue, really.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She lets out a long sigh.

“Life got… weird when I moved. My new school was awful. I tried. But people either acted off or pretended I didn't exist, so I just stopped”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting her posture.

“And home wasn’t much better. Dad rarely visited, guess that was always the plan. Everything sucked. I wanted to text you—God, so many times. I’d open our chat and just sit there like an idiot.” Her fingers tug at a thread on the couch, eyes somewhere else.

“I couldn't. I was scared. Scared you'd moved on. Scared I'd look pathetic like that.

I wish I did though. Tonight… felt easy. Felt right.”

She meets your eyes now. “And more importantly, it was fucking unfair to you. I'm so sorry.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy.

“Hey… that sounds rough. Must have been hard to reach out with all of that going on. I had a sense things weren't great with your parents but not the full extent.” You pull her head to your chest. “I’m glad you told me though. Are things better now?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m alright now. I still think about you from time to time, but it felt like the door had closed by then.”

She stretches her legs, resting her head higher up your chest. “Shit, we've been talking all about myself. What about you? How’s life been?” Her eyes glance up at yours.

“Nothing that dramatic.” You chuckle. “Stayed at the same school. Then college. Got an internship starting soon, offer came through just a few days back.”

“Wow. Someone’s been busy winning.” Her voice softens. “I’m proud of you. If we’d still been in touch… I probably would’ve been the first person you told.”

“Nah, you never were.”

“Shut up, I so was.” Her palm covers your mouth. “You came running to me to celebrate after placing second in a sack race.”

“Hey, it was a highly competitive—” You fight to lift her hand off. “—race. Millions would’ve killed to get on the stage and collect that medal.”

”Sure.” She laughs—the sound so sweet to you. Infectious. You can’t help but join in.

Both of you sit there for a second, smiling, catching your breath. It's easy like this. Familiar.

You nod toward your bedroom. “I suppose we should be making up for the missed movie nights.”

“You wanna watch something or just sleep with me?” She grabs your wrist, tugging you along.

“Wow, that reminds me. One of those sleepovers, you fell asleep first, as usual, on me and I had the most confused boner ever.” You pause. “Maybe I shouldn't have said that out loud.”

“Were always into me, huh?” She looks back over her shoulder at you.

Your memories tug at you, almost like they're trying to say something. “I'm not sure. Which is what made it weird.” Her step slows a little.

“What’d you do?”

”What could I do? I waited till it went away, then went to sleep.” You reach the bedroom and shut the door behind you. “Can't believe our parents never suspected anything, with how close we were. Not that we ever crossed the line back then, but still.”

Kazuha gets on the bed with you, pulling the blanket over you both. “My mom did. She had the same two lines every time I left the house—‘Tell your boyfriend I said hi,’ or, ‘Have fun on the date.’”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Your lips twitch into a smile. “How come I never heard about this?”

“Because I told her if she ever called you that in front of you, it'd be the last day she saw me.”

“Sounds about right. Didn’t she question your tragic outfit choices for a ‘date’ though?” You pull up Netflix, and hand her the remote. “Your pick for the night.”

She scrolls through the options. “You want me in some short little dress or what?” Her nose scrunches just at the idea.

“Obviously. Don’t you do ballet anyway?”

“Performing’s different. I’d probably cancel the date if I had to wear one outside.” She eyes your watch history. “What kind of trash do you watch?”

You sit up, facing her. “Let’s up the stakes of our next hammer game—marshmallows are boring. If I win, you’ll wear a dress on our date.”

“And if I win, the dress goes on you?”

You stare at her, deadpan.

“Kidding.” Her hand reaches for yours, intertwining fingers. “And you're never winning against me. So if you really wanna see me in a red dress, choose a different bet.“

“Why red specifically? Maybe I’d rather see you in green.”

”Wasn’t red your favorite color?” She finally settles on a cheesy romcom.

“Didn’t know favorite colors are still a thing after you grow up.” The movie begins—opens on a girl monologuing that she’ll never settle down. “Wow. You called my taste bad, and now we’re watching someone explain why love isn’t for them for the hundredth time?”

“Best I could salvage from your recommendations list. And hey, fits the mood at least.” She slides her fingers up your arm, and they settle on your shoulder.

“And what kind of mood would that be?”

Her grip tightens on your shoulder as she leans in. “It’ll take her the whole movie to realize that love is, in fact, for her.” Her hair hangs dangerously close to your face, brushing your cheek. “We can skip to the ending.”

You breathe her in. “Why does your hair smell so good? What's that scent?”

“Same shampoo I've always used.”

“No way. Didn't smell like this before.”

She laughs. “Maybe you had rocks for a nose back then.” She moves even closer, and you can feel her breath, hot against you. “You smell it better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, moving in to kiss her neck. Kazuha wraps her arm around your waist. A low moan slips from her lips as you leave a trail of soft pecks down her neck. She tilts her head back, letting you find the curve of her neck better. You keep kissing her—until a crop top interrupts your descent.

“Want it off?”

You nod and help her lift it off. You continue your path, lips brushing on her collarbone. Your hand finds her chest, cupping her breast through her bra. Her breath hitches. Her soft sounds grow louder at how you’re touching her.

She lets her hands wander down your body, feeling your hardness poking through your pants. “Already hungry for more?” Her fingers grazing you like that don't help at all.

“Hungry for you, Zuha.” It feels so good to tell her that. Your lips find her cleavage, kissing at the tiny bits peeking out from her bra. The chatter of the movie—the female lead’s friends urging her to text someone—fades into the background, replaced by the sounds Kazuha makes just for you.

Your hands reach behind and unhook her bra, freeing her tits. Her breasts are soft and creamy, perfectly shaped for your hands and mouth. You taste them—tongue gliding over her sensitive skin.

Her nipples are already taut, and you take one into your mouth, savoring the texture of her arousal. Her hand tangles in your hair. She’s not willing to risk letting you go.

You feel her other breast with your hand, taking her in your palm and gently squeezing—more moans for you. She leans back, pushing more of her flesh into your mouth, urging you to have more of her.

You take your time with her. Quick swipes of your tongue, gentle sucks on her nipples, your hands massaging her tits, and with every motion, soft sighs slip from Kazuha’s mouth.

“Figured you’d be thorough with this too” She lets out a breathy laugh. You can feel her body getting hotter—and one slip of your hand beneath her shorts confirms what you were thinking—she’s soaked. You gently push her onto her back, climbing over her.

“These aren’t needed.” One swift motion—and her shorts are off and on the bed. Her juices are already soaking through her panties, leaving damp spots on the sheets.  You kiss your way downwards, moving to her abs—before she stops you, clutching your shirt.

“Can we please take this off too?” she asks.

“You’re so adorable being polite during sex, you know?”

She smacks your shoulder—

—”Ow, that hurt.”

“Yeah, kind of the point. Now shut up and get naked with me.”

“What's wrong with me finding you cute like that?” You shrug and let her help you take your shirt off.

She shifts her gaze. “I don't know. That's not… our thing.”

“Going down on each other wasn't our thing till tonight. Didn’t stop us.”

“Good point. But that doesn't mean everything will change overnight.” She drags a line down from your chest—coming to a stop at your waist. “Do your pants need a separate invitation?”

You take off your pants and underwear, and she’s wrapping her hand around you again. She grips you tight, stroking your length.

“I want you in me.” Her hand glides naturally on your cock this time, like she knows exactly how to please you best.

“Come here.” You help her get her panties off, her hand not letting go of you—almost like you’d disappear if she did. You stare at her beautiful bare folds, coated in her translucent arousal, aching for you.

Kazuha’s hair is spread across the pillow, framing her face, almost angelic. She breathes short, needy gasps; even having your cock close to her core is too much for her. You line up your tip against her lips, her heat brushing against you. Every graze sends sparks flying through both of you.

Her hands come up to your face and tilt it toward her. “Look at me, please,” she whispers.

You meet her gaze as you slide inside her. Your cock is immediately wrapped in her warmth, drowning in her wetness. “Fuck,” she hisses. Her walls clench down on you, gripping you tight, almost making you lose control.

“Zuha, you feel amazing.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. You can tell she needed that. You want to throw in another unnecessary quip but you decide against it—enough smacks for the night. Her walls stretch around you as you go deeper, adjusting for your thickness. Your hips meet finally, your cock fully enveloped by Kazuha’s warmth.

“Go ahead,” she sighs, arching her back slightly to give you a better angle. Her juices spill all over your cock. “Give it to me.”

You start slow, drawing your hips back leisurely. Her eyes flicker—caught between wanting to shut them and savor the feeling, and keeping eye contact with you.

“Ah!” She parts her lips when you thrust back into her wetness. Your fingers roam her body—the curves of her chest, the tightness of her abs, the softness of her thighs. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Your hand comes to rest on her hip, gripping her to steady yourself. You find your rhythm, your cock disappearing into her with every slow, deliberate thrust.

Your fingers press deep into her as you build momentum, little by little. You take a quick look at her reaction to make sure it doesn’t hurt her—all clear. If anything, the lip bite says she likes how possessive you’re being with her.

Each time you push into her, she lets out a louder moan—soft, breathless gasps spilling into the space between you. Her cheeks flush, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gives herself over completely. God, you could watch her face look like this forever.

It’s mesmerizing, really, how easily you can push her into the depths of ecstasy.

One of her hands grips your waist, grounding herself against you as she basks in the feeling of you fucking her.

“Fuck, just like that,” she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. The last word comes out somewhat awkwardly, but with how much of a moaning mess she is, it’s hard to tell. “Feels so good. Please, don’t stop,” she gasps, her perfect tits bouncing with every thrust.

“Not—” You grunt, hips rocking into her. “—planning to. You feel so—fuck—fucking good, Zuha.”

She fights to keep control of herself—loses. Her back arches, then sinks deeper into the bed, eyes closed shut as she melts into you. Her legs hook behind your back, thighs tightening around your waist, locking you in. Kazuha surrounds your entirety.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her mouth cups into an ‘o’, her body trembling as the pleasure crashes through her. You already know: It’s an image that’s not leaving your mind so easily.

One of the (several) things you’re getting to know about Kazuha tonight is that when she cums, she leaks like a waterfall.

Her juices gush all over your cock, somehow drenching it even more than before. Her body first tenses around you, then she quivers in pleasure, trembling. Her eyes flutter open to meet yours.

“Are you close too?” she asks. You nod in response. If you weren’t already—the sight you just saw was enough to nearly push you over.

“Keep going, feels so good.” She drapes an arm around your neck—the motion almost too much for her spent body. “Kiss me, please.” You lean in close to her, Kazuha exhales softly when your lips touch.

The kiss is lazy, lingering, a complete contrast to the rhythm of your thrusts down below. You pull back just enough to ask, “Zuha, where should I—uh, cum?”

Her brow furrows briefly. “Wherever you want… but I wanna feel all of you in me.”

“That’s what I want too.” You drive into her with a few final pumps—climax fast approaching.

“Cum in me, sweetheart,” she whispers against your ear. Your lips go back where they belong—pressed firmly to hers.  Thick streams pour into her. Her soft, drenched pussy pulls you in, clenching tight around you.

“Give it all to me,” she breathes. “Every single drop.” You keep pulsing inside her, each spasm dragging more of you out. She takes it so well, her body milking you dry like her words promised.

You slowly pull out of her, your cock slipping from her soaked core. Your release drips out of her, trailing down her thighs. You collapse beside her, every muscle sore. Kazuha clutches the sheets, still breathing hard next to you.

"That was nice," she sighs.

"Nice sounds like a participation award."

"Fine, it was fucking amazing."

“I hope you mean that." You drape an arm around her shoulder. "Wanna go sit on the fields later? Big cities just don’t have skies like these.”

“Yeah. Been so long since I’ve properly seen stars.” Her head rests on yours.

“Can’t say the same, seeing one right next to me.”

“Gosh, enough flirting for the night, Romeo.” The way her cheeks turn red disagrees with her words. “Starting to miss the days when you’d just call me names all day.”

“Who says I can’t do both, loser.”

“There we go. Much better.”

“Besides, you were the one who called me sweetheart earlier.”

“Never happened. Oh, and we don’t have to leave right away, right?”

“No.”

“Good. I wanna rest here for a while.” She snuggles up to you and shuts her eyes.

—

You lie down on the damp grass, the air cool this late at night. The blades are soft but cling to your skin, carrying a faint earthy scent.

Kazuha settles beside you. The sky above is wide and clear, scattered with stars. In the distance, the Ferris wheel still glows in yellow.

Balloons are being popped, stalls shuttered. Leftover food dumped into buckets. The painted horses are lifted from the merry-go-round, loaded piece by piece into trucks. Teddy bears crammed into plastic covers. The tents are gone—replaced by bare ground with nothing to offer.

“Sweet spot to light one.” She flicks a stray blade of grass at you.

“You smoke?”

Her shoulders rise in a shrug. “You heard my whole story. What do you think?”

“Thought that was just a TV trope. Guess not.”

The wheel lights glow brighter with every minute, while the rest of the carnival dims.

“Would be cool if the carnival lasted all year.” She exhales, like she knows it's wishful thinking.

“Don't know if it'd feel the same. But still, does feel weird watching it get packed up like this—like seeing a school after hours. Or an empty mall.” You wrap a strand of her hair around your finger.

“Liminal space,” she says.

“Hm?”

“Places of transition—or something like that. Exactly what you said. Felt the same to me when I saw it from the train window. The first time I was leaving town.”

The quiet stretches between you. A faint pop echoes, cutting through the silence—maybe another balloon meeting its end. The carnival getting taken apart suddenly feels like the only thing worth seeing.

“So…” You clear your throat. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

She tilts her head up, like she’s just noticed the stars. “I lied about something.”

“Wait—you're staying?”

“No. I’ve got a ticket.”

Something in your chest crumples, slow and painful. “What is it?”

“About why I always wanted to go on the ride with you, even when I was scared of it as a kid. The view was nice and all, but I never got the appeal.”

“Then why?”

“You liked it. I wanted to confess to you at the top.” She draws her knees up, curling into the thought. “Cheesy, I know. But I saw how your eyes lit up at the view. I wanted some part in that.”

She pauses, then adds, “And felt nice to have an excuse to hold your hand.”

It takes a few seconds to respond with a question that only sounds smaller out loud. “Why didn’t you—you never told me.”

“Chickened out every time. It hurt, not being able to tell you. Whenever you smiled at me there, it felt like I was drowning. And when I was leaving the last day…” She takes a long breath.

There’s a heavy thud of something getting thrown in a truck.

“But I could never risk what we had—could never risk hearing that you didn’t love me back.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” You say it with such conviction that it silences whatever doubts were still in her eyes.

“The second I saw you here today, knew I had to take my chance. Wasn’t getting yet another one.”

“Guess you took it.”

She shifts slightly, turning towards you. The grass rustles beneath her. “What I’m trying to say is, yes, I have a train to catch. But no, I’m not disappearing again. Not without you.”

Her words echo in your ears. They settle somewhere deep in your chest, humming.

All those nights you spent wondering why she stopped replying. Why she left without a word. Wondering if you were the reason she never looked back.

“So, what—I just drop everything and follow you?” The words come out uneven, rougher than you expected.

“No, but that doesn’t mean this has to end here either.” Her voice wavers, choking in her throat. “That doesn't mean I can't still have you in my life, right?”

Something in her tone sounds different this time. Like she’s scared to lose you too.

“True.” A soft gust of wind ruffles her hair across your cheek. “Suppose our date with you in a red dress will have to wait.” (But not forever, right?)

For the first time in all the years you’ve known her, you see her eyes pool. They shine—stars caught beneath the tears. One drop falls onto your shirt, sinks through the fabric, straight into your skin. Burning.

Her hand finds yours and squeezes, probably harder than she means to—as always. She whispers, “I’ll wait for it.”

The Ferris wheel flickers once, then goes dark.

—

[vadlings]

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

[lives-in-midgard]

Can't lose you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader including Sam Wilson and Joaquin Torres

Summary: After Bucky found out that you had a car accident and are now in the hospital. He rushes to the hospital and is scared to lose you.

Warnings: slight mention of a car accident, sad and scared Bucky 🥺

Word Count: 1266

A/N: Hey! It's been a while since I wrote a Bucky fanfic. I hope you enjoy it. 🥰

Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Bucky was at Sam and Joaquin’s base, talking about a mission when he suddenly got a call from an unknown number.

“Hello, am I talking to James Buchanan Barnes?” The woman said on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, that’s me.” Bucky said and looked over to Sam. Suddenly he began to get nervous. What if something happed to you?

“Did something happen to my wife?” Bucky asked and was scared what she would say.

“She had a car accident and is in the hospital. Your wife is currently getting operated.” She said and Bucky’s heart began to race. The woman explained some more things to Bucky, but he was too nervous to listen to everything.

“Thank you, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Bucky said and as the call ended, he took a deep breath. He looked at the ground for a second and his eyes began to get blurry. Sam and Joaquin who could hear the conversation looked at each other with a worried expression. Sam walked over to Bucky and laid his hand on Bucky’s shoulder to give him some comfort. Bucky looked at Sam with a worried expression.

“I have to go to her.” Bucky mumbled and Sam nodded.

“We’ll drive you.” Sam said and looked at Joaquin who was already grabbing his car keys.

“Thanks, Sam.” They made their way to the car. Bucky didn’t pay much attention to the drive. He looked down at his wedding ring and softly touched it with his thumb and thought about this morning. The morning started so good. The day always starts good when you’re in his arms. A light smile appaired on his face as he thought back to today’s morning conversation. You had to get up and go to work but Bucky didn’t want to let go of you. So, you stayed a few more minutes and cuddled.

“Bucky we’re here.” Sam softly said and interrupted Bucky’s thoughts. Bucky looked up at him and then they walked to the hospital. As they walked into the hospital a nurse told Bucky where they could wait for a doctor. The three of them sat down on the chairs and Bucky looked at his ring again and started to play with his hands.

“I can’t lose her too.” Bucky suddenly whispered while a tear ran down his cheek. He thought about his sister, his parents and about Steve. You were the only family he has and he loved you so much.

“Buck, you won’t. She is a fighter.” Sam said and a light smile appeared on Bucky’s face.

“Yeah, you’re right. She is.”

“Thanks for being here with me.” Bucky said.

“Of course.” Sam said and Joaquin nodded. You are also important to them. They are one of your closest friends.

A few more minutes passed until a doctor came to them. Bucky, Sam and Joaquin all looked to her.

“Mr. Barnes?” She said and Bucky stood up.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asked.

“Your wife is stable. She is still asleep, but you can go to her, I’ll come and check on her in a bit.” The doctor said and Bucky felt relieved knowing that you were stable and that he could see you. Before walking away Bucky looked at Sam and Joaquin who both also looked very glad that you were okay.

“We’ll wait here.” Sam said and Bucky nodded. Then he followed the doctor to your room. Bucky opened the door and quietly walked over to your bed. He sat down next to your bed and reached for your hand, drawing soft circles on the back of your hand. A couple of minutes passed until you woke up. A soft smile appeared on his face as he noticed that you started to wake up.

When you woke up you looked into Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Bucky.” You mumbled and looked around.

“You’re at the hospital my love.” Bucky said and you could remember what happened.

“I had an accident.” You whispered and Bucky nodded.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, doll.” Bucky admitted as he softly held your hand and gave it a gently squeeze. You gave him a small smile.

“Sam and Joaquin are also here.” Bucky said after a moment, and you were relieved that he wasn’t alone. A while later there was a knock on the door and a doctor walked in.

“Mrs Barnes, how are you feeling?” She asked and looked at you.

“I feel tired and exhausted.” I admitted.

“That’s understandable, you have been though quite a bit. The surgery went well but you have to stay here for a few days.“

“So, she is okay?” Bucky asked to make sure.

“Yes, they both seem to be in perfect health.” The doctor said. You looked at Bucky with a confused look. Bucky was as confused as you and looked back to the doctor.

“You said they both?”

“I did. Mrs. Barnes. You’re pregnant.” She said and you couldn’t believe it. You began to smile and looked over to Bucky who also had a huge smile on his face.

“We’re gonna be parents.” Bucky said with a smile.

“I’ll let you two alone.” The doctor said with a smile and left the room.

“I can’t believe it, doll.” Bucky said and moved closer to you. He gently placed his hand on your cheek and gave you a passionate kiss.

“I love you.” You whispered as you broke the kiss.

“I love you too.” Bucky said with so much love.

“Can I see Sam and Joaquin?” You asked Bucky after a while.

“I think you should get some rest, doll.”

“Just for a bit.”

“Okay, just for a bit. I’ll be right back.” He said and kissed your cheek before going out of the room. It didn’t take long until Bucky returned with them.

“We are so glad that you’re okay.” Joaquin said with a smile as he entered the room.

“Thanks for being there for Bucky.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Sam said and you smiled back at him and then looked over to Bucky. Bucky nodded at you answering your silent question.

“I bet you will be great uncles.” You suddenly said with a grin.

“What?” Joaquin said confused but Sam started to smile.

“My beautiful wife is pregnant.” Bucky announced with a smile.

“Wow, congrats you two, that’s amazing.” Joaquin said with full excitement and Sam also congratulated you and Bucky. They stayed for a few minutes until you decided that it’s better to rest now.

“If you need anything, just call me.” Sam said before leaving. When they left you tried to move a bit to the other side of the bed.

“Woah, take it easy doll.” Bucky said and quickly stood up to help you.

“Just wanted to make some space for you.” You mumbled and could see how he began to smile.

“You want to cuddle?” Bucky asked in a soft voice, and you nodded. Bucky laid down beside you and gently put his arm around you. You laid your head on his chest, and he gently kissed your forehead. Bucky held you close and began to slowly draw circles on your arm, knowing that it always brings you comfort when he does that.

“I’m gonna be a dad.” Bucky suddenly whispered.

“I already know you’re going to be a great dad.” You whispered and slowly began to fall asleep.

“And you’re going to be the best mom.” Bucky whispered even though you were already asleep. Having you close and knowing that you were okay, finally brought Bucky some peace.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg | @buck-star | @nicoline1998enilocin | @kandis-mom | @sergeantbarnessdoll | @noellez-best-life23 | @beaubbdoll | @sgtgarricks | @ratchildspartan | @scott-loki-barnes |  @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 |

@mrsbuckybarnes1917 | @brnesblogposts | @rogersbarber

[toothtalk]

a neurodivergent spoonie's guide to having teeth

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This blog is for educational and informational purposes only. This does not constitute providing medical advice or professional services. Information on this blog should NOT be used for diagnostics or treating a health problem. Always seek the advice of your doctor or other qualified dental health provider regarding diagnosis and treatment of a dental condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this blog.

this is as close to a comprehensive guide to dental care as i can make. i'm autistic/adhd/ocd/chronically ill and i've worked in dentistry for several years. i want to use my knowledge to help other spoonies struggling with dental care. i know it can be really hard, but dental health is so important and we deserve healthy mouths just as much as NT/abled folks!!

being neurodivergent and/or chronically ill can make personal care tasks incredibly difficult. so many of us struggle with washing our hair, getting dressed, and cleaning up. but remember: hair will grow back if it's damaged, clothes can be washed when they smell bad, and a dirty house can be made clean again, but we only have one set of teeth to last our whole lives. those pearly whites are worth taking care of!

these tips are based on feedback/questions i've gotten from ND folks on tumblr and facebook, patients at the practices i've worked in, and my own experience. standard disclaimer that this information will not be applicable to every single person, just take what works for you and pass the rest on to the next person. i am also a resource for further information. this is going to be pretty rapidfire, so if you want me to elaborate on anything or have a question about something i didn't address in this post, my askbox is open and anon is enabled. i love talking about teeth and i would love to help my fellow spoonies take care of theirs!

without further ado:

on homecare:

any dental professional will tell you that having good oral health starts at home. taking care of our teeth can be incredibly difficult when our spoons are low, so i've made a list of strategies to make it easier.

best practice is to brush twice per day and floss once per day. this may not be realistic for those of us who struggle with habits and/or executive dysfunction. if you can only remember to brush once per day, brushing at night is the most important.

the ideal order of operations is floss, tongue scrape, mouthwash, then brush. but flossing and brushing are the most important steps in the routine.

brushing your teeth in the shower is perfectly acceptable! personally, i keep one toothbrush in the shower and one on the sink to maximize my opportunities to brush.

if you don't have the energy to floss, a toothbrush with fine bristles like this one is a good compromise.

you should replace your toothbrush or electric brush head every three months. the bristles get worn down and become less effective over time. set a recurring event on your phone calendar to keep track!

if you find it difficult to brush your teeth at all, use a washcloth to gently scrub your teeth until you feel that you've gotten the film off, then use a fluoride mouthwash. they also make single-use waterless toothbrushes like these. i like to keep them on my nightstand for really bad days when i can't even get myself to the bathroom to brush.

this is an excellent guide on proper brushing technique.

an electric toothbrush is an excellent investment. even a cheap one at the grocery store is a huge step above a manual toothbrush. personally, i love quip because they're more affordable than brands like sonicare, and they send you replacement brush heads on a regular basis.

be careful not to brush too aggressively; your brush should glide gently over the surface of your teeth. if you feel a lot of friction, lighten your pressure. brushing too hard can wear away your enamel and damage your gums.

if the mint flavor in toothpaste triggers sensory discomfort, try kids' toothpaste! it has less fluoride than adult toothpaste, but it's still miles better than not brushing at all.

mouthwash is used to neutralize bacteria on soft tissues. use an antibacterial or fluoride mouthwash for healthy gums and strong enamel. listerine original is the best, but they have lots of varieties including gum health, alcohol-free, and many more.

whenever possible, use a straw to drink soda or coffee so it doesn't touch your teeth, and rinse with water after you drink it. try to not sip sugary drinks throughout the day. switching to sugar-free beverages will make a huge difference in cavity prevention.

if you have any gaps between teeth, an interdental brush will help you keep the areas between those teeth clean and prevent decay.

i like to keep a package of floss picks in the living room so that i can floss while i watch tv. the best time to floss is right before you brush your teeth, but there is no bad time to floss.

this video shows proper flossing technique. this video shows proper technique when using floss picks.

dry mouth is a lesser-known cause of cavities. saliva protects your teeth from decay, so when you don't produce enough of it, you're at higher risk. dry mouth rinses like this one are a great defense against this!

remember, something is always better than nothing. brushing once a day is better than not brushing at all. flossing once a week is better than not flossing at all. be gentle with yourself.

on finding a dental provider:

finding a new provider and making an appointment can be confusing and overwhelming when we have low executive function. there are some ways to make it just a bit easier.

if you have insurance, they likely have a tool on their website to find providers in your network. you can usually find this information on your insurance card. this should narrow down your options considerably.

the absolute best thing you can do is find a supportive provider who you can open up to about your struggles with dental care. look up your options on google reviews and ctrl+f "anxiety". if these anxious patients have a good experience, it's more likely you will too.

you can ask for recommendations in your local community's facebook group or subreddit, both of which offer anonymity. specify your needs in your post. chances are, other people in your community have similar needs, and can help you find the right people to meet those needs.

a few people expressed that they avoid the dentist because of a family history of poor dental health, and the fear of having the same problems. i want to assure you that, while dental health does have a genetic component, it is far from the only factor. the most effective thing you can do to prevent dental issues is to go in for regular maintenance. prevention is the gold standard in dentistry.

a lot of us struggle with making phone calls. luckily, it's becoming increasingly common for practices to allow online booking and communication via email. look for these options on a practice's website!

if fear or executive dysfunction is getting in your way, phone a friend for help. sometimes things that are hard for us aren't as difficult for others. maybe your roommate can call the office for you. maybe your sister can drive you to your appointment. don't be afraid to lean on your village.

in the dental office:

a big issue with dental offices is that they are basically a sensory nightmare. while it's never going to be fully comfortable, there are some things you can do to make your experience more tolerable.

be open and honest with your dental providers. if you smoke, tell them (this includes cannabis; they cannot report you for cannabis use even if you're not in a legal state). if you've never flossed before, tell them. their job is to help you, not shame you. if a provider makes you feel ashamed, stop seeing them.

so many people have mentioned they're embarrassed about their anxiety and sensory struggles in the dental office. let me assure you that your providers see so many anxious patients every single day. they're used to it, and they're not going to be judging you. to help illustrate this, i'm going to cite some examples of patients from my practice and the ways we help them manage their anxiety and sensory struggles.

probably the most common concern among patients in our practice is a fear of the numbing injection. i have a pretty severe phobia of needles myself. our dental assistants are well-trained to manage this fear. they distract patients during the shot, and help them breathe through the anxiety before and after. this training is part of the dental assistant certification process, so it should be relatively universal.

you can bring a comfort item with you. be it a stuffed animal, a video game, a book, even a comforting person who can sit with you.

you know that lead vest that they lay on you when they take xrays? you can ask to wear that during your whole visit. it acts like a weighted blanket and it feels so nice and comforting. we have a few patients who do this at my practice.

headphones or earplugs are a lifesaver to drown out all the horrible sounds. i literally refuse to get a cleaning without them. there's even a hygienist at my practice that wears earplugs while she's working because the sound of the cavitron bothers her. there's no shame in it whatsoever.

if your practice offers it, nitrous oxide is a great option for anxiety. most people know it as laughing gas. it puts you in a dreamlike state so you're more or less unaware of what's going on. no joke, this stuff had me so relaxed i fully fell asleep while getting a root canal. you can even get it when you get your cleanings!

a lot of our patients request a specific doctor, dental assistant, and hygienist for their appointments. this is incredibly common. if you find someone that makes you feel safe, let the scheduling staff know that you'd like to see that person each time you come in.

dress comfy. there's no dress code for the dental office; show up in sweatpants if you want.

remember at the end of the day, your dental providers are not there to judge you if you don't have perfect homecare. their ultimate goal is to get your mouth healthy no matter your starting place. i can't speak for every dentist obviously, but the dentists at my practice are incredibly patient and sympathetic and have nothing but their patients' best interests in mind.

again: if you feel disrespected or shamed by your provider, find a new one who will be compassionate with you. you don't owe any provider loyalty, even if you've been going there since you were a toddler.

on recovery:

one of the hardest things to do is build healthy habits when you're starting from an unhealthy place. if you're dealing with poor dental health, getting your mouth healthy again can seem impossibly daunting. i'm here to tell you it is possible, but it takes work.

it starts in the dental chair. your provider should communicate what treatment is the highest priority, and they will start there. rather than overwhelming yourself with the big picture, focus your attention on the next step.

things like root canals, crowns, and periodontal treatment can be very expensive. unfortunately, in the united states at least, dental insurance is quite lacking across the board. if expenses are a concern, dental schools are a great option for having treatment done at a low cost. keep in mind that treatment will often take significantly longer due to the dentists being supervised students.

my job in the practice is treatment coordinator. this means that i work one-on-one with my patients to help them understand their treatment plans and make the process as easy and comfortable as possible for them. ask your practice if they have a treatment coordinator. if they don't, suggest that they create the role, and reach out to me here. my dream is to be able to help people manage their oral health. i will be a resource to anyone that doesn't have a treatment coordinator available to help you navigate your course of treatment.

any restorative work (fillings, crowns, etc.) that you have done has to be cared for, just like virgin teeth. cavities can still form underneath fillings and crowns. make sure you are keeping your regular hygiene appointments, and use the above strategies to effectively care for your restorations at home.

if you have a lot of treatment to work through, it may take a long time. we have patients that have spent 2-3 years working through their treatment plans with us. this can feel daunting and depressing. but remember, it's not forever. the majority of these patients who continue to see us for regular visits only have 1-2 new cavities at a time, if anything, once we finish their initial work.

there are very few dental problems that cannot be fixed. cavities can be filled, crowns placed, root canals done to save teeth that are severely decayed. gum disease cannot be cured, but it can be very effectively managed. i see patients all the time that come in expecting to lose all their teeth and need dentures, only to be relieved when we tell them only a few teeth are truly not restorable.

my job revolves around patient education, and it's always shocking to me how little we are taught about caring for our teeth. please be kind to yourselves; it is NOT your fault for not knowing or having the resources to take care of them yourself. once again, my askbox is open and anon is enabled if you have more questions after reading this guide.

[councilofcastamere]

WINTER NIGHTS | CREGAN STARK X TARG!READER ꧂

a b r i d g e m e n t : With tensions rising, your elder half-sister Rhaenyra arranges for you to seek asylum in the freezing land of the North. And fortunately for you, Cregan is there to show you how Northmen operate.

TW: penetration, loss of virginity, breeding kink, mentions gender roles but in a sexy way, sexual tension, sibling jealousy, childhood neglect, mentions of death by birth, shitty character development

A/N: I know the girly portrayed is Visenya but her body is tea in this so maybe I do know best…

The second daughter. The oh-so passed over maiden. Not belonging to anything, nor belonging to nothing. Not the first, and not the last. An ever enduring memory to a passed over era. Nothing significant. Never anything significant.

That’s what you were. Insignificance. A beautiful insignificance, if you could see beauty in tragedy. Beauty in all the ways of life. All the little horrible things that make up a big, beautiful, picture. People shan’t look close, you’d assure yourself.

But you were you. Born to the everlasting way of royal life. To the peaceful Viserys, and his second wife, a woman whose name is not all that important. Another maiden from a noble house that perished to childbirth. Lost her life, giving life.

And as it did not to many maidens, the Gods did not grant you the chance to grow up with your mother. The blood that dripped down her thighs had covered you from head to toe as you came into existence, and she had naught of you in her arms before a deep and long slumber overcame her. The stranger had come for her, and he did not slow down on its way. He’d taken her as quick as she’d given you to the world. A quick exchange, you’d suppose.

Now and then you think about her. What she might have looked like, what she might have liked, what she might have been had she survived the wretched burden of your existence. You’d often wonder if infants who survived childbirth ever felt as deep a burden as she did. To have your very first breath of life tainted with the death of an innocent. Tainted with tragedy.

Growing up in King’s Landing hadn’t been all that as it sounded. You’d never really been that happy, as ungracious as it sounded.

You had an older sister - Rhaenyra - who’d occasionally humoured you. You’d never seen much of her, really. Perhaps it was your own fault as well. For not actively seeking her out. For not being the younger sister one was supposed to be. Some people - as close to you as they may be - are just unattainable in your mind. Your kin aren’t your kin until you allow it.

You have better companions than her, you figured. You had your lady-in-waitings. Lady Vievenne of house Swann. Lady Laycie of house Oldflowers. Lady Claere of house Ambrose. Lady Evelyne of house Hightower, who was, by all accounts, a gift from your newest stepmother, Alicent of the house Hightower.

What you also had was younger siblings. Such as Aegon. Though he is naught but a skirt enthusiast, swimming along the sea of young maidens at his whim. But he cares not whether they are, does he?

And oh, do not get yourself started on the one-eyed prince and that smug little smile on his sharp-featured face. Nonetheless, he was gentle. Oh so gentle with his touch. And oh so sinister in the way that made you feel important enough to be in his good graces.

However, you chose to distance yourself from all parties involved as fate made it clear what it had in store. A great slap to the great Targaryen dynasty. A dark cloud looming over the already curse-clad clan.

For even you knew that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself.

“Sister.” you greeted one late evening, having taken flight to Dragonstone on your she-dragon, Starfyre. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“…y/n.” the elder sister called out, a small smile on her lips. “I… am glad for your visit.”

“…I’m certain you are,” you say, trying with all your might to contain a frown.

You eyed her awkwardly as she wiped her sweaty hands off her dress, letting out a sigh as the elder royal wasn’t quite certain how to approach the topic.

“I… understand… things quite haven’t been… that active, in our kinship,” Rhaenyra speaks up, taking a step closer. “And for that, I apologise.”

You could only nod, a small smile gracing your lips at the heartwarming confession of absent love.

“I apologise, also.” you smiled, your hands finding each other behind your back. “I suppose I should have been the one to seek your company and counsel as well.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly, a silence engulfing the echo-ridden chambers. “The reason, as to why I called you, might be surprising.”

You froze slightly, heart pounding as the possibilities of implications travelled through your mind. The goosebumps on your arms grew more prominent as a cold breeze passed through.

“Oh?” you answered, cocking a brow. “And what might that be, sister?”

“I ask of you to travel to the North,” Rhaenyra admits, a tone of seriousness overshadowing the warm moment. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Cregan Stark, and he has agreed to host you. If it pleases you, of course.”

No answer came out of your lips, save for your a mere breath. You felt a pang in your heart, consuming your every emotion, making certain you cannot detect how you feel about the news.

A dragon in the north? What a jest. You’d do better in Dorne, surrounded by sun-kissed squires and stable boys than laddish lordlings and Northern butchers.

“And… why should I?” you asked, respect in your tone. “Pardon me, my sister, but why have you made this decision for me?”

“Tensions are rising, y/n. You know that as well as I do.” Rhaenyra sighs, her body language giving up on its tense posture. “And I am aware of your… complex feelings on it. But to the North you must. I’m sending Rhaena to the Va-”

“Yes, because Rhaena gets to be hosted by a relative of yours, in safety. Meanwhile you sent me off to some Northern stranger!”

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra warned, raising a brow. She took a step closer as you composed your words. “You are my sister, and I will have you safe in the North. The Northmen are honourable men, and in time you’ll know.”

✫彡

And so you were, clad in thick fur, lady Vivenne and lady Evelyne at both sides of yourself. Across from you sat three servants, and somewhere else sat your sworn shield.

“It will be splendid.” Evelyne beamed, properly adjusting her hair, tied up in a bun, similar to the ones the older maidens wear. “We shall meet every dusk, and speak about our day. In front of the fire.”

“Not if I can help it.” you sighed softly. “Apologies, my ladies, but I’ll let you two get at it. I’d love to explore the North in solitude.”

“Right…” Vivenne nodded, looking through the small peep holes as the carriage slowed down, just outside the gates of Winterfell. “We’ve arrived, I suppose. You’ll have to greet Lord Stark. If he’s anything we’ve heard of and more, I wish you luck.”

You only nodded, watching as your ladies exited the carriage, standing at the side of the door. Their faces are cast down, as if in mourning. Perhaps they’re mourning the life of luxury provided at King’s Landing.

You could not blame them for it, really. From growing up in their own house, to growing up in the Royal house, to trade it again to live to see the snowy winters of Winterfell.

You shook slightly, the cold air hitting your face in an instant as you slightly lifted your dress, taking a step out of the three provided for the carriage.

You looked ahead of you, eyes locking on the noblemen and women, standing straight and proud. The women bore clothes of low quality, so obviously sewn to fit any class. The men wore dark furs, contrasting to the blue clothing of the opposite sex.

And in the midst of it, stood Cregan Stark, accompanied by a mere little boy of just two years of age. Your eyes locked upon his stormy-grey ones, his face etched into a stern expression, eyes focused on yours.

You maintained the eye contact, taking each step closer to him.

“Princess Y/N.” Cregan greeted formally, taking your soft hand in his. “Welcome to Winterfell. I am Lord Cregan Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” you smile, curtsying in a fashionable manner. Your eyes stood glued on his as his lips brushed against the palm of your hand. “I’m truly honoured to be here.”

“…I’m certain you are.” Cregan answered, eyeing you skeptically.

Hearing false compliments wasn’t out of the ordinary for the wolf of Winterfell. He knew well enough that you weren’t suited for the North. You were a Southern lady, used to the life of feasts, luxury, and sparkly dresses.

“Let us go inside, shall we?” you smiled charmingly, looking up at the tall castle with dread in your eyes.

“Aye, so we shall.” Cregan nodded, his broad shoulders most notable as he sauntered into the opened gates.

✫彡

The first night went unfamiliar to you, the harsh blows of the cold weather creating a prominent presence looming over the already melancholic times.

You sat in your chambers, sitting at the stony window sill as you watched Cregan from above.

The lord was overlooking young squires on the courtyard, engaged in conversation with the knight in charge of guiding the young to-be-knights.

All dressed in fur, shoulders looking as if they were padded. Cregan’s hair was tied up, with two front strands escaping and hanging loose. His grey-blue eyes stood glued at watching the young squire’s techniques, and you could only sigh as you got lost in his appearance.

Ever since stepping foot into the North of Westeros, you’d developed a strange sense of interest in the beauty of Northern men. How they all dressed so grimly, but intimidating. How they’re oh-so honourable and hard working. How they always seemed so clean shaven but rugged all at once.

And you could not help but wonder what it would be like had you wedded one of them.

Being completely honest, you’d never really been the sort of maiden to stay inside of her chambers, waiting for her husband to return from his duty, deprived of affection.

With any Southern lord, being a doting unappreciated wife would never cross your mind.

But with Northern men, however, you had the feeling your efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Before you could continue your vulgarly confusing thoughts, you saw Cregan’s eyes shift to yours, finding your gaze.

You could only lean against the window, a hand on the stony side as you gazed back at him. Your hair was loose, and you were dressed in your creamy beige nightdress.

You held his gaze for a moment, until ultimately turning away, leaving the implications of that gaze to his imagination.

✫彡

By the third day, you’d been reading in the old library belonging to House Stark. You’d sat on a plush seat, the dusty book on your lap as your gentle fingers flipped through the pages.

But you weren’t alone.

Cregan Stark sat near you, his knees in almost touching proximity to yours.

“Aye, the North is cold, but it’s honest.” he tells you, gently shutting his own book. “The snow doesn’t lie about its intention. No courtly games like they play in the South.”

“Oh, please.” you smiled, shutting your book as well. your body shifted so it was facing his, resting your head on one hand. “The courtly games are what makes it so fun.”

“Now, riddle me this.” You smiled, noting his full attention on you. His body language exuded calmness, and you felt secure in the knowledge that his comfort lies with you. “How do you not like courtly games? Personally, it makes my life all the more amusing.”

“I suppose it’s all jesting for you, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes resting on yours. “Amusement or not, I’d rather know where I stand…”

“With you, however…” His eyes trailed down to your bare shoulder, the white nightdress you’re wearing very much a sight of sore eyes. “I think I know.”

“Oh, do you?” you teased, cocking a brow. “And how so, pray tell?”

“Well…” he grunted, shifting in his seat to tighten the proximity around you two. “You’d do well not to cross any Northern man. They don’t take well to… courtly games.”

You only smiled at that, your upper body instinctively leaning in, albeit torturously slow.

“And, uh, suppose I… marry a Northern lord.” you teased quite coquettishly, a hand moving to rest on the thick fur coating his body. “What am I in for.”

You watched as his smirk only widened, gently taking the hand that rested on his fur, and taking it in his.

“Marry a Northern lord like me, and have your nights warmed under the thick fur of blankets.” he says, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Northern loyalty runs deep, princess. That’s what you’d be in for.”

You nodded slowly, and you could not help but notice those coloured eyes of his descending onto your perky breasts.

Great, this was all going well so far. “I’d imagine… do you think he’d gift me a pup? I’ve always wanted a tiny pet, to keep.”

“Yeah?” The lord licked his lips, a hand resting on your waist. “You think you’d handle a wolf properly?”

“Well, I would.” you smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m a dragon… and dragons do not surrender that easily.”

You smiled, shifting in your seat again as Cregan amusedly indulged you in your silly thoughts. “Just imagine it, my lord. I’d be holding that pup every night trying to get it to warm to me.”

Your hand slowly, but surely, trickled down to his clothed thigh, trying to maintain a sense of quiet intimacy.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” his voice lowered, bordering on husky. “Wolves aren’t so easily tamed, not even by someone with…”

He paused for a moment, a hand gently taking the one you placed on his thigh.

“…your charms.”

You’d have a cheeky comeback on the tip of your tongue, had it not been for Cregan’s lips descending upon yours, clashing together like Blackwoods and Brackens.

You let out a soft breath as you eased into the kiss, feeling his large hands grip your waists as if his life depended on it.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, to his neck, and then to his armoured chest. The armour he carried felt cold to your hands, yet it made it all the more sinful.

“Did you have this in mind?” you murmured against his lips, tongue circling his as you so sloppily attempted to kiss him. “Seducing me?”

The silence engulfed you two for a moment, only being overshadowed by the sound of soft breaths.

“You have it wrong, princess.” he breathed, firmly planting you upon his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “Do you take me for a halfwit?”

You smiled, looking over your shoulder as you attempted to chase his lips with yours again.

“No, but I certainly did not take you for a man so easily seduced.” you teased, guiding his hands to your clothed breasts. “You don’t seem the type to give in that easily.”

“Because it’s untrue.” he spoke up, lips brushing to against your neck. “But do you honestly think nothing would be done about the way you saunter around, looking as you do?”

His hands slowly tugged against your nightdress, pressing a hard kiss to your achy jaw before pulling away.

“Lay yourself down on the carpet.” he commanded, hands shifting to peel off his fur coat, along with his armour and tunic.

All you could do was nod and watch on as his armour went discarded on the floor, the metal material cranking against the stone ground.

His bare chest was now visible, the defining abs illuminated by the glowing fire. His hair messed up when he threw his tunic over his head.

“Cregan, I-"

And in one moment, you felt his large body overshadow yours, clashing lips again. Cregan lifted his body as to not crush you, hands on either side of your head.

You only permitted yourself to breathe unevenly, stead of moan. Your hands found his shoulders, desiring to pull him closer than possible.

“Ever since you’ve arrived you’d been nothing but trouble.” Cregan murmured, lips finding your throat. “Sauntering around with your ladies, endlessly teasing me.”

Your legs only shifted to wrap around his waist, back slowly arching at the kisses.

He took notice, and let one of his hands pin you down, lips descending towards your perky breasts.

“Gods, you’re wrong for this.” he grunted, swirling his tongue around the nipple. “For provoking me, as you did yesterday, and the day before that.”

“For thinking you have the authority to do this to a lord.” he breathed, your small breast fitting into his large palm.

“For…” he continued, kissing down your stomach, before ultimately glancing back at you “…thinking you’d get away with this.”

“I did not think I’d get away with this.” you tease, watching as he moves face-to-face again. “Which is why I did it.”

Your hands find his muscled arms, squeezing it gently. “I want to know how Northern men do it.”

You’d think you were jesting, but were you truly?

You’d have opened your mouth to say anything else, looking up at him, if it weren’t for the Northern lord himself roughly flipping you to your stomach.

“You wish to know, my princess?” he murmurs, unlatching his breeches. “You’d have your first time be with a Northman?”

You nodded, cheek resting on the carpet fabric without surrender. “Yes. Gods yes.”

He hiked your skirt around your waist, your plump ass visible to his peering eyes.

“You’ll be ruined for other men, aye.” He grunted, his hand wrapping around his rock hard cock.

“That’s good, because I desire no one save you.” you smiled, allowing him to lift your hips up and arch your back.

“Yeah?” he smirked, the tip of his cock rubbing against your damp hole. “You’ll have me make you my wife?”

You nodded, impatiently moving your hips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“You’d be a good wife, wouldn’t you?” he grunted once again, head finally pushing into your unloosened clit. “No Southern games, no poignant looks of yours.”

“You like that about me.” you painfully breathed, feeling the uncomfortable ache of his cock in your newly penetrated cunt.

His head descended, placing gentle kisses upon your shoulders. “A maiden. Perhaps you aren’t as well-equipped to handle a wolf as you said you were.”

“I am.” you protested, pushing your hips back. “Move your hips. I wish to prove myself.”

He only speeded up his thrusts, and as you allowed the moans to fill your lips, his hands found a way to push your head down.

“You’d carry my pups?” he asked, thrusting into you aggressively, pumping his cock in and out. “Wait on my cock every night?”

You only moaned incredulously, asscheeks clapping along with every snap of his hips.

“Yes.” you breathed, gasp and claps filling the room. “Fuck, put a babe inside of me. I want your children.”

“We’ll have to wed sooner, before the babe gets born in wedlock.” he grunted, hands gripping your hips, pushing you back onto his thick length. “But that’s what you wanted all along, was it?”

You gripped the fabric of the carpet, cheeks burning as it rubbed against the irritating carpet.

“For a thick cock such as this.” he teased, tugging at your hair.

“Yes.” you moaned pathetically, cheeks flushed as you felt a knot forming into your stomach.

Your lips parted, your eyes rolling above-ways.

“Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly, feeling his hands grope your breasts. “Fuck, you’re moving fast.”

“Never fast enough.” he murmurs, member sliding against your wet slit.

He could feel your tight walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it is worth. His grip on you tightened as he thrust down to meet your upward motion.

And with one sharp thrusts, you felt the knot loosen and the cream dripping out your twitching clit.

Yet, he didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he rode you through your orgasm.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock was enough to send him reeling as well, burying himself deep inside of you.

Hot spurts of cum dripping out of your hole, you completely got yourself spent, closing your eyes and deciding you could just fall asleep on this carpet.

“No sleeping in the library.” he scolded lightly, putting on his fur coat, covering his naked physique. “Come here.”

You exhaustedly crawled over to him again, and snuck yourself into his coat, the clothing covering both of your naked bodies.

“I’m taking you to your chambers.” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And for the next time, do not attempt to get so exhausted. I went easy on you this time.”

[rocks-in-space]

Once again Aabria has said something on the Fireside that has rocked me to my core in its level of depth of analysis of her character and the world.

“In the same way that Suvi’s irateness at the individualness of Orima is based on, ‘I will consider all spirits people and hold them to the same standard because I know a spirit, and I call him brother,’ that realization that Great Spirits do what they do and they're sort of beyond normal morality and applying normal lenses, is inside of Suvi now as she looks at Steel. I think that Steel as the sort of avatar of the Citadel and her disregard for the Grenaux children, like, “yeah, lots of bad things happen all the time,” she is no different than Orima in Suvi’s mind. She operates at the same scale with the same disregard for the individual, and I think if something interesting is being said about nuance, it is something about scale and size of purview, and how that can lose the importance of like individual care and how you can affect life on a singular and specific and intimate basis.”

Brennan: “…I think if you can level mountains and dry seas with the flick of a wrist, it has ceased to matter whether your origin is mortal or spirit … Maybe there's something about that level of power that removes you from the human heart of the world.”

I'm thinking lots of thoughts about this, mainly in relation to the coven witches as mortals with this level of nigh-spiritual power. Especially Hakea, who I feel really sits at that lost-in-the-sauce of scale and purview but eventually gave up and responded with apathy rather than action. But as she was awoken by Ame, she has returned to Steel- or Orima-level "Let's tear that tower down" rather than an awareness of "singular and specific and intimate" life.

It also reflects really interestingly on Grandmother Wren, as another mortal with this level of purview, likely even more so than Steel. It is her station to not remove herself from the human heart of the world; has she done that? From what we know, it seems so. But maybe being the witch of Toma was extremely important to her for keeping that level of intimate perspective. I wonder what she would have become without it. But also, we know that she had failures as a witch, and perhaps some of them did come from being too focused on the big picture of the worlds of mortals + spirits. Or alternatively, perhaps from having this extreme power but not considering the big picture enough. If you have the power to operate at this scale and pull your punches, is there something to criticize there as well? It certainly seems like the other witches think so, but I’m not sure I agree. (Thinking about “I refrain from fights I know I can win all the time”)

Also as an aside, this conversation I think dovetails beautifully with this line form EXU Calamity:

"Are all of you the heroes that you strove to be, or the villains that from time to time you might've been afraid you were becoming? In a world with this much power, what can be said to be the difference?"

[sexy-monster-fucker]

But Why’s It Feel So Good?

John Walker x Thunderbolts*!Reader Sex Pollen

Summary: While out on a mission together, Reader and John stumble into a researchers trap. Leading to them being doused in an unnamed chemical. [Reader is a former H.Y.D.R.A. Agent with combat experience, along with an endurance boost. Codename: Felidae.]

CW: Thunderbolts* spoilers, kinda enemies to lovers (isn’t everything with John), mutual pining (it's my favorite), typical sex pollen, blood, fighting, sex fantasy, masturbation, biting, oral f!receiving, breeding kink, p in v, creampie,

a/n: if you told me 3 years ago I would be writing a John Walker fanfic I would’ve laughed in your face and called you a liar. But after Thunderbolts*?? I am eating my words

Help Me Move?

title track 🎶🥀

~~~

Stealth.

It was like second nature to you.

Trained for years by H.Y.D.R.A. to go unnoticed. Catlike reflexes accompanied by your ability to take a hit made you a reliable asset. Blending in to any and all environments. Able to disappear on a moments notice. Light on your feet and agile.

Making sure to take all you learned with you when you finally escaped the wretched hooks of H.Y.D.R.A. Being taken in by S.H.I.E.L.D. and finally regaining cognitive clarity. Disgusted by the actions you had committed under their leadership. Having to take time for personal growth and change. Learning alongside some operatives from the original Avengers.

Eventually parting ways once security had been breached. Not feeling safe and protected by those who you had grown fond of. Understanding why some heroes chose to go off grid. Even if it basically deemed you an Anti-Hero. It was worth it, if it meant you got control of your own life back.

Needing to take work from Valentina just to make sure you could keep the lights on. She begged for you to take some type of codename. Lynx. Or Oncilla. Or Jaguarundi. Or—

“You’re just naming types of cats,” you had said rolling your eyes on the end of the line.

“Well, you’re kinda like a cat… Oh! How about ‘Felidae’? Kinda sexy right?” Valentina had said, adding an accent to the word.

You scoffed. Accepting the scientific name over any specifics. You wondered if she thought you were stupid, or just unaware. Maybe she just thought she was smarter than anyone else.

After the chaos that Sentry had caused, you found yourself forced into a New Avengers Membership. Bonding deeply with your new teammates along the way. Albeit apprehensive at first. Especially now that you all shared a living quarter.

The Team was still trying to find its footing. What exactly it needed to be doing to make sure they were protecting the public to the best of their abilities. Although, the government was apprehensive to work alongside you all. Withholding important information about the crisis in space. Loosing contact with some of the remaining Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives.

This was not ideal. You knew the last thing needed was the government involved in the Avengers. Something Steve Rogers had fought for all those years ago. Leading to the original team breaking up. But what everyone did not understand was the power Valentina had over the public. Able to make or break you as a symbol without so much as lifting a finger.

You had to be here.

Even if here meant half a mile deep in some long forgotten about Headquarters. Intel suggested a former H.Y.D.R.A. Scientist was hiding at the lowest level. Leading to you and John Walker to be sent to investigate.

Valentina called it ‘team building.’ Separating you off into smaller groups so that you could learn to work together. Which sometimes worked out really well in your favor. When you got paired up with another teammate who matched your skillset perfectly. Bucky and Yelena could provide some strength that you lacked. Also being able to endure harder hits than you. Or Ava, who was able to completely scout out an area without being spotted. Secret missions were your favorite with her. Taking bets on which of you could be quieter.

And sometimes you would get paired up with someone like Alexei. Loud and quick to rush in without a plan. Which was not all bad, he made it a lot easier for you to hide when he was the loudest in any room he was in. Any time paired up with Bob consisted of mundane house chores. Nothing you could really complain about. Even if you did hate doing the dishes.

But then there was John. Cocky and sarcastic more often than not. Thinking he was the head of any and all missions you went on. Rude on top of it all. And the two of you seemed to butt heads more than any other team members. Maybe it was because you could not ignore his constant need to be right. Maybe it was how you saw right through his bullshit. He saw through yours too.

It was not that you hated him. Quite the opposite. You found his war stories endearing. Sometimes finding yourself laughing at an offhanded joke he would make. Having to hide your smile behind your hand because you could not show any sign of vulnerability to anyone. Even if you did find your walls crumbling around John when you spent personal time together. Seemingly always sitting together on movie nights. Or sometimes making him coffee first thing in the morning. Because, of course, he never rested.

Chalking it all up to a mutual understanding. Refusing to acknowledge the way your stomach would flutter when your hands would brush against one another. Or the times he would walk you to your corridor after a particularly scary movie.

"You're scared," you would tease.

"Am not. I was in Afghanistan, you think some cheap jumpscare could get to me?"

And you would laugh. Harder than you meant to. Nose scrunching up and hand glazing down his chest. John would smile while your eyes were closed. Going back to annoyed when you would look back at him.

Moments like this were nonexistent on missions together. It caused a certain level of tension to form between you. Pre-mediately angry and irritated with one another. Jaws tight and words not spoken. Fists balled up between your leather gloves. John's newly taco-shaped shield held up defensively as he led the path down metal stairs. Not even trying to hush his combat boots. Each step echoing against the steel walls.

It was causing your eye to twitch. How could he be so loud when you were practically mute? It was like he did not even care.

You finally reached the landing before delving into the final floor. John sighed. Halting his footsteps and turning to meet you. Your teeth were grinding together as you stared at his ocean eyes. He clicked his teeth together as he spoke, "Alright. The target should be on the next floor. You remember the plan, right?"

"Of course I do," you almost sounded offended, "Do you? I can't imagine he doesn't already know we're here with you stomping down the entire way."

John scoffed, rolling his eyes and waving you off, "Sorry. Not all of us can walk without making sound. Should've brought Ava if you wanted that."

"I would've," you hissed.

"Yeah, yeah," John tightened the strap around his helmet. Staring down into the oddly lit room. Understanding that it had to be a lab. The lab you had been warned about. A rouge H.Y.D.R.A. Scientist had been down here experimenting with different serums of all kinds. No telling what had been cooked up down here.

You followed a few steps behind John. Blue lights burned your eyes as you descended. John hid his gun behind his shield. You kept yours flat at your side. It was obscenely quiet. Almost ringing in your ears. It smelt weird and off-putting. Shelves with things stored in multi-colored liquids decorated every surface. It was like something from the mad scientist part of a haunted house. Your skin crawled.

Both sets of eyes scanned the entire room. Not a single sign of life. Hissing of a nearby pipe startled you internally. Not outwardly reacting other than you softly blowing out your breath.

John turned and pressed his finger to his lips. Silencing you.

Your blood boiled.

Fucking asshole.

You split, rounding the same glass container on opposite sides. Surprised to see the decaying body of the scientist slumped back in his chair. Hand grasping a vile, remnants of a bright blue substance stained his shirt.

"Must've been testing on himself," you whispered.

"See where that got you. Nazi scum," John stood tall. Tucking his gun back into its holster.

In the relief you felt from not having to fight, you both failed to see the infrared imager pinned to the wall. He knew someone would come looking for him. He was an evil genius after all. And he would be damned if anyone got to his research without consequences. The high pitched hum of the machine triggering clued you in.

"Walker, it's a trap!" you called out to your teammate. Hand absentmindedly reaching out to him as if you could protect him from whatever was going to happen. John backed up to you as fast as he could, but it all happened so fast.

Thick smog poured from every single vent. Hands flying up to cover your mouths, squinting and coughing. Smoke filling your lungs. Sticking to your tongue and throat. Tasting absolutely horrible. Something rancid, what you had to imagine a potent poison would taste.

John's hand gripped your shoulder to bring your attention to his face. He pointed towards the exit not wanting to inhale anymore fumes. His eyes watered as he guided you out of the room. Quickly climbing back up the stairs you had entered in on. Tripping at the last step and tumbling forward. Catching yourself on your hands, grunting at the way your knee skid against the floor. Not really painful. Just felt like the cherry on top of it all.

John extended his arm out to you, locking fingers around forearms as he hoisted you back up. The smoke beginning to follow slowly behind you.

"We've gotta go," John tugged you behind him. Running up the stairs as fast as your legs would allow it. He called in a report, letting the rest of the team know it was a trap. And that both of you had been exposed to some unknown gas. Both of you still coughing by the time you reached the top floor. Quick to exit the abandoned building.

You hunched over yourself. Huffing for air that could not fill yours lungs enough. Hands grasping your knees as you stared at the dirt. Body covered head to toe in sweat from, what had to be, the fastest you had ever gotten up half a mile of stairs. John stood with his hands on his hips across from you. His helmet discarded onto the ground. Head leaned back as he loudly groaned. Kicking the metal across the ground.

You looked up at him. His face was flushed, mostly from the run but also from his frustration. Finally looking over at you. Bloodshot morning skylike eyes stared at you. Lips parted and swollen from where he had been licking them.

Had he always looked this handsome?

"You alright?"

You nodded silently. Stomach churning from the heat and blocked airway. You wanted to lay down so badly. The dirt called to you like your bed after a long mission. But a nice shower sounded better. Especially with how hot your skin was right now. Limbs tingling like your nervous system was shot. Confused and a little worried about what would happen to you in the following hours.

"Feel any different?"

John patted his hands down his torso. Brows knitting together as he swallowed, "No. Just really hot."

"Yeah, me too."

There was no telling what that smoke was supposed to do to you. H.Y.D.R.A. had a myriad of freaks on their staff. All willing to experiment for anything that even slightly tickled their fancy. Unashamed. Brutal. Cruel.

"Guess the stuff wasn't meant to kill us or we wouldn't have made it up those stairs," you stretched your back. Hands meeting your hips as you strained.

"Right. Could have just been a really gross distraction. A way to make sure we could not stay to get any more information," John cupped his jaw as he stared out over the ridge, "No, that's too petty for H.Y.D.R.A."

"It really isn't," you halfway laughed, "I saw them gut a guy because he wore the wrong color uniform."

John's brows remained tight as he stared at you. Not sure what was so funny about that. Also not enjoying being corrected.

You sealed your lips shut, eyes jumping up as you looked away from him. Sometimes you forgot how touchy of a subject being a former H.Y.D.R.A. operative was. It was so far into your past that you coped by cracking little jokes. Usually ending with people looking at you the same way John was right now.

The buzzing of the helicarrier caught both your attention as it hovered above you. Shielding your eyes from the harsh sunset. The roped stairs unfolded in front of you. Looking to John with a nod.

“Ladies first,” he faked chivalry, putting his stupid helmet back on.

You smirked at him. Rolling your eyes as you started up. John followed closely behind you.

Something shifted inside him. His eyes found themselves unable to remove from your ass. Tight pants highlighting every curve and dip. His throat burned as he tried to catch his breath. Cock jumping for a moment when he imagined how it would look bare and imprinted with his hands. Trying to shake off the feeling.

You sighed as you reached your seat. Sluggishly buckling yourself in before anyone had the chanc to ask any question. John stood across from you, hand gripping one of the straps that hung down from the ceiling. Your head was leaned back trying to relax even for a moment. His hovering making it difficult. Something about his presence had your heart palpitating.

“You can sit down,” you sighed.

John took that as a challenge. Not liking the attitude you sported, “I’m fine.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Too exhausted to even play this game with him. Eyes falling shut trying to steady your breathing. Unable to cool your body’s temperature. Clothes feeling tight and sticky. Causing you even more discomfort and aggravation.

“What happened, you two?” Alexei’s voice sounded over the intercoms. Scratchy from the old headset he wore. Microphone far older than the aircraft itself.

“He knew we would be coming. Set up some kind of distraction to make us to leave,” John shouted over the whirring of the blades.

“Should’ve wore those Avengers Gas Masks I ordered! I told you they would come in handy,” Alexei’s singsong voice chimed.

Always with the stupid merchandise.

John looked at you. Throwing a hand up to the side and shaking his head. Sharing in your annoyance for Alexei’s positivity. You shrugged in response. Neither of you caring to have a smart mouthed rebuttal, knowing it would more than likely go over Alexei’s head.

The aircraft began its descent onto the landing pad. Opting to unbuckle and stand, straps irritating your skin. Jaw locked as you huffed out of your nose. Pressing up on your tiptoes to stretch your calves.

A sudden bounce of turbulence caused you to fall forward. Pressing your entire body flush against John’s. Up against the wall behind him. His hand grasped your hip as you held onto his shoulder.

It burned.

Inflaming your skin at the contact. Air hitched up in your throat. Eyes wide as you looked up at him. His heart pounded under your touch. Pain coursing through his body from where you touched him. Both of your faces flushed entirely. Your core pulsed. The smell of his natural musk mixing in with stale cologne had you feeling weak in the knees.

Awkwardly standing back on your feet. Clearing your throat as you turned to hop out of the helicarrier. Making sure to rush inside the tower. Leaving John behind in your dust. Waving off everyone as you entered, eyes locked ahead of you. Your goal only a few more steps away.

Your door sealed shut behind you. Your back resting against it as you grasped at your chest. Confusion overwhelming you. The throbbing between your legs not allowing you to think straight.

What was happening to you?

You shedded your clothes off as you trekked to the bathroom. Hunching over your sink when the pain began absorbing into your gut. Growling as you looked up at yourself in the mirror. Sweat decorated your face.

Suddenly images of John behind you filled your mind. His strong hands holding tightly onto your waist. Broad chest and large shoulders on display. Hips nestled into your own. Nude bodies pressed together where it really mattered.

You gasped. Hands coming up to cover your face. Shaking your head in disbelief. Fingers tugging down your face. Groaning with a hint of unease.

Turning the knobs to a mild setting. Shower raining down into the shallow tub. Stepping inside to try and wash away the days mission. It felt like a thousand tiny razor blades against your skin. Gritting away the pain. Forcing your body under the water. You needed to get this off you somehow. Attempting to adjust the temperature, maybe you just had it too hot? Even the cold water burned down your body.

You imagined his hands reaching around you from behind. Large palms holding your breasts in them. Thumbs flicking over your nipples. His bearded chin gently resting upon your shoulder, breathing heavily into your ear. Lips kissing directly below it.

You moaned. Knees buckling as you fell forward, nails scratching against the tile to brace yourself. Your cunt begged. Even when you tried to relieve yourself, it was not enough. Humping against your own hand trying to satisfy the desire overtaking you.

John’s image flooded your mind. The way you imagined his jaw would lock while fucking into you. Or how his calloused hands would feel around your throat. How his cock would stretch you perfectly.

You hurried to clean yourself off. Needing to find John. Your body craved his presence. Knowing he was somewhere in the tower. Not caring where, just needing to be with him. Towel drying your body and hair, throwing on some loungewear without even bothering to put underwear on. It was too uncomfortable anyway.

You stood in the hallway with your eyes closed. Allowing your body to urge you in what direction you needed to go. Downstairs.

You casually and quietly headed for the stairs. The ding of the elevator would give you away. Trying to make sure no one else followed you. Your senses were heightened. Everything punched into overdrive as you followed your body’s natural instinct.

The workout room.

You stood in front of the sliding, frosted glass door. Taking a deep breath.

This was stupid, you thought. Second guessing this decision. It was so ridiculous to assume John could feel this too. Or that he would even want to see you.

But you had to know. Holding your breath as you pressed the button to unlock the door. The loud sound of fists hitting something filled the room. Drowning out the sound of the door.

John swung at the punching bag hanging from the low ceiling. Fists burring into the leather over and over. Powder flying off the with each hit. Tank top highlighting his muscular physique. Tape wrapped around his fists. Arms bulging and sweat dripping down his figure.

You swallowed hard. Unsure why you were here. Your body told you it’s where you needed to be. With him. Near him.

It was almost like you could smell him across the room. Musky with a hint of oak from his deodorant. Jaw tight. Blonde locks sticking to his forehead. Sporty shorts hanging around his hips.

You hid in the shadows. Nails digging into the steel wall. Your legs shook. Fighting yourself from walking over to him. Ready to pounce on him like an animal on the hunt.

It hurt. Every inch of his fucking body hurt. No matter what he tried to force in his mind, he could not get you off it. His cock was swollen despite his attempt to relieve himself earlier. Pulsing with need. Hand wrapped around his member while imagining fucking into you. But nothing worked. This was the only way he could even attempt to distract himself. Giving his hands something else to do.

What he really wanted was to have them all over your body. Holding you down by the throat while he shoved his cock as deep inside you as possible. Knowing you would sound so pretty whimpering his name over and over.

He could not understand what had gotten into him. Something filling his veins with arousal. Could it be the smoke the two of you inhaled?

Were you feeling the same way as him?

You hesitated internally. Body moving on its own. Revealing yourself from the shadows. Hands crossed together in front of you. Fawning innocence.

John immediately noticed. Quick to stop swinging and look at you. His throat tightened. Fists balled up at his sides. Chest heaving with each deep breath he took. Your smell was strong to him. Pure sex and flowery. Must have been your body wash. Maybe your shampoo. He could not place it, only that it was you. So unabashedly you.

And, Christ, did he look sexy. Beard glistening with sweat. Hair disheveled. Chest hair peaking out the top of his cutoff. Pretending to not notice the clear outline of his cock through his shorts.

“Hey,” you choked out meekly.

“Hey,” John returned with a huff.

Silently staring at each other, John’s hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. You fidgeted with your fingers. Hiding your eyes from his stern gaze. You twisted your mouth around. Trying to think of what to say.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” he broke the silence.

“I… just wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” you said unsure.

His mind rattled with a response. No, I’m not okay. I’ve been so horny since we got back that I could kill someone. Oh, and you’re the only one I can think about right now. How do you explain that to your teammate?

“I’ve been better,” John stepped back on the mats repositioning to swing at them once more, “Would probably be better if our mission hadn’t gone up in smoke.”

“Literally,” you halfheartedly attempted a joke.

you idiot.

“And what about you?” he punctuated his question with a hit against the bag.

“Me? I’m— uh— okay? I guess?”

John’s eyes peered over at you. Lip arched to match his eyebrow. Wondering why you were suddenly being so awkward around him. He worried for a moment that you could see how stiff he was. Maybe read right through him. Knowing there was more you wanted to say but did not.

Your eyes doed at him across the room. His heart shocked throughout his body. Your loose fitting clothing driving him crazy. Wanting to see more of you. Nostrils flaring with each punch and grunt.

The noises he made had your entire body shaking. Slick pooling between your thighs when he would grunt especially loud. Reminding you of the fantasies you had in the shower moments prior. Filling in the gaps from before.

Your hand gripped the fabric of your shirt. Loving watching him beat the shit out of the leather bag.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch?” John’s cocky tone echoed against the walls. Eyebrows jumping up your forehead at his sassy comment. His hand gesturing in your direction. Venom lacing his words.

Biting your lip as you rubbed your chin with your hand. Face flooding with heat. Embarrassment almost overtaking the burning in your core. Your eyes upturned in sadness.

John’s heart sank into his stomach. You looked pitiful. Like he had just kicked a puppy. Your favorite puppy. He blew his breath out. Hand flattening against his hair. Stamping his foot for a moment doing a semi-circle and facing you once more.

You were all he wanted. His body craved yours like a man lost in the desert craved water. He knew you were the thing to douse the fire burning inside him.

“John—“ was all you got out before it made his insides boil. The low and needy tone that left you.

John punched the bag hard enough to knock it off its chain. Heavy thud slamming onto the floor. Allowing his temper to get the best of him. Member throbbing between his legs not helping with his annoyance. His hands were now on his hips as he turned to face you. Lip twitching as a heavy brow pierced through you.

You folded your arms over your chest. Matching the irritation that decorated his face. Trying to regain your composure. Accidental slip of your facade showing your weakness. Brows arching as you played chicken. One of the two of you would have to crack first.

John knew how to make sure it was you.

His eyes raked down your body. Making it obvious he was checking you out. It caused your face to flush. Throbbing between your legs at the way his blue eyes undressed you.

You spun to have your back to him, “God, you’re unbearable.”

“What was that?” he challenged.

You looked over your shoulder at him, “You heard me.”

“Come say it to my face,” John growled.

You snorted, waving him off with a roll of your eyes.

“Awww. What is it… Felidae? Cat got your tongue?”

That made your muscles tighten. Use of the moronic code name Valentina had given you causing you to grind your teeth together. Eyes narrowing in on the Dime Store Captain America. A fire igniting within you. Different than the roaring flames of arousal.

You dashed toward him. Fist rared back to strike him. Knocking him directly in his jaw. Barely phasing the super soldier. It only made you angrier. Repetitively striking him. Swearing you would wipe that smug grin off his face if it was the last thing you did. His head turned with each punch. Just taking your hits. Blood stained the corner of his mouth. A wicked smile across his lips.

Deciding it was finally enough, he swept your foot out from under you. Your back slammed onto the mats lining the floor. Eyes flying open to look up at him. His head fell to the side as he grinned down at you.

Before you could get back up, he had you pinned down. Strong hands wrapped around your wrists, keeping them above your head. It sent lava throughout your veins. Pooling in your core. Not even mentioning the compromised position you found yourself in with him. The part of him you wanted most hovering directly above where you needed it.

His palms were on fire. Skin to skin contact causing his cock to jump in his shorts. Your smell so sweet to his senses. Wide eyes stared up into his as you panted. Pupils blown with lust. Your eyebrows arched trying to fake intimidation.

Sharing in your panting, you held tight eye contact. Blonde locks plastered to his sweat ridden forehead. He was gorgeous. That was the only thought that could enter you. How beautiful the soldier looked above you. Thick stubble teetering on the cusp of a beard. Lips calling to you. Piercing blue eyes darting between your own.

Your gaze softened. Allowing your eyes to focus on his mouth. Eyelids hooding your vision. And John noticed. Exhaling harder than before. Barely inching forward to close the gap between you.

John’s lips pressed a chaste kiss against the tip of your nose. Testing the waters. It spread along your skin. Igniting your face. His own lips tingling from the contact.

You shifted your head, allowing better access for your lips to interlock. Fireworks exploded. Faltering for a moment when you tried to tug away from his hold on you. Wanting to pull him as close as possible. Hands begging to dig into his scruffy cheeks. Ironlike taste filling your own.

The burn inside you cooled momentarily. This was exactly what you needed. The only thing capable of calming the storm inside you. John’s forehead rested against yours as he closed his eyes.

“What’s going on with us?” John exhaled, hint of a smile on his face.

“I have no idea. But I know I want you,” you said airy. Lips chasing after his when he pulled back a little.

John released his hold on you. Hands grasped against your face. Thumbs burning against your cheek bones. Lips messy and hungry with your own. Sharing saliva between open mouth kisses.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” John admitted.

“Me neither,” you breathed. Fingers threading through the sweaty locks upon his head. Tongues fighting for dominance. Exploring the other’s mouth.

One of his hands hooked under your leg, arching it around his waist. Grinding his erection against your clothed slit. Eliciting a loud moan from you, brows furrowing at the sensation. It made him quicken his pace, want bringing something primal out of him.

Your hands explored down his torso. Outlining the details of his muscles as you trekked down to his groin. Finger tips meeting his bulge causing him to buckle his hips. Grunting in discomfort.

“It’s not right,” he said with a tight jaw, “Need to be inside you.”

All the air left your lungs. Words like a song to your heart.

As much as it pained him, he rose to his feet. Your arms chasing after him immediately. Needing the weight of him against you. Your saving grace for the pain you were feeling. John extended a hand to you, pulling you up like it was nothing. Your torsos pressed perfectly together. Hearts beating in sync.

“Come on,” his voice was gravely. Forceful grip tugged you along behind him. Attempting to be as quiet as possible through the halls of the tower. Knowing the rest of your team was only a thin wall away. Making sure your footsteps were as light as possible, impressed with John’s sudden ability to be sneaky. Guess it was possible when he really wanted to.

John pressed the code into the keypad by his door. Looking back at you for a moment with a smile. Dark pupils enveloping the deep blue of his irises. Somehow, even now that his body begged for yours with his, he felt giddy. Excited like a teenager preparing to lose his virginity on prom night.

The airlocks released on the door. Quickly, you both entered the room. Dark. No lights at all. Settling in as the door closed behind you, shielding away the only source of light you had before.

John’s hands were on your waist. Forehead pressed into yours. Heat of his breath fanned down your face. Blinking to hope your eyes adjusted. His head ducked to your throat. Kissing gently down your jugular. Quickly turning hungry. Teeth grazing your pulse. Biting down and sucking a mark into you. Surely to be purple shortly. You moaned, one hand cupping the back of his head.

His hand interlocked fingers with yours, guiding you over to his mattress. Laying you onto your back, knees meeting the curve with your legs dangling off the edge. He clapped his hands and a yellow hued lamp clicked on the other side of the room. Accenting him in its soft glow.

“I want to see you,” he breathed out, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Fingers hooking around your waistband and pulling it down your legs. Exposing your unclothed core, John’s brows bouncing in response. Smirking up at you as he discarded your loungewear. The air was cold against your soaked core. Your legs pushed together to find some relief.

Strong hands pryed you open, displaying your folds to him. Eyes glowing as they stared at your center. His tongue coming out to wet his lip at the sight. One of his fingers grazed through your folds. Your hips bucking in response to his touch.

“Jesus,” John cooed, “You’re soaked.”

A gargled ‘mmhmp’ escaped you. Your head pressing back into the mattress, mouth gaping towards the ceiling as you fought for patience. Not sure how much longer you could take it. This was torture.

John pressed forward, kissing your inner thigh. Tongue trailing up to your pussy. Swiping it up your aching folds. You called out to him, hands digging into the mattress below you. It felt so good. Skillfully, he lapped into you. Eyes rolling back into his head with each pass through. “You’re so fucking sweet,” his words vibrated through you. Cock needing relief. Beginning to grind himself against the mattress.

You needed more. The burn in you spreading throughout you again. Nerve endings tingling causing pain to resurface. It was not enough.

“John,” you cried out, “I need you. Need your cock inside me. Please—“

His eyes lit up. Having been fighting his selfish nature to fuck you relentlessly. Wanting to make this a good experience for you. But when you were begging him, how could he resist?

Rising to his feet as shedding every item of clothing that stuck to him. Throwing them into a pile with your own. Both of you completely nude now. His beard shining with your juices. You gawked at his member. It curved towards his stomach. Swollen and leaking at the tip. A thick vein running along the side. Clearly craving release. Your mouth watered.

He joined you on the mattress. Dipping under his weight. Fabric burning against his knees. His arms caged you in, hands splayed next to your head. Sweat covered both your bodies. Pulses straining against your eardrums. Never had either of you felt this desperate. And neither of you would ever admit that you were.

His cock prodded at your entrance. Tip sliding up and down your folds. Your face contorted in pleasure. Pathetically whimpering at the feeling. Lip quivering as you tried to force him inside you.

And he could not deny you.

With a quick thrust, he bottomed out inside you. Both of you gasping for air that refused to enter your lungs. Your arms snaked around his torso, splaying along his spine. One of his arms hooked around your waist, folding you so that he could enter you deeper. Finding a quick pace. Loud sound of skin slapping together filled the tight space. His balls slammed against your ass as his cock stretched you with each thrust.

Finally. Some relief. He was good. His cock was perfect. The noises he made were straight out of a porno. Suddenly, you could understand why they had wanted him to be Captain America. He was the perfect man.

His free hand found its place on your clit, circling the aching nub tightly. Your back arched off the mattress. It tingled at first, but your body was finally getting what it so desperately needed. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Lips absentmindedly kissing and sucking his skin. Leaving little bruises in your wake.

His name fell from you like a prayer. Breathy huffs squeezed out of your chest. John grunted and groaned, completely lost in the way you wrapped around him. Tight walls gripped down on his girth.

John readjusted so that he could capture your lips between his. Messily kissing you, teeth grazing your bottom lip. His beard tickled your skin with each desperate kiss.

You were like two animals in heat. Unable to speak but knowing what the other needed. Dousing something primal within you. Something that you needed before the smoke filled your lungs today.

The knot in your gut wound itself tighter. If things continued, you would be cumming soon. Walls spasming as your body prepared for your orgasm.

“Pretty girl,” was the only thing he could choke out.

It made your face flush. He had not really complimented you, not past a sexual nature. But this was different. Not charged by the way you welcomed him inside you so easily. His words were genuine.

“Cum in me,” you whined, meeting his thrusts.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up? Make sure you remember this for the next week. Maybe even knock you up. Let the whole team know who fucked you this good,” John groaned.

Your nails dug into his bare back. Scratching against the tight, muscular ridges. Nodding aggressively with a pathetic ‘uh-huh’ bubbling in your throat. His words had you on the brink. A few more swirls of his fingers and you would be a mess below him.

“Need you to first,” John breathed, “Cum on my cock, sweetheart. I wanna feel it.”

You called out to him as your insides began to pulse. The knot inside you snapping as your orgasm washed over you. Squeezing his cock between tight walls. Pushing him over the edge himself. Fucking into you as aggressively as possible making sure to get his seed deep inside you. Hips brushing against your own.

It was the sweetest relief you had ever felt. His spend cooling down all the agony that had consumed you. This was what you were meant to do. Meant to help each other. To be together.

John remained deep inside you, his body slumping against yours. Both of you panting, your hand caressing his back. Eyes closed. Neither of you prepared to say a word. Too afraid of breaking this small reality you had created together.

His weight was a nice blanket. Even if he did make it a little difficult to breathe. The feeling of skin perfectly pressed together helped. Your legs still wrapped around his waist. His beard scratched your chest momentarily.

You refused to move.

Remaining here in silence.

Spark of a flame began igniting inside you once more. You were in for a long night.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you for reading! I really enjoy writing sex pollen stories :) as always my inbox is open. Comments and Reblogs are appreciated //

{tags}

@lillycore ~ @deliciouslydisturbed365 ~ @ilove-hatethecw ~ @itsjml ~ @gayhorrormen ~ @linkpk88 ~ @1-800-styles ~ @sagexsenorita ~ @hepburnswan ~

[bwat5-blog]

"Clearly, Caitlyn Kiramman Should’ve Known Better at 23: A Masterclass in Ignoring Trauma and Believing War Criminals"

**Spoilers for all of Arcane**

Recently I made the mistake of delving into the comments of an otherwise excellent post regarding Caitlyn Kiramman and the aftermath of her time as "dictator", specifically in terms of were there enough consequences? did she do enough to make it right? should more have been done to her? that sort of thing. In the festering cesspool of those comments, I saw a variation of the following statement:

"if we were doing things based on what was fair and just, Caitlyn should have been executed on behalf of the two cities for peace"

It was more crude but you get the point. This person alleged that Caitlyn deserved death for what happened during those few months. Before we move forward lets review what we know about all of this. I have quite recently covered a lot of Caitlyn's arc so I'm not doing a deep dive here. Just enough to address this particular bit of idiocy.

How It Starts:

Like I said we aren't doing a deep dive here, so just for a quick reminder as to where twenty-three year old Caitlyn is mentally at this point(regardless of fault or nuance, just the facts):

Has been almost killed by Jinx three times

Almost killed by Sheriff of Piltover

Abducted naked from her childhood home, forced to dress in Enforcer uniform, bound, gagged, and forced to attend Jinx's tea party where Jinx tries to get Vi to murder Caitlyn

Violently knocked out

Shows Jinx mercy at Vi's request

Jinx kills her mother

Trying to become head of house Kiramman

Undercity attacks the memorial

Survives strike team operations

Brutal fight with Sevika

Vi stops her from shooting again

Very emotional split from Vi after hitting her and leaving her alone

So, with all of that under consideration, a Noxian warlord in her fifties who has commanded troops on various continents across Runeterra, calls her up and says trust me, i have your back, we will get justice for your mother. And Caitlyn folds... Le Gasp?!

Guys I know this is a little more snarky than my usual approach, but this really is just not that complicated. This is not even subtle. We literally see the flash back of Ambessa orchestrating the memorial attack to get us to this point. Caitlyn is an open wound mentally and emotionally, she never stood a chance. Lets take a moment to review some important points here by the way:

Ambessa came to Piltover for Hex-Tech. She doesn't hide this from Mel and is quite clear in her goals.

"If there is a chance hextech can be weaponized, we must have it". Mel responds "Piltover isn't your testing ground... I can't believe you'd start a war just to cover your ass" And Ambessa responds "i would set the world ablaze to protect our family". And the conversation ends with Ambessa ordering her daughter to "let the war unfold".

2. She executes her plan to make Caitlyn her scape-goat in front of:

Councilor Salo

Councilor Shoola

Large group of enforcers

Group of twenty plus people who make up as Ambessa states "every house and family with a modicum of influence"

Not a single, solitary person says a word when Ambessa brings a twenty-three year old grieving young woman with, if we're being generous two months of combat experience though probably less, and says She is in charge now! They let Caitlyn be walked right into the jaws of the wolf herself.

The Great And Terrible Rule Of Caitlyn The Creepy! WHAHAHAHA!:

What she gives her okay on:

Occupation of Zaun

Lawful (under martial law not normal law) arrests of those who cause problems

Yep... there it is folks. There is the great list of terrible crimes against humanity committed by the she-devil of Piltover herself. Checkpoints and arrests. Which by the way I am not justifying. People being arrested subjects them to Ambessa's brutality once they are inside. And as we clearly see Rictus uses the right to arrest to brutalize a Jinxer, and to break up the rally. And Caitlyn absolutely shares some portion of the blame for that. But um.. the way people reacted I was really expecting more public hangings and and labor camps.

**Not really a good place to put this but just fyi, despotic mad-women don't usually have to get up early to please a craftsman guild over supply complaints... just saying..."

"But OP! Sexy Zangief was beating people up and breaking up peaceful rallies!"

Well fortunately we talk about that!

"Was it for my encouragement that your man Rictus was instigating violence?"

How does Ambessa respond? Not with anger, or rage. First with guilt "You don't trust me", then with approval when Caitlyn responds the blade cuts both ways "fearless child, you never shy",

Ambessa is a master manipulator. Caitlyn is and was grieving her mother, and her whirlwind extremely intense romantic relationship with Vi. She had a gargantuan hole in her heart and a woman with decades leading and commanding soldiers and learning strategy slid right in. Recall that in bed with Maddie Caitlyn almost is defending Ambessa, talking about learning so much from her and the lives Ambessa saved with her assistance getting control of Zaun, so they could hunt for Jinx. Caitlyn has legitimately come to care for Ambessa at least on some level. I even believe that on some level Ambessa has come to care for Caitlyn.

2. "Arrests require cause"

When Ambessa is suggesting someone in Zaun knows where Jinx is, this is how Caitlyn responds. Not with orders to start dragging people out into the street. Not executing children in the street or burning down buildings. And when Ambessa tries to justify it "What greater cause is there than returning peace to the city?" Caitlyn responds:

3. "Why is peace always the justification for violence".. (Note Ambessa laying comforting hand on Caitlyn's shoulder during conversation)

Ambessa gives her this speech: "we've lost so many.. the anger, the sorrow.. it's tiring. Gods, I know it's tiring.. But you will never rest knowing that she's out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not.. to forgive.. and trust in tomorrow.. the decision is yours commander.."

"I know you are so tired, I know you are exhausted. I know you want this to be over. But you can't feel safe with her out there. I know you can't. Unless of course you can do what even I can't. Forgive your mothers FUCKING MURDERER. But ya know, up to you"-

If you truly cannot see the insidiousness of how Caitlyn is being twisted and manipulated, I envy you the charmed life you have lead. But be weary my friend, "you're off the edge of the map, here there be monsters." (POC 1)

"But OP! Ambessa was experimenting with Hex-Tech and committing brutal interrogations!"

I will admit the show does not explicitly state that Caitlyn did not know about this. Explicitly. However, given our context clues I feel quite confidant suggesting she did not:

See literally everything she said above

Every time we see them doing this she is not present

It seems like they are in some deep and away part of the prison when they are doing this

In private after the failed hex-tech experiment, Ambessa laments that they didn't secure the scientists before seizing control of Piltover. She is openly discussing that they are the actual ruling power. I seriously doubt she would be doing that anywhere Caitlyn may come knocking.

She Could Have Stopped At Any Time! Maddie Even Say So:

You mean that Maddie? The Noxian spy who keeps an eye on Caitlyn from her fucking bed, taking advantage of Caitlyn's grief and guilt over how things ended with Vi? Caitlyn is reminded she has a choice twice. The first time by the spy in her bed, and the second time by Ambessa herself. Her loyalty is being tested. Not her conscious. Ambessa literally put eyes and ears in her bed, and some of yall wanna argue Caitlyn wasn't being controlled. Ambessa assumed the role of Caitlyn's mother, and had her spy take on the role of Vi. And I will say this. Sure. Caitlyn could have gone to Ambessa and called it all off. No more war, no more martial law, the council is in charge again so no more imprisonment and hex-tech experiments. And maybe.. just maybe Ambessa would have row-row-row your boated her homicidal ass home. I rather doubt it. I suspect that conversation would have ended with Caitlyn getting this treatment:

We have been over this already but for a reminder:

Ambessa came here for hex-tech to fight the blackrose. She instigated the memorial attack for her cause.

"I would set the world ablaze to protect our family"

As we will come to see later, her last living child begs her to stop the bloodshed, even offering to go back with her, and all Ambessa can see is weakness.

Other indicators of how she is doing with everything:

"I never expected this to go on so long.. I thought.. I don't know what I thought.."

"Up again?" Maddie tells us Caitlyn hasn't been sleeping

Forbids the use of the cells Vi was kept in

REWIND BACK TO HELLFIRE:

I recently just did an in-depth doc on the strike team, the use of the grey, and what all of this means in story. So I will keep this brief here. but I do want to discuss it as "SHE WAS GASSING KIDS!" is still being vomited up by every double-digit iq booger eater with a keyboard.

Ambessa orchestrated the memorial attack to force Piltover retaliation

The strike team is an alternative to a full-scale invasion by Piltover.

They are hunting dangerous drug lords, destroying shimmer, and hunting Jinx. All three seem fairly reasonable. The issue is not if they are doing something wrong, it's the reason Caitlyn has them doing it. All you have to do is refer to the handy dandy song lyrics they use as Arcane always does to understand this:

"Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons, and Living by a couple deadly sins Just to make sure I finish what you began And I ain't afraid to lose a life or ten If it means that I get to win in the end (woo) So I'ma do this on my own, step into the danger zone Pull the pin and watch it blow" (Hellfire Fever 333)

4. Using a crowd dispersal agent that incapacitates bad guys with no documented fatal effects (see multiple characters exposed who are all alive and seemingly well, those images of the people with health issues were from the unfiltered, unaltered smog the Undercity used to live with)to hunt a target who likes to blow shit up seems fair. Also the fact that it knocks people out means they don't have to kill them.

Caitlyn's Remorse And Attempts To Make Things Right:

Literally starts a war with Ambessa to save Vander

Saves a hurt Vi with Jinx's back exposed to her when she is armed

Takes care of injured Vi in her own bed and postpones any judgement of Jinx until Vi wakes

"I Know!"

"We can't erase our mistakes.. none of us"- Equates herself with Jinx

"No amount of good deed can undo our crimes"- Equates herself with Jinx

"Hating you.. I've hated myself.. I just don't have the energy for it any longer.."

Tender moment showing IMMENSE regret during she and Vi's big scene.

The Cost:

One statement I saw opined that there is a difference between remorse and punishment, and that Caitlyn should have been punished. That giving up her seat and losing an eye hardly qualified. Well! Boy oh boy do I have good news for you. Let's take a gander at the physical "not punishment" she acquires willingly leading from the front lines against Ambessa:

Cracked in the head with rifle stock, twice: Skull fractures anyone? how about a lovely concussion?

Stabbed in the stomach: Internal bleeding, bile leaks, intestinal obstruction due to scar tissue adhesions, bowel perforation, the list goes on.

Kicked in the midsection while still stabbed: potential to drive knife deeper lacerating organs and such, just massive pain, potential catastrophic bleeding if a blood vessel was hit, potential rupturing of stomach, kidneys or liver releasing harmful fluids into abdominal cavity, potential for long term chronic pain or permanent organ damage

Leg sweep by Ambessa driving Caitlyn's head into the ground: potential tbi, brain hemorrhage, or further skull fracture, potential vertebral fractures, potential long term cognitive impairment or loss of motor control if spine is damaged

Kicked again: We covered this. Knife is still there.

Ankle pinned/Leg kick/backhand: All sorts of fun things happening to ligaments and tendons. Potential permanent disability. Potential concussion and bruising as well as a whole host of lacerations.

Headbutt with War mask on: Concussion, skull fracture, brain bleed

KICKED OFF OF HER FEET

Pulls knife out of her own body: Potential fatal bleeding, massive pain, possible peritonitis and respiratory distress depending on what all was damaged during the fight with the knife still in her body.

Sacrifices her own eye

Now lets take a quick look at some reasonable assertions for the mental "not punishment" she will likely suffer from after all of this:

Massive potential for PTSD just from the wounds alone

Losing an eye impacts her shooting which is a huge part of who she is and a link to her mother

A woman she shared a bed with levelled a rifle at her neck and pulled the trigger. Caitlyn thought she was going to die.. that doesn't just go away..

look at her face...

She is twenty four people....

4. Guilt over death toll of war

5. Guilt over Vi's possible death from downward spiral

6. Guilt over Vi's possible death from explosion in commune all born from Noxian;s arriving there

7. Guilt over everything done to the Undercity

8. Guilt over perversion of her families ventilation system

9. The fact that from season 1 Act 2 til now, she only ages a year and probably not even a whole one. Refer to my list in the beginning. She has not a single fucking second to breathe or heal from any of that shit

RESTITUTION:

So aside from willingly leading the battle that most of the undercity walked away from until Jinx shows up and almost dying for it, how does Caitlyn start to make things right you may ask? (because it is a start, for those who don't get that. This is the beginning of a story not an end). For the first time in what we understand to be the history of the twin cities, Zaun has a seat at the table. People are REALLLLYYYYY underselling this. I guess because they wanted a whole political treaty signed and to watch Caitlyn get shame-nunned through the street or something. IDK. But what I do know, is that Caitlyn gave away the ancestral seat of house Kiramman, and all the power and authority that came with it, and it now belongs to someone from the undercity. An equal voice. And it's just the beginning. It's not perfect. It's not all wrapped up in a big shiny bow, it feels real. Change isn't instant. It never has been and it never will be, and if you need that to feel fulfilled I understand, but this show was never going to be that for you.

Caitlyn Should Be Executed?:

So back to the original statement. Caitlyn should be executed in the name of peace between the cities. Well, I'll say this. if you see a 24 year old woman who inside of a year had her entire reality imploded, fell prey to the manipulations of a violent war monger close to 30 years her senior if not more, yet found her way back to herself and shed her own blood as a war hero TO SAVE HUMANITY, and your answer is she should be executed. Sure! So long as you admit you have the humanity of a toaster oven you fucking idiot.

To those of you who have continued to read, and share your thoughts, and been open to kind debate and discourse in good faith. You all mean the world to me. As I have said many times, opening myself up to this community has really happed my "real" life in a lot of ways and I love getting on here to appreciate and celebrate this story with all of you. That being said, this particular issue is so god damn irritating to me I am done being nice about it. Have a wonderful day!

[pucksandpower]

Lose Yourself

Day 31 → Mind Break 💋 mafia!Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, guns, and forced dumbification

Kinktober Masterlist

The office is small, dim, smelling faintly of coffee and old paper. A narrow window lets in thin, grey light, cutting across the surface of your supervisor’s desk. He’s sitting there, looking at you with that familiar mix of intensity and mild concern. There’s a file in front of him, thick, overflowing with papers, and he taps it once, twice, like he’s deciding whether or not to speak.

“You know I wouldn’t bring you in for something like this unless it was absolutely necessary,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

You nod, but don’t say anything. You’ve worked for Interpol long enough to know that when he starts like this, something big is coming. Bigger than usual.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “This isn’t like the other assignments.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting. He hasn’t even told you what the assignment is yet. The edge in his voice is making you uneasy, though. It’s not like him to drag things out like this.

He sighs, opens the file, pulls out a single photograph, and slides it across the desk toward you.

It’s a man.

Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that seem to stare through the camera lens. He’s sitting at a table in some restaurant, probably expensive judging by the suit he’s wearing, and there’s a woman draped over his arm. But the man doesn’t seem to notice her. His expression is unreadable.

“Charles Leclerc,” your supervisor says, as if the name should mean something to you. It doesn’t.

You glance up at him. “Who is he?”

He hesitates, just for a second, and then says, “The leader of the Rosso Corsa.”

You freeze, the weight of the words sinking in immediately. The Rosso Corsa is infamous. A criminal organization that operates in both Italy and the Côte d'Azur, responsible for everything from arms trafficking to political corruption. They’re untouchable.

Untouchable, because no one can get close enough.

Your supervisor lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks again. “Interpol’s been trying to infiltrate them for years. We’ve had no success. No one’s gotten close enough, and the few who have …” He trails off, shaking his head. “They didn’t make it out.”

“So why now?” You ask, already knowing you’re not going to like the answer.

“Because we have a lead.” He pulls another piece of paper from the file, but doesn’t show it to you yet. “Leclerc’s been recruiting. Quietly. His organization’s expanding faster than anyone predicted. He’s looking for new people, trusted people.”

You stare at him. “And you want me to-”

“Get close to him,” he finishes. “Infiltrate. Gather information. Help us bring him down.”

The air feels heavier, thicker, and you shift in your seat, trying to make sense of what he’s asking. “How am I supposed to get close to someone like that? He probably has a hundred people screening anyone who tries to-”

“You’ll be playing a role,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “We’ve been building a cover for you for months.”

He hands you a new folder, this one slimmer, but just as important. Inside, there’s a fake ID, a name you’ve never heard before, and a backstory so detailed you’re almost convinced it’s real.

“Giulia Santini,” he says, nodding toward the papers. “You’ve been living in Monaco for years. High-end art dealer. A few shady connections here and there, just enough to make you interesting to Leclerc, but nothing that’ll get you killed if someone digs a little too deep.”

You let out a breath, leafing through the details. “And you’re sure he’ll be interested?”

“His mother’s an art collector,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s not foolproof, but we’ve done the groundwork. We’ve arranged for you to be introduced through one of his contacts in the next week. From there, it’s up to you.”

You blink, trying to process the enormity of what he’s asking. “Up to me? You’re sending me in without backup?”

“You’ll have backup,” he says quickly. “But you know how this works. You’re going to be on your own for most of it. We need to keep the operation quiet. If Leclerc gets even a hint that you’re not who you say you are, it’s over. For you. For all of us.”

He’s not sugarcoating it, and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t make the task ahead of you any easier to swallow. You swallow hard, feeling a weight settle in your chest.

“Why me?” You ask softly.

He looks at you for a long moment before he answers, his voice lowering. “Because you’re the best. You’re smart and you can handle yourself. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

“But this is different.”

“Yes,” he admits, and his eyes soften just a fraction. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You sit there, the folder in your hands, feeling the weight of everything he’s just laid out for you. There’s a part of you that wants to say no, that wants to walk out of this office and leave the impossible task for someone else. But you know you won’t. You’ve never walked away from a challenge before, and you’re not about to start now.

Still, there’s one thing gnawing at you, something you can’t quite shake.

“If I get close to him,” you say slowly, “what’s the plan? What happens then?”

Your supervisor hesitates again, and that makes your stomach twist. “We gather information,” he says finally. “Enough to bring him down. We’re not rushing this. This could take months, maybe longer.”

“And in the meantime?” You press. “What if he gets suspicious?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he leans forward again, his voice low and steady. “Then you do whatever you have to do to keep your cover intact.”

The meaning behind his words is clear, and it sends a chill down your spine. You’ve done undercover work before, but nothing like this. Nothing this … intimate.

You clear your throat. “And how far am I supposed to go with this?”

“As far as you need to,” he says, his tone hardening. “But you keep your head. You remember why you’re there. This isn’t about you and him. This is about bringing down a dangerous organization.”

You nod, trying to focus on the mission, on the end goal. But it’s hard when you’re staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc, at the cold, unreadable expression on his face.

Your supervisor stands up, signaling the end of the meeting. “You’ll leave for Monaco in two days. We’ll have everything set up by then.”

You stand too, feeling the weight of the assignment pressing down on your shoulders. But before you can turn to leave, he says one more thing.

“Be careful, Y/N.”

You pause at the door, glancing back at him. “I always am.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches as you walk out of the office, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, the folder still in your hand, staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc one last time.

You wonder, not for the first time, if this is the mission that will finally break you.

***

The Grand Hôtel in Monaco is every bit as lavish as you imagined. Opulent chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting warm light over marble floors and deep, velvet chairs that look more like art pieces than furniture. You’ve been here before, but never in this role. Never as Giulia Santini, the art dealer with a knack for finding rare treasures.

You glance around the lobby, your heels clicking softly against the marble as you make your way toward the bar. Your heart is steady, though there’s a subtle tension in your muscles. You’re about to meet Charles Leclerc, one of the most dangerous men in Europe, and you can’t afford to slip, even for a second.

At the bar, you spot Fabien — your contact, someone who’s vouched for you enough to get you this meeting. He’s sipping a glass of wine, leaning casually against the polished counter as if this is any other evening. When he sees you, he nods once, lifting his glass slightly in greeting.

“Giulia,” he says smoothly when you approach, his voice like honey. He leans in to kiss both your cheeks in the European fashion, his cologne strong. “You look stunning. Leclerc will be impressed.”

You smile at him, playing the part effortlessly. “Let’s hope so.”

Fabien gestures to the bartender and orders another glass of wine for you. “He’ll be here soon,” he says quietly, his eyes scanning the crowd. “He’s already asked about you. You’ve made quite an impression, and you haven’t even met him yet.”

You pick up the glass the bartender slides toward you, taking a small sip. The wine is rich, expensive, but it doesn’t do anything to calm the simmering anticipation in your veins. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, of course,” Fabien replies with a grin. “That you’re the most elusive art dealer in Monaco, and that you specialize in pieces even the richest men in Europe couldn’t get their hands on.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Quite the reputation you’ve given me.”

Fabien shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “It’s not far from the truth.”

You glance at the entrance to the bar, but there’s no sign of Leclerc yet. “And what should I know about him?” You ask, keeping your voice low. “What does he like?”

Fabien’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place — is it wariness? Curiosity? He leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “He’s intelligent. He’s quiet, but not because he’s shy. He’s watching everything, always calculating. Don’t let the charm fool you. He’s dangerous, but you already know that.”

You nod, your grip on the wine glass tightening just a fraction.

“And,” Fabien adds, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “he’s not immune to beauty.”

Before you can respond, Fabien straightens suddenly, his eyes locking on something behind you. “He’s here.”

You don’t turn around immediately, though every nerve in your body is telling you to. Instead, you take another sip of wine, steadying yourself, letting the moment stretch out. You feel his presence before you even see him — a subtle shift in the energy around you, the way people in the bar seem to take notice without even realizing it.

Finally, you turn.

Charles Leclerc is standing just a few feet away, speaking briefly with the hostess, who gestures toward the table in the back corner. He nods at her, his expression unreadable, and starts walking in your direction.

He’s taller than you expected, more imposing. His dark hair is perfectly in place, his suit tailored so sharply it looks like it was made just for him — which, of course, it probably was. His eyes, though — they’re exactly like the photograph. Cold, unreadable, scanning the room like he’s memorizing every face, every detail. When they land on you, there’s a flicker of interest, just for a moment, before his expression smooths out again.

Fabien steps forward to greet him, his smile wide and easy. “Charles,” he says, offering his hand. “Good to see you.”

Leclerc shakes his hand, his movements controlled, almost too smooth. “Fabien,” he says, his voice deep, with the hint of an accent that’s hard to place — part French, part something else. His eyes flick briefly to you before returning to Fabien. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Fabien replies. “In fact, I’ve been waiting to introduce you to someone.”

He turns toward you, and for a split second, it’s like the entire room goes quiet. The air between you and Charles seems to shift, though he gives no sign that he’s noticed anything unusual.

“This is Giulia Santini,” Fabien says, his voice warm and confident. “The art dealer I’ve been telling you about.”

You extend your hand, offering a small, professional smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Charles looks at you for just a beat longer than necessary before taking your hand. His grip is firm, but not aggressive, and his skin is warm against yours. “The pleasure is mine,” he says, his voice lower now, meant just for you.

You hold his gaze as long as you dare before letting your hand slip from his. Fabien gestures to the table in the corner, and the three of you make your way over. Charles sits across from you, his eyes flicking between you and Fabien, though most of his attention seems to be on you.

“So,” Charles says once you’ve all settled, leaning back in his chair slightly, “Fabien tells me you’re quite the expert in rare art.”

You smile, playing the role with ease. “I wouldn’t say expert. Just passionate.”

He watches you, his eyes dark and focused. “And what kind of pieces does someone like you find … exciting?”

The question is loaded, and you know it. He’s testing you, seeing how you’ll respond. You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, your voice light.

“It depends,” you say slowly, leaning forward just slightly, enough to draw his attention. “Art is all about perspective, isn’t it? What one person finds valuable, another might overlook entirely.”

Charles’ lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile, but it never quite reaches his eyes. “True,” he agrees. “But I imagine you have a talent for finding the pieces that others overlook.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “It’s what I do best.”

There’s a pause, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. Charles taps his fingers lightly against the table, his eyes never leaving yours. Fabien shifts slightly, glancing between the two of you, clearly pleased with how the conversation is going.

“You know,” Charles says after a moment, his voice soft but deliberate, “I’ve been looking for someone like you.”

Your heart skips, but you don’t let it show. You raise an eyebrow, keeping your tone playful. “Is that so?”

He nods, still watching you carefully. “Someone with connections. Someone who can move in circles I can’t always reach.”

“And what circles are those?” You ask, keeping your voice light, though you already know the answer.

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “The kind that deal in things not everyone should know about.”

There it is. The subtle shift from pleasantries to something more dangerous, more real. You feel the tension tighten in your chest, but you smile, pretending you’re completely at ease.

“Well,” you say, letting your voice drop just a fraction, “I’m sure we could work something out. If you’re interested.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away, just watches you, his expression carefully controlled. Finally, he nods. “I am.”

Fabien jumps in then, filling the silence with talk about upcoming events, art auctions, places where you and Charles might cross paths again. But you’re only half-listening. Most of your attention is still on Charles, watching the way his eyes flicker with interest, the subtle shifts in his posture as he listens to Fabien. It’s clear that he’s more focused on you than the conversation, and you need to tread carefully.

Fabien’s words become background noise, blending with the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation around you. You’re not oblivious to the tension under the surface, though. Every move you make, every word you say, it’s all part of the game. And Charles knows it, too.

Fabien laughs, clapping Charles on the back. “I think Giulia could be quite useful for you, Charles. Her contacts run deep, and she’s good at staying … discreet.”

Charles’ eyes meet yours again, and you hold his gaze, refusing to look away. There’s a challenge in the air, subtle but undeniable. It’s as if he’s trying to peel back your layers, see what lies beneath the surface of the woman sitting in front of him.

“I can be discreet when necessary,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing. “But sometimes, it’s better to make a statement. It depends on what kind of art you’re dealing with.”

Charles’ lips quirk into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of the man behind the mask. “I agree,” he says, his voice low. “Some things are worth putting on display for the world to see.”

Your pulse quickens at the double meaning behind his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lean back slightly, crossing your legs under the table and allowing your hand to rest casually on the stem of your wine glass.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more in private,” you suggest, your tone light but deliberate. “I’d love to hear about the kind of pieces you’re interested in.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then, he nods, his smile widening just a fraction. “I think that can be arranged.”

Fabien stands, finishing the last of his wine. “I’ll give you two some space,” he says, with a knowing smile, his tone laced with implication. “Giulia, Charles — enjoy your evening.”

With that, he walks away, leaving the two of you alone at the table. You feel the shift in the atmosphere immediately. The casual conversation is gone, replaced by something far more charged, far more dangerous.

Charles leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes locked on yours. “Tell me, Giulia,” he says, his voice soft but commanding. “How far are you willing to go for a deal?”

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You know this is it — the moment where the line between professional and personal blurs, where the real game begins.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, though your mind is racing. You need to keep him hooked, keep him interested, but you can’t give away too much too soon. This is a dance, and you need to make sure you’re leading.

“I’m willing to go as far as I need to,” you reply, your voice steady. “But that depends on what’s being offered.”

Charles watches you for a long moment, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he’s analyzing every word, every movement. Finally, he leans back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re good,” he says, his voice almost admiring. “I can see why Fabien recommended you.”

You smile, taking a sip of your wine. “I’m very good at what I do.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, still watching you with that same intensity that never seems to waver. He’s waiting for your next move, and you can feel the moment stretching out, charged with unspoken tension.

You lean in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough to draw him in. “So, tell me, Charles,” you say, letting your words linger in the air between you, “what kind of art are you really interested in? What would make it worth your while to work with me?”

His eyes darken, just slightly, as he considers your question. “I’m interested in pieces that are … unique,” he says slowly. “Rare. The kind of art most people don’t even know exists.”

You nod, pretending to think it over, even though you already know exactly where this conversation is going. “I can find you rare pieces,” you say, your voice smooth. “But unique? That’s harder to come by. What makes something unique to you?”

As you speak, you casually slide your hand from the edge of the table to your lap, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, move it under the table toward his leg. You don’t make it obvious. Just a gentle touch at first, your fingertips brushing the fabric of his dress pants as you talk, keeping your expression calm, your voice steady.

Charles doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react — at least, not outwardly. His gaze flicks down to your hand for just a second, barely noticeable, before he meets your eyes again. “Unique,” he repeats, his voice lower now, quieter, “is something no one else can have. Something priceless.”

Your hand moves a little higher, just grazing his knee, but you keep your face composed, the conversation continuing as if nothing has changed. “I can work with priceless,” you say, leaning in a little more, your lips curving into a smile. “But it’ll cost you.”

There’s a flicker of something in Charles’ eyes — amusement, maybe — as he watches you, as though he’s enjoying the game as much as you are. “Everything has a price, Giulia,” he says, his voice smooth, controlled. “What’s yours?”

You pause, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. “That depends on how much you’re willing to offer.”

As you say this, your hand slides up higher, just above his knee now, your touch still light, teasing. You can feel the muscle tensing slightly under your fingers, but Charles doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching you, his eyes dark, his posture still relaxed, but you can sense the shift in the air between you.

“I can offer you more than you’ve ever had,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you’d have to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

You smile, your fingers moving a little higher, just brushing his thigh now, your touch deliberate but still subtle enough that no one else in the bar would notice. “I don’t think proving myself will be a problem,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. “I think you already know I’m worth it.”

Charles leans forward slightly, just enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, though his expression remains perfectly controlled. “What I want,” he says, his voice almost a growl now, “is something unforgettable. Can you deliver that?”

Your hand moves up just a bit more, your fingertips grazing the inside of his thigh now, and you feel the way his body responds — just a subtle tension, a slight shift in his breathing. But still, he doesn’t pull away. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you see how far you’re willing to go.

“I think I can deliver whatever you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand pressing just a little harder now, a little more insistent. “If you’re willing to trust me.”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the silence between you is so thick you can almost hear your own heartbeat. You can feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, and you know that you’ve reached the point where the conversation is about to shift again — from playful to something more serious, more real.

Finally, Charles leans back in his chair, just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smile, your hand still resting on his thigh. “I don’t mind a little danger.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes — desire, maybe, or something darker. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s so good at hiding what he’s really feeling, keeping everything just below the surface. But you can see the way his body reacts to your touch, the way his breathing has changed, just slightly.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels electric, charged with anticipation. You can feel the heat of his body under your fingertips, the way his muscles tense slightly as your hand moves just a little higher, pressing against the inside of his thigh now.

Then, suddenly, he stands up.

The movement is so abrupt, so unexpected, that for a split second, you freeze, your hand dropping back to your lap as he pushes his chair back. He doesn’t look at you as he adjusts his jacket, his expression unreadable once again, but there’s a tension in his body now that wasn’t there before.

“We’re leaving,” he says, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You blink, surprised, but you recover quickly, standing up and smoothing your dress, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d expected a reaction, but not this. Not so sudden, so decisive.

“To where?” You ask, though you already know the answer.

Charles glances at you, his eyes dark, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Back to mine,” he says, his voice low. “For the rest of the night.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, and you nod, your mind already racing with what comes next. You’ve got him. You’ve hooked him, and now it’s just a matter of playing the role, of keeping him interested long enough to get what you need.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, already walking toward the exit with long, confident strides. You follow, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor, the sound of the bar fading behind you as you step out into the cool night air.

Outside, a black car waits at the curb, and Charles gestures for you to get in first. You slide into the back seat, feeling the leather cool against your skin, and he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The driver doesn’t say a word as the car pulls away from the curb, and the city lights blur past the windows as you head toward the unknown.

You glance at Charles, who’s sitting next to you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body even though he’s not touching you. His expression is calm, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a darkness in his eyes that makes your heart race even faster.

The game is far from over.

***

The car glides through the narrow streets of Monaco, the city lights flickering outside like fireflies in the dark. You try to focus on the blur of neon signs and elegant façades, but your thoughts keep circling back to Charles, who sits beside you in silence, his presence filling the confined space like something dangerous and magnetic.

He hasn’t spoken since you left the bar, and you haven’t dared to break the silence. There's a simmering tension between you, thick and almost suffocating, and though you try to appear calm, the anticipation gnaws at you. You’ve played these games before — seduction, deception — but something about Charles makes it feel different. He’s unpredictable, his control over every moment unnerving.

The car finally pulls to a stop outside a sleek, modern building that towers over the waterfront, all glass and steel reflecting the moonlight. Charles steps out first, and you follow, the cool night air hitting your skin as you walk toward the private entrance. The click of your heels against the pavement echoes in the quiet.

Charles doesn’t say anything as you step inside the elevator with him. The doors slide shut, and the air seems to grow thicker, the silence stretching. You can feel the tension crackling between you, every second charged with something unsaid, something dark and thrilling.

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But the way he stands, just inches from you, makes your skin tingle with the anticipation of what’s to come.

When the elevator doors open, you step out into a penthouse that’s every bit as luxurious as you’d expected. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the harbor below, and the minimalist design — all clean lines and muted tones — feels cold, impersonal.

Charles walks ahead of you, loosening his tie as he goes. “Drink?” He asks, his voice low, casual, as if the air between you isn’t thick with tension.

You shake your head, your voice catching slightly in your throat. “No, thank you.”

He turns toward you then, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though you’ve done this before, there’s something different this time — a sense of danger that feels very real.

Charles watches you, his eyes dark, unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.

You freeze.

He doesn’t point it at you. Not yet. He holds it loosely in his hand, his expression calm, controlled, as if this is just another part of the game.

“You’re afraid of this, aren’t you?” He asks quietly, tilting his head slightly as he watches your reaction.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. “Should I be?”

Charles’ lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “Not unless I give you a reason to be.”

He steps closer, and you can’t help the way your body tenses, your gaze flicking to the gun in his hand. You’ve seen weapons before, handled them even, but the way Charles holds it — so casually, so confidently — makes your stomach tighten.

He raises the gun, not toward you, but slowly, deliberately, running the cool metal along your jawline. The touch of the cold barrel against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and though every instinct in your body is screaming at you to pull away, you don’t. You can’t.

“Do you trust me?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, the gun still tracing along your skin, down your neck, over the curve of your shoulder.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your breath shallow. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Charles smiles, a dark, almost amused smile, as if he expected nothing less. “Smart.”

He steps even closer, and the gun dips lower, grazing the top of your chest now, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the heat building under your skin. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the barrel as it slides over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease.

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. The danger of the moment — the unpredictability of Charles — sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of fear and desire. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, never felt this kind of tension coil so tightly in your chest.

He presses the barrel of the gun against your sternum, just enough for you to feel its weight, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him. His eyes darken, watching your every reaction with a predatory intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asks softly, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

You open your mouth to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. You can’t lie, not when your body is betraying you so completely. The truth is, you don’t know what you feel — fear, excitement, something far more dangerous — but you’re too far gone to stop it now.

Instead of answering, you tilt your head back slightly, exposing more of your neck to him, a silent invitation, a challenge. Charles’ eyes flash with something dark and primal, and for a moment, you think he might actually pull the trigger. But he doesn’t. He’s still in control. Barely.

He moves the gun lower, pressing it against your stomach now, and your breath catches in your throat. Every nerve in your body is on fire, the tension so thick you can barely think. Charles steps even closer, his body almost flush with yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“Do you know what happens when you push someone like me too far?” He whispers, the gun sliding lower, tracing the curve of your waist.

You swallow hard, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the cold metal of the gun still pressing against you in ways you never imagined it could be used.

“Tell me,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling despite yourself.

Charles’ smile widens, a dark, dangerous thing, as he presses the barrel of the gun against your hip now, his other hand finally reaching out to touch you, gripping your waist with a firm, possessive hold.

“I don’t like to be tested,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I think you already knew that.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to escape as the gun moves even lower, brushing the inside of your thigh now, the sensation sending a wave of heat through your body that leaves you dizzy.

“And yet,” Charles continues, his voice low and rough now, “you keep pushing, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer. Your entire body is focused on the slow, deliberate path of the gun as it moves between your legs, the cold metal making your breath hitch, your heart racing so fast you can barely think straight.

Charles pulls back just slightly, just enough to meet your eyes again. There’s something wild in his gaze now, something dangerous and unrestrained, and for the first time, you realize how far you’ve pushed him.

But instead of pulling away, you lean into him, your lips brushing against his jaw, a silent surrender to whatever he has planned next.

He moves the gun away from your body, but the loss of contact only makes the heat between you more intense. Before you can react, Charles grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to look up at him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he growls, his voice thick with warning.

And then, without another word, he pulls you against him, his lips crashing into yours with a force that steals your breath away. The kiss is hard, demanding, and you respond with equal intensity, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, desperate for more.

Charles’ hand moves to your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a rough, possessive edge. The gun is still in his other hand, but he doesn’t use it, not now. Now it’s just him, the raw power of his touch, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

You’re drowning in the sensation of it, the heady mix of fear and desire overwhelming every sense. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and when Charles finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your lips swollen, your body trembling.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with a hunger you’ve never seen before. “We’re not done,” he says, his voice rough, almost ragged.

You nod, unable to speak, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath.

Charles lowers the gun to his side, his fingers tracing along your jaw with a surprising gentleness. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because this is just the beginning."

Charles doesn't let go of you immediately. His hand lingers on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His eyes are still dark, dangerous, and that smirk — subtle but sharp — hasn’t left his face.

"Come,” he says, his voice low, commanding, as he steps back, breaking the electric contact between your bodies. His hand catches yours, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, and without another word, he starts to lead you down the hallway, deeper into the penthouse. The gleam of city lights fades behind you as the door to the bedroom opens, revealing a space as sleek and cold as the rest of his world.

Charles doesn’t slow down. His grip tightens just a fraction as he pulls you into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You’re aware of the luxurious bed, its sharp angles and cool, satin sheets, but your focus is on him. The way he moves, so sure of himself, so utterly in control, sets your pulse racing again.

Without a word, Charles releases your wrist and steps away, walking over to a small table near the window. The city lights reflect off the polished surface as he picks up the gun again, handling it like it’s nothing more than an extension of himself. He weighs it in his hand, almost thoughtfully, before glancing back at you, his eyes gleaming with that same intensity as before.

“You’ve never had anyone like me, have you?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. He turns the gun over in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of the barrel as if considering his next move.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “What makes you so sure?”

Charles’ smile is slow, deliberate, as he crosses the room toward you, the gun still in his hand. “Because no one else knows how to make you feel like this,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “No one else can make you want something you should be afraid of.”

He’s right. You’ve felt desire before, but never like this. Never this consuming, this dangerous. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the gun in his hand as he stops in front of you, so close that the heat of his body seems to seep into yours.

Charles raises the gun again, the cold metal pressing against your collarbone. He drags it slowly, down the length of your chest, teasing the edge of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches, but you don’t flinch. Not this time. Instead, you tilt your head up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on, daring him to keep going.

The corner of his mouth twitches into something darker than a smile. “You like this more than you want to admit.”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and before you can respond, he moves the gun lower, pressing the barrel lightly against your stomach, the coolness making you shiver. He steps closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Tell me how much you want this.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to catch your breath, but the feeling of the gun, the weight of his words, are too much. You manage to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I-”

Charles doesn’t let you finish. He presses the gun harder against your stomach, just enough for you to feel the cold metal, his lips ghosting over your neck as he murmurs, “Say it.”

Your heart is racing so fast you can barely think. The danger, the thrill, the way he’s completely in control — it’s intoxicating. You know this is a game, but it’s one you’ve already lost. The gun slides lower, grazing your hip now, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your body trembling under the intensity of the moment. “I want you.”

Charles’ grip on the gun tightens slightly as he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough, raw. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Without another word, he moves the gun even lower, tracing the inside of your thigh with the barrel, his other hand reaching up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so that you’re completely exposed to him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your stomach, every nerve on fire.

Charles’ fingers tighten in your hair as he presses the gun between your legs, just hard enough to make you gasp, your body arching toward him involuntarily. The cool metal contrasts sharply with the heat building inside you, and the sensation is almost too much to bear.

“Look at you,” he says softly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already falling apart.”

You try to speak, but the words don’t come. Your pulse is racing, your body trembling under his control, and all you can do is hold on, your fingers gripping the edge of the bed behind you as you try to steady yourself. Charles watches you, his expression calm, but there’s a hunger in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

He presses the gun harder against you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, your body reacting to the dangerous mix of fear and desire that’s consuming you. Charles’ smile widens, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You like being on the edge, don’t you?”

You nod, barely able to think, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the sensation of the gun still pressing against you, teasing, pushing you closer to the brink.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Good. Because I’m not letting you come until I say so.”

Your eyes widen at his words, but before you can protest, he pulls the gun away, leaving you breathless, aching for more. He steps back, his eyes still locked on yours, his expression calm, controlled, as if he hasn’t just left you on the edge of something you can barely control.

“Take off your dress,” he says, his voice firm, authoritative.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Charles watches you, his gaze never wavering as you slowly peel the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor in a soft pool around your feet.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes dark with something that makes your heart skip a beat. Then, without warning, he steps forward again, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you flush against him, the gun still in his hand, though now it’s pressed lightly against your back.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “But I think you’re even more beautiful when you’re scared.”

You shiver at his words, the weight of the gun against your skin, the way his hands hold you so tightly, so possessively. You’ve never felt anything like this before — this combination of fear, desire, and the intoxicating pull of surrender.

Charles’ hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow without hesitation, your body completely under his control now. He pushes you down onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he follows, the gun still in his hand.

You’re trembling, your body on fire with need, with the overwhelming sensation of being at his mercy. And he knows it. He can see it in the way you move, the way your breath hitches every time he touches you.

Charles climbs onto the bed, his knees straddling your hips as he leans down, the gun now resting on your stomach again. He presses it there, hard enough for you to feel its weight, its presence, and you gasp, your body arching toward him, desperate for more.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he whispers, his voice dark and rough. “Tell me how much you need me.”

You’re beyond words now, your mind clouded with desire, with the intoxicating pull of his control. All you can do is nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to steady yourself.

Charles’ smile is dark, satisfied, as he leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both possessive and demanding. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in the sheets as you kiss him back with equal intensity, your body trembling beneath him.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and you moan into his mouth, your body on the verge of something overwhelming, something you can’t control.

“Now,” Charles growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Now you can fall.”

Charles doesn’t move. He hovers above you, eyes dark and dangerous, his body tense with control. The weight of the gun on your stomach feels like a tether to reality — cold, hard, and unforgiving. But the heat between you is anything but cold. It’s burning, pulling you deeper into a place you’ve never been before. You’re on the verge of something, teetering dangerously on the edge, and Charles knows it. He can see it in your eyes, in the way your breath stutters in your chest.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his voice thick with authority. “I want you to tip over the edge for me. Right here.”

You shudder under the intensity of his gaze, his words pulling at something deep within you. Your body is aching, trembling with need, but still, there’s that sliver of control — something keeping you from falling completely, from losing yourself in this dangerous game. It’s a fine line, and Charles knows exactly how to push you over it.

His free hand moves to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around your neck, not tight, but just enough to remind you of his dominance. The cold barrel of the gun still rests on your stomach, a contrast to the heat radiating between your bodies. His touch is everywhere — overwhelming, all-consuming.

“You’ve been holding back,” he says softly, almost a whisper. “I can feel it. But not anymore. I want all of you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your pulse racing. You’ve never been pushed like this before, never been with someone who can see so clearly through the walls you’ve built. It terrifies you, but at the same time, it excites you in a way you can’t even begin to explain.

Charles leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Let go,” he commands, his voice low, a dark promise. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

You tremble beneath him, your body arching instinctively toward his, the need coursing through you like a wildfire. You’re so close, teetering on the edge, and the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you, makes it impossible to hold on any longer.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, gripping them tightly as you feel the tension inside you building to an unbearable peak. Charles watches you, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand still resting lightly around your throat, a reminder of his control.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and it’s enough to send you spiraling. A gasp escapes your lips, and then you’re falling — completely, utterly losing yourself in the moment, in him. The sensation is overwhelming, a wave of heat and electricity that crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly undone.

Charles’ eyes darken as he watches you, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a dark kind of triumph. “That’s what I wanted.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body trembling beneath him, your mind spinning. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that it takes you a moment to even remember where you are. But Charles is there, grounding you, his presence inescapable, his control absolute.

Slowly, he lowers the gun from your stomach, setting it aside on the nightstand without a word. His other hand releases your throat, and instead, he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

You blink up at him, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You feel raw, exposed in a way you’ve never been before, and the vulnerability of the moment hits you like a tidal wave. But Charles doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything else. He just watches you, his gaze steady and calm, as if he’s waiting for you to process everything that’s just happened.

For a long moment, the room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You feel the weight of his body pressing into yours, the heat between you still simmering, but now there’s something else — a sense of calm, of connection, that lingers in the air.

Finally, Charles moves. He shifts his weight, sliding off you, and then he lies back on the bed, pulling you with him until you’re resting against his chest. You go willingly, your body still humming from the intensity of what just happened, your mind still trying to catch up. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, and you find yourself resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The silence between you is comfortable, the tension from earlier now replaced with something softer, more intimate. Charles’ hand moves idly along your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself relax into him, your breath slowly evening out.

After a long silence, Charles finally speaks, his voice low and rough. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You tilt your head slightly, opening your eyes to look up at him. “So are you.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile, and for a moment, the dangerous edge in his expression softens. “I don’t like surprises,” he says, his tone almost teasing. “But I think I could make an exception for you.”

You can’t help but smile, despite everything. There’s something about the way he says it — so calm, so assured — that makes it feel like a promise, like something more than just a passing comment.

Charles’ hand slides up your back, his fingers brushing lightly against the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s still in control, even in this quiet moment, and you can feel it in the way he touches you, the way he speaks to you. It’s intoxicating, in a way that makes you want to stay wrapped up in this moment with him for as long as you can.

He’s quiet again for a while, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your skin. The weight of his chest rises and falls beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling you into a strange sense of calm.

Then, just as you’re starting to drift into that comfortable silence, he speaks again. “I have a feeling,” he says softly, almost as if he’s thinking out loud, “this is the start of a beautiful business relationship.”

You blink, caught off guard by the statement. You lift your head slightly to look at him, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Business?”

Charles looks down at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not just talking about business in the traditional sense. “We’re both professionals, aren’t we?” He says, his tone casual, but you can hear the underlying meaning in his words. “I get what I want. And you — well, you seem to enjoy the thrill of this as much as I do.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. This is more than just a fling, more than just a moment of passion. Charles isn’t someone who does things by half-measures, and you can sense that this — whatever it is between you — is going to be something much more complicated, much more dangerous.

But in this moment, as you lie there with your head resting on his chest, the world outside the penthouse feels a million miles away. You’re still catching your breath, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and for now, that’s enough.

So you don’t respond. You just close your eyes again, letting the steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat guide you, and allow yourself to stay wrapped in the calm before whatever storm comes next.

***

The months blur together in a haze of danger and desire. You’re deeper into Charles’ world than you ever expected to be, and somehow, it’s easier than you thought. He lets you in bit by bit, peeling back the layers of his empire with a subtle but growing trust. His guard drops incrementally, his power over you surging with every stolen kiss, every whispered command in the dark. You’re in his bed more nights than not, wrapped in the silk sheets of his penthouse, and it feels almost natural to exist in this dangerous limbo.

Charles keeps you close — closer than he probably keeps anyone else. He starts to share more with you, letting you into the cracks of his life, though always with a calculated air. You begin sourcing illegal art for him — stolen paintings, ancient artifacts, pieces of history with blood on their provenance. Each exchange is thrilling, a high-stakes game where you’re playing both sides, confident you’re getting what you need.

The deeper you go, the more you convince yourself you’re making real headway. Each deal brings you closer to the heart of his operation. You’re gathering intel for Interpol, keeping one foot in the shadows of your real life, but it’s easy to get lost in the persona you’ve built — the woman Charles thinks you are. The lines blur, and you let them. It’s easier that way.

But you’re still playing a role. Always playing a role.

Tonight is no different. You’re waiting for him in his bedroom, dressed in only a sheer babydoll slip, the soft fabric clinging to your skin, hinting at everything and revealing nothing. The city lights outside the window cast a faint glow over the room, and you can hear the quiet hum of the nightlife below, but up here, in this penthouse, it’s just you and the anticipation of Charles’ arrival.

He’s late, but that’s not unusual. His world operates on its own time, and you’ve grown accustomed to waiting for him. You lie back against the pillows, the cool silk brushing against your skin, a quiet thrill running through you as you imagine how he’ll react when he sees you like this — waiting, vulnerable, and his.

The door creaks open, and you hear his footsteps before you see him. Your pulse quickens, and you sit up slightly, anticipation curling in your chest.

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice a mixture of seduction and warmth, the way you know he likes it. “You kept me waiting.”

But something is wrong.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t smile, doesn’t give you that familiar smirk that tells you the game is about to begin. Instead, he stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy as it sweeps over you, taking in the sight of you in the flimsy lace.

You frown, your confidence wavering slightly. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice faltering as you shift under the weight of his stare. You sit up fully now, swinging your legs off the side of the bed, your bare feet brushing the floor as you watch him.

Charles doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms crossed, his eyes locked on yours with a cold intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

“It’s funny,” he says finally, his voice quiet, measured. “I ran into someone today — an old associate of mine. Someone I trust.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression calm, forcing yourself not to react, not to show the sudden panic rising in your chest.

“Oh?” You try to sound casual, even playful, but there’s an edge to your voice that you can’t quite mask. “And what did this associate have to say?”

Charles takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “He mentioned something interesting,” he continues, his voice still unnervingly calm. “He said he saw me at lunch the other day. Thought the woman I was with looked familiar.”

Your stomach drops.

You know what’s coming next, but you keep your expression neutral, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to say it.

“He said,” Charles continues, his tone hardening slightly, “that she looked a lot like an Interpol agent he dealt with earlier this year. The one who brought him in for questioning.” He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing. “I told him it must be a coincidence.”

The air in the room feels heavy, oppressive, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm, but your mind is racing. How much does he know? How much has he pieced together?

“And then,” Charles says, taking another step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “I decided to do a little digging of my own.”

Your blood turns to ice. Every instinct is screaming at you to run, to get out, but you’re frozen in place, trapped under the weight of his gaze, under the crushing realization that everything is falling apart.

Charles moves closer, his face now inches from yours, his eyes dark with anger, with betrayal. “Tell me something,” he says quietly, his voice deadly calm. “How long were you planning to play me for a fool?”

You open your mouth to respond, to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat. You’ve been trained for moments like this — moments when everything goes wrong, when the mission is compromised — but nothing could have prepared you for this. For him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly, but even as you speak, you know it’s useless. He knows.

Charles’ eyes flash with anger, and he reaches out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know who you are? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “Charles, please-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I trusted you. I let you into my life. Into my bed. And the whole time, you were playing me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you realize there’s no way out of this. No way to salvage what’s left of your cover. You’ve been found out, and now all you can do is brace yourself for what comes next.

“I didn’t-” you start, but Charles cuts you off with a sharp laugh, releasing your chin and stepping back, his expression hard, cold.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m not an idiot. I know exactly who you are. Interpol agent. Sent to infiltrate my organization. To bring me down.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words crashing down on you. There’s no use denying it anymore. He knows. He’s known for some time, and now, there’s no escaping the consequences.

For a moment, the room is silent, the tension between you thick, suffocating. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to think of a way out, but there’s nothing. No way to fix this. No way to undo the damage.

Charles stands there, watching you, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, a dark smile spreads across his face — a smile that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You thought you could manipulate me,” he says, his voice low, almost amused. “You thought you could use me to get what you wanted. But you made one fatal mistake.”

You swallow, your throat dry. “And what’s that?”

Charles steps forward again, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “You underestimated me,” he says softly. “You thought I wouldn’t find out. You thought you were smarter than me.”

He pauses, letting the silence hang heavy in the air before he speaks again. “But now, you’re going to pay for that mistake.”

Your breath catches in your throat, fear clawing at your chest as you stare up at him, his words echoing in your mind. You try to say something, to reason with him, but the words won’t come. You’re trapped, caught in a web of your own making, and now, there’s no way out.

Charles leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to make you regret everything,” he whispers, his voice dark and dangerous, a promise that sends a chill down your spine.

And as he pulls back, a cold smile still playing on his lips, you know that he means it.

***

The moment Charles steps back, the door opens, and a tall, severe-looking man enters the room without a word. He’s dressed in a stark white coat, the kind physicians wear, and carries a small metal case. Panic rushes through you like ice in your veins. The cold smile on Charles’ face tells you everything you need to know — this has been planned.

“Charles,” you say, your voice tight, trying to suppress the tremor in it. “What is this?”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He moves with a calm, deliberate grace as he steps away, gesturing toward the man who’s now setting up his equipment on a small table near the bed.

You make a move to stand, but Charles's hand clamps down on your wrist with brutal force, pulling you back down. His grip is like steel, and for the first time, you realize how much stronger he is than you. It’s not just physical — it’s the mental stranglehold he’s had on you all this time. His eyes gleam with a terrifying calm, and you know there’s no talking your way out of this.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have a contingency plan, didn’t you?” His voice is cold, amused. “Do you know what I find most interesting about betrayal?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he speaks. “It’s not that you were able to fool me. It’s that you thought you would actually get away with it.”

The physician opens his case, revealing a set of electrodes and wires, cold and clinical against the backdrop of the luxury penthouse. Your pulse quickens as your gaze darts between the two of them. The man doesn’t even look at you — he’s focused entirely on his task, his movements methodical, detached, as though he’s done this a hundred times before.

“Don’t-” you start, your voice breaking as you try to pull your wrist free. But Charles tightens his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of your wrist with just enough pressure to make it hurt.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. “You won’t win this. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

You grit your teeth, trying to summon every ounce of strength you have. You’ve been trained for this — your body conditioned to resist, to fight. You know how to break holds, how to defend yourself. But when you try to twist out of his grip, he’s ready. His free hand snaps up, grabbing you by the throat, and before you can react, he slams you back down onto the bed.

Your vision blurs for a second as your head hits the pillow, and you gasp, struggling against him. But he’s stronger, faster, and he knows exactly how to overpower you. You lash out, kicking at him, but Charles only chuckles darkly, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to keep you pinned.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t want to see what happens if you do.”

The physician approaches, his footsteps quiet but deliberate, the faint sound of the electrodes clicking into place sending your heart into a frenzy. You thrash again, but Charles’ grip holds you firmly in place, his body pressing down on yours, keeping you trapped beneath him.

“Let me go!” You snarl, trying to twist away, but it’s no use. Charles’ hand remains locked around your throat, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, a sick mockery of tenderness.

“Fighting won’t help you now,” he says softly, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You had your chance. Now, it’s mine.”

The physician moves in, and before you can react, the cold press of metal touches your skin. The first electrode adheres to your temple, then another at the base of your skull. The sensation is chilling, the wires snaking down toward the machine the physician has set up by the bedside. Your pulse races, fear clawing at your throat as you feel the weight of what’s happening settle over you.

“Stop-” you choke out, your voice cracking as you struggle to push against Charles’ hold. But he just watches you, his eyes cold, emotionless. He’s enjoying this, you realize. The control. The power.

The physician attaches more electrodes, the cold metal sticking to your bare skin. Your chest. Your abdomen. The sensation is invasive, humiliating, and no matter how much you want to fight, you can’t. You’re trapped, helpless under Charles’ grip, and the realization of just how little control you have in this moment sends a wave of terror crashing over you.

Charles’ hand finally releases your throat, but only so he can trail his fingers down your collarbone, watching you with that same eerie calm. “You always had a certain spark,” he says, his voice almost fond, like he’s reminiscing. “I admired that about you. It’s a shame, really. If you hadn’t lied to me, things could’ve been different.”

Your breath hitches as you feel the last electrode being placed on your lower back, the sensation cold and foreign. You don’t know what they’re going to do, but every fiber of your being tells you it’s going to be bad.

Charles leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, his voice a dark whisper. “I’m going to tear you apart and rebuild you,” he says, the words sending a violent shudder through you. “Bit by bit. Until the only thing you can remember is that you belong to me.”

Your stomach turns, and you thrash again, but the electrodes are in place now, the wires humming faintly, connected to a machine that you can’t see from where you’re lying. The physician adjusts something on the device, and the air feels heavier with each passing second, the tension mounting to an unbearable peak.

“You can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking as fear claws at your insides. “You can’t-”

“Oh, I can,” Charles interrupts, his voice sharp, cutting through your panic. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with something dark, something that chills you to the bone. “And I will. I told you — I don’t like being played.”

The physician steps back, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he waits. Charles releases your wrist, finally standing up and looking down at you with an air of satisfaction.

“Let’s begin,” he says.

The physician nods, turning to the machine. There’s a faint click, and then you feel it — a low hum, a strange tingling sensation at the base of your skull where the electrodes are attached. It’s not painful at first, but it’s disorienting. You try to focus, try to push the sensation away, but it only intensifies, spreading through your body like a wave of static.

You clench your teeth, refusing to cry out, but the pressure builds. Your muscles tense, your fingers curling into the sheets as the tingling becomes sharper, more intense. It feels like your mind is being pulled in two directions at once — like something is being torn away from you.

Charles watches, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on you with a cruel, almost clinical detachment. He’s studying you, observing every twitch, every breath, as if he’s enjoying the sight of you unraveling.

The pressure builds, and your vision blurs at the edges. It’s not just physical — it’s mental. The sensation of losing control, of losing yourself. It’s terrifying, and you can feel it slipping, feel the person you’ve built inside yourself starting to fray at the seams.

“I told you,” Charles says quietly, stepping closer once more. “You’ll forget everything except me. Every thought, every memory, every piece of who you are — it’ll all belong to me.”

Your chest tightens, and you gasp, trying to hold on to something — anything — but the machine hums louder, and the electrodes pulse, sending a jolt through your body that makes you cry out in pain. The sound is ripped from your throat before you can stop it, and Charles’ smile widens in satisfaction.

“You won’t be able to resist for long,” he says, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ll break. Everyone breaks eventually.”

Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. You can’t let him win. You can’t lose yourself to this.

But as the machine pulses again, the pain sharp and searing, you wonder how long you can hold on before everything you are is stripped away, piece by piece, until the only thing left is his will, his command, and the terrible truth that you are no longer yourself.

You are his.

***

You wake to a soft, persistent hum, like the remnants of a dream that’s slipped away. Everything feels hazy, like your thoughts are floating just out of reach. The sheets beneath you are silk, cool against your skin, but there’s a heaviness in your limbs, an unfamiliar ache that lingers in your muscles.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering into the room. You recognize it. Charles’ bedroom. The deep maroon walls, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut, casting shadows across the space. The soft, muted scent of him lingers in the air — spiced cologne, leather, something dark and intoxicating.

For a moment, there’s a quiet stillness, and then you feel it — a presence, looming near the bed. You turn your head slowly, your gaze catching on the figure sitting in a chair beside you.

Charles.

He’s watching you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. There’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, like he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to wake. His eyes are dark, intense, scanning your face as if searching for something.

“Charles,” you murmur, your voice low and thick, like you haven’t used it in a long time. The sound of his name feels right on your tongue, like it belongs there. You shift slightly, the silk sheets rustling as you try to gather your bearings, but there’s an unfamiliar fog clouding your mind.

Who …

Before you can grasp the thought, Charles moves, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity.

“Good,” he says softly, his voice smooth and warm, like honey sliding over your skin. “You’re awake.”

Something in the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, but not from fear. It’s something else, something you can’t quite name but feel deeply. There’s a pull in your chest, a magnetic force drawing you to him, and it feels natural. Like instinct.

You try to speak again, but your mouth is dry, the words sluggish in forming. “I … I don’t …” Your brow furrows as you search for the right words, but nothing comes. There’s a strange emptiness in your mind, like pieces of a puzzle have been scattered, and you can’t find the edges to start putting them back together.

Charles stands, moving closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He sits on the edge of the mattress, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body. His hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch is tender, but there’s something possessive in it, a silent claim.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheek as his eyes search yours. “You don’t need to worry about anything right now.”

You blink up at him, confusion flickering in your chest. “I … I don’t …”

“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips. “Don’t try to think too much. You’ve been through a lot.”

You look at him, trying to piece together the fragments in your mind, but everything feels disjointed. There are no names, no faces, just the overwhelming presence of him. His gaze holds you in place, grounding you, tethering you to something solid.

He smiles softly, his hand moving from your cheek to your throat, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. The touch sends a wave of warmth through you, and instinctively, you lean into it, into him. It feels safe. He feels like home.

“Do you remember your name?” Charles asks, his voice soft but laced with a dark curiosity, his fingers resting against your neck like he’s waiting for your answer to betray you.

Your lips part, but nothing comes. There’s a void where your name should be, a blank space in your mind that sends a ripple of panic through you. You search for something — anything — but there’s nothing. No name. No history. Only him.

“I …” You swallow hard, trying to force the words, but all you can do is shake your head, a soft tremor running through you. “I don’t know.”

His smile widens, just a fraction, and his thumb presses a little harder against your pulse. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

You look up at him, confusion and fear swirling in your chest, but there’s something else too. Something deeper. A pull. The moment he touches you, your fear dissipates, replaced by something warm, something that blooms under his gaze.

“Why …” Your voice is barely a whisper, the words slow to form. “Why don’t I remember?”

Charles’ eyes darken slightly, his hand trailing down your throat, over your collarbone. “Because you don’t need to,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “The only thing you need to know is that you’re mine. That’s all that matters now.”

His. The word echoes in your mind, settling deep in your chest. It feels right. Familiar. And yet, there’s something at the edges of your consciousness — something you can’t quite grasp. A fleeting thought, a whisper of something else.

But it slips away as quickly as it comes, lost in the warmth of Charles’ hand on your skin.

“Mine,” he repeats softly, his fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Say it.”

You hesitate, the word lingering on the tip of your tongue. There’s a part of you that feels like you should resist, like something isn’t right, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming presence of him. The way he looks at you, the way his touch makes you feel grounded, anchored. Safe.

“Yours,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles smiles again, satisfied, his hand moving back up to cup your cheek. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You belong to me. No one else.”

The declaration settles over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. You don’t know why, but it feels right. The fog in your mind lifts just enough for you to feel that certainty. That pull toward him.

You try to sit up, but your body feels weak, unsteady. Charles immediately moves, slipping an arm behind your back to help you, his touch firm but gentle. You lean into him, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the last remnants of panic in your mind.

“How long …” You ask, your voice barely more than a murmur.

“How long have you been here?” Charles finishes for you, his hand moving in slow circles against your back. “A few days. You needed time to … adjust.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. There’s still a part of you that feels like you should be asking more questions, but every time you try to think, the fog presses back in, heavy and suffocating. And every time it does, the only thing that makes it bearable is him. His presence. His touch.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask softly, your voice fragile.

Charles’ hand stills against your back, and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your hair. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to stay by my side. I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.”

There’s a faint whisper at the back of your mind — something that feels like resistance, like a question you can’t quite articulate. But before you can grasp it, it’s gone, swallowed by the comforting warmth of Charles’ presence.

You nod slowly, resting your head against his chest. His arms tighten around you, and for the first time since you woke, the fear ebbs away completely, leaving only the quiet certainty that you are his. That you belong here.

Charles pulls back slightly, tilting your chin up so that you’re looking into his eyes. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, the words coming easier this time, settling over you like a binding promise.

Charles’ smile is slow, satisfied. “Good girl.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, and you melt into the kiss, your mind going blank as everything else fades away.

***

Every morning begins the same way: with Charles.

Your eyes flutter open, the soft light filtering through the heavy drapes casting a golden glow over the room. But it isn’t the light that pulls you from sleep. It’s him. It’s always him. The way his arm is draped possessively over your waist, the way his breath fans across your skin as he sleeps soundly beside you. Even in sleep, you can feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, reminding you of your place — at his side, where you belong.

You turn your head slightly, your gaze catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the tousled mess of his hair, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looks peaceful like this, in the quiet moments before the day begins. And as you watch him, a warmth blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire until it consumes every part of you.

He’s all you think about. The first thought that greets you in the morning and the last thought you cling to as sleep takes you at night. Even now, your body instinctively leans into him, seeking his warmth, his touch. You can’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this — when your mind wasn’t consumed by him.

You reach out, fingers lightly tracing the curve of his arm, and your heart swells with an overwhelming sense of devotion. He is everything. Your whole world revolves around him, and the thought of being anywhere else, of being with anyone else, is unfathomable.

Charles stirs beside you, a soft hum escaping his lips as he shifts closer, his arm tightening around you. You feel the heat of his skin against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine. You live for these moments, for the feeling of his body against yours, for the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing that matters.

“Morning,” his voice is thick with sleep, low and gravelly, sending a thrill through you as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper as you press yourself closer to him. You feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, and it calms the whirlwind of thoughts that constantly circle your mind.

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “You sleep well?”

“With you? Always.”

There’s a low chuckle from him, the sound vibrating through your skin. “Good girl.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You live for his praise, for the way his voice wraps around you, making you feel whole. It’s been this way for what feels like forever. There’s no one else. No other name, no other face that holds any meaning. There’s just Charles.

You tilt your head back, offering more of your neck to him, and he takes the invitation, pressing soft kisses along your skin. It sends a familiar warmth coursing through your veins, spreading like fire. You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you.

“Do you know what I love about you?” Charles’ voice is a soft murmur against your skin, his lips brushing the words into your neck.

You hum softly, your heart racing in anticipation. “What?”

“You’re mine. Completely. Your mind, your body, your heart — every part of you belongs to me.” His hand slides up to your throat, his fingers resting lightly against the pulse point there. “And you love that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, the word coming out in a soft exhale. It’s not just an answer — it’s the truth. It’s the only truth that matters.

Charles’ grip on your throat tightens just slightly, a reminder of his control, his ownership, and you feel the edges of your mind blur, leaving nothing but him. “Say it,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping out with ease, a mantra that’s been etched into your very soul. “Only yours.”

His grip loosens, and his hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your head so that you’re looking into his eyes. They’re dark, filled with a dangerous mix of desire and satisfaction. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Your entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of his lips on yours, to the way his hands move over your body with the confidence of someone who knows he owns you completely. There’s no room for anything else — no thoughts, no worries, no memories beyond him.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “You’ve been good lately. Very good.”

The praise sends a rush of warmth through you, your heart swelling with pride. You’ve been good. You’ve done everything he’s asked, without hesitation, without question. Because you don’t need to question anything when it comes to Charles. He knows what’s best for you.

“Do you know what that means?” He asks, his voice dropping lower, a hint of something dangerous in his tone.

You shake your head, anticipation buzzing under your skin. “What does it mean?”

“It means I’m going to reward you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words ignite something in you, a fire that burns hotter with each passing second. You live for his approval, for his praise. And the thought of a reward — something only he can give you — sends your heart racing.

Charles shifts, rolling you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he looks down at you with that dark, possessive gaze. “You want that, don’t you? You want me to take care of you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

His lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile as he leans down, his hand trailing down your body with deliberate slowness. “I love it when you beg,” he murmurs, his fingers dancing over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “It reminds me of how much you need me.”

“I do,” you gasp, your body arching into his touch. “I need you, Charles. I need you.”

He hums in approval, his fingers teasing at the edge of your waistband. “You’re mine,” he whispers again, the words settling into your bones, branding you as his. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”

There’s a moment of stillness before everything shifts. Charles’ hands are everywhere, his touch igniting every part of you as he takes his time, drawing out every sound, every gasp, every plea. And you give it to him freely, because there’s no one else you’d rather surrender to. There’s only him.

Hours pass in a blur of heat and sensation, your body responding to his every command, your mind lost in the haze of him. You tip over the edge more times than you can count, each time feeling like a fresh wave of devotion crashing over you, pulling you deeper into him.

By the time the night is over, you’re left trembling, your body spent, your mind a fog of exhaustion and pleasure. But even then, as you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, the only thing you can think of is him. His touch, his voice, the way he looks at you like you’re his entire world.

And as sleep pulls you under, the last thing you hear is his voice, a low murmur in the darkness. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

And in your dreams, it’s the same. Charles is there, waiting for you, pulling you into his arms, reminding you of who you are.

His.

Always his.

***

The sun is unforgiving in Monaco, beating down on the yachts that crowd the harbor, their glossy decks gleaming in the light. Philip adjusts his sunglasses, squinting against the glare as he navigates the narrow streets leading toward the marina.

This mission wasn’t supposed to be anything out of the ordinary — routine surveillance, gathering intel on a trafficking ring suspected of operating through the port. But the heat is unbearable, the air thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen, making it harder to focus.

He tugs at his collar, feeling the weight of the mission pressing down on him. Monaco always feels claustrophobic, all the wealth and power packed into such a small space. Everywhere he looks, there’s money, status. It’s suffocating.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, reading the latest message from his supervisor.

Stay sharp. Don’t let your guard down.

He rolls his eyes, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Standard procedure. Philip’s eyes drift to the yachts moored in the harbor, each one more extravagant than the last. His attention lingers on one in particular — a massive, sleek vessel, easily the largest in the marina. The name etched on the side glistens in gold: La Bellezza.

It doesn’t take long for him to recognize it. Charles Leclerc’s yacht. Of course, it had to be Leclerc. The rumors about the man are legendary — how he runs his empire with an iron fist, how he’s untouchable in Monaco, how anyone who crosses him ends up six feet under. It’s why they never found-

Philip shakes his head, pushing the thought away. There’s no use dwelling on the past, on missions gone wrong. Y/N was one of the best agents Interpol had, and when she went dark, they all knew what that meant. There was no coming back from that. Charles Leclerc didn’t make mistakes.

Still, as he watches the yacht, a figure steps onto the deck, catching his attention. At first, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. The sun is too bright, the distance too far, but there’s something about the way she moves, the silhouette that feels … familiar. He takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

And then he sees her.

His heart stutters in his chest.

It can’t be.

Philip freezes, staring at the woman on the deck. She’s laughing, her hair catching in the breeze, and Charles is right beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She turns, and for a split second, their faces are clear.

It’s you.

It’s Y/N.

His throat tightens. This isn’t possible. Y/N is dead. You’ve been dead for months. They had a memorial service for you, for Christ’s sake. He remembers the grief, the unanswered questions. No body was ever found, but that’s how it goes with someone like Charles. You must’ve been discovered. You must’ve been killed.

And yet … there you are. Alive. Right in front of him.

Philip’s mind races, trying to make sense of it all. He can’t trust his eyes. Maybe it’s someone who just looks like you. Maybe this is some sick coincidence. But everything in him is screaming that this is no mistake.

He takes a step closer, heart hammering in his chest.

“Y/N?” He calls out, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Then, louder. “Y/N!”

The woman doesn’t even glance his way. No flicker of recognition crosses your face. You’re entirely focused on Charles, your hand resting on his arm, your body pressed close to his.

Philip’s stomach drops.

This doesn’t make sense. If it’s really you, why wouldn’t you respond? Why wouldn’t you … remember?

Before he can call out again, Charles leans down to whisper something in your ear, and you smiles — a soft, genuine smile, one that Philip hasn’t seen in months. It’s a smile he used to know well, back when you were both agents, before everything went wrong.

Philip feels a wave of nausea wash over him. There’s no way you would be here, on Leclerc’s arm, if you knew who you were. If you remembered.

He pulls out his phone, fingers trembling as he dials his supervisor. It rings twice before the familiar voice picks up.

“Philip, what’s going on? You’re supposed to be surveilling the port.”

“I … I just saw Y/N.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end.

“Philip,” the supervisor says slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Y/N is dead. You know that.”

“No,” he insists, his voice urgent. “I’m looking at her right now. She’s on Charles Leclerc’s yacht. I swear, it’s her.”

“Philip,” the supervisor sighs, a heavy, resigned sound. “You’re tired. You’ve been in the field too long. We all grieved Y/N, but you need to accept that she’s gone. No one survives after crossing Leclerc. You know that better than anyone.”

Philip’s hand tightens around the phone, his mind spinning. “But-”

“Enough,” the supervisor cuts him off. “Stay focused on the mission. Do your job. That’s an order.”

The line goes dead, and Philip is left standing there, staring at the yacht, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind refuses to believe it, but what other explanation is there? He knows what he saw. He knows your face, your mannerisms. But if you’re really alive, then …why are you acting like you don’t know him?

As he watches, Charles takes your hand, leading you to the center of the sundeck. From this angle, Philip can see everything. The way you gaze up at him with a look that could only be described as adoration. The way you follow his every movement, like he’s the only thing in your world.

Philip’s stomach turns. This isn’t right.

Then, without warning, you sink to your knees in front of Charles, your eyes fixed on him as though he’s the sun and you’re orbiting him. Philip’s breath catches in his throat, disbelief surging through him.

What the hell are you doing?

Charles leans down, his fingers lazily tugging at the string of your bikini top, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s a calculated display, one meant to assert control, dominance. And you — you just kneel there, completely submissive, completely his.

Philip feels the bile rise in his throat as the knot comes undone, your bikini top slipping off your shoulders. You don’t flinch, don’t hesitate. You just kneel there, bare before him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a long moment, Philip can’t breathe. The scene playing out in front of him feels like a punch to the gut. This isn’t the Y/N he knew. The Y/N he knew would never …

But then, maybe you aren’t the same person anymore. Maybe you’ve been broken down, rebuilt into someone else entirely. Someone who belongs to Charles Leclerc.

As Philip watches, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away, he feels a crushing sense of helplessness settle over him. Y/N — if it is you — has been lost to him. To them. To everything you once were. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.

Charles pulls you up by the chin, his lips brushing over yours in a possessive kiss that’s all dominance, all control. You lean into him, your eyes half-lidded, completely pliant in his hands.

Philip turns away, his stomach churning. Whatever happened to you, whatever Charles has done — he’s too late.

You’re his now.

And there’s nothing Philip can do about it.