#all I know is this is a complex matter and it's difficult to express in words

[alexanderwales]

I keep having this idea for a trading card story, and it keeps not quite coming together for me.

I played Magic: the Gathering for a great many years, with Friday Night Magic being a staple of my adult life until I finally got pounded into the ground by netdecks one too many times.

I always felt like there was something there, a way to take Mark Rosewater's psychographics and build up a good cast of characters, a way to take the deck archetypes and have those decks express something about these people. What possesses a man to play only control decks? Why does this kid always bring tokens?

And of course the fundamental issue is that if you have a book that's about a card game, you've got to show the card game at some point, and no shade to Yu-Gi-Oh, but the anime was filled with overpowered cards and illegal moves, and did not have a healthy respect for the game in and of itself.

But if card battles are a way of resolving things within the narrative, you have to do brush strokes, right? Because a full game with all its complexities is just way too much, and even just sketching it out seems like it would be difficult. You'd confine yourself to just the highlights, the card games that matter, that have something to say about these characters, the ones that have some kind of stakes. But even then, I don't know, it does seem like a lot.

I think the dream would be to come to Wizards of the Coast with it, pitch it as "like The Breakfast Club but everyone playing MtG", five characters who are very different from each other and take their inspiration from the different parts of the color wheel. But there would be so many problems to work out, not least of which is setting it within a specific time and place where there's something to say about ... I don't know, collectible card games, what compels us to play them, how games can/do serve as expression of the self.

I haven't followed MtG for quite some time, though I still have a dozen EDH decks that see extremely infrequent use, so maybe this just wouldn't be workable in the modern climate of the game, which would require me to make up my own card game, which would lead to all kinds of other problems with how to structure the "action scenes" that are about the movements of game pieces.

This is one of those ideas that I will refer to as "gestating" because I pick it up every now and then, rotate it in my head, then set it back down, slightly better than it was before. But I think I like it only because I have a lot of unprocessed trauma from the time I traded away a Tarmogoyf without knowing its value.

[calamitaswrath]

Hmm. Hm. Starting to feel like I'm actually an "any pronouns" kinda person? Not sure, though.

[sandwhitches]

*ೃ༄ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌 (𝐯𝐚𝐫. 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

✹ 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰: drabbles of various hq characters as songs from charm by clairo

✹ 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: fluff!!

✹ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀: atsumu miya, osamu miya, rintaro suna, tooru oikawa, hajime iwaizumi & keiji akaashi

✹ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: (under 16 dni) established relationship (all except suna’s), mentions of insecurity in osamu’s, smoking & drinking in akaashi’s, oikawa and iwaizumi’s may be slightly suggestive at some points but it’s a reach

✹ 𝗮/𝗻: if you’re like wow that lineup is so random it’s because these are all my most prized boyfriends i hope you can understand thanks. also been obsessed w charm lately erghghhh listening to the entire album is a part of my daily routine now!! songs are linked to the titles if u wanna give a listen while reading :) i highly recommend listening to the album if u haven’t already!! srry for any typos i missed!

𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 ✶ 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

“and once you get in my ear, i see kismet sinking in, it’s second nature”

after all this time, you suppose that loving atsumu isn’t as complex as it seemed like it was before. you love him in the same fashion in which you breathe or blink, you’d forgotten how to function without it, it’s second nature. likewise, atsumu finds loving you to be the easiest thing in the world.

he knows you too well, it makes your heart flutter every time he does something, no matter how many times he’s done it before. every morning, you slip out of bed to find that your slippers are already waiting for you on the chilly wood of your bedroom floor, placed perfectly where your feet land when you roll out of bed. you’d almost forgotten it was sunday, and you would have had you not heard the sound of your husband in the kitchen doing a horrible job at being quiet.

you can picture it before you even see it, atsumu hunched over a skillet with sizzling bacon popping quietly to fill the early morning silence of your apartment. atsumu can never sleep in anymore, eternally used to the long hours he spends as an athlete, so he’s since taken it upon himself to try to be productive before you wake.

“mornin’” his voice is still raspy and warm, the afterthought of sleep apparent on his softened expression that he holds when looking at you. atsumu chuckles quietly under his breath when you press your face between his shoulder blades, snaking your arms around his waist. he still smells like the floral detergent of your bedsheets and the buttery sandalwood of his body wash.

“you’re burning the bacon, already.” you snicker into his shirt, earning a click of his tongue, “don’t ya’ like it crispy?” he counters playfully, using a fork to turn over one of the bubbling strips.

“yeah, i do, but,” you peak from around his back, pointing at the darkened bacon in the pan, “those are totally charred.”

atsumu scoffs teasingly, peering down at you, “they are not.” they really are about to be unsalvageable. you laugh dryly under your breath, using your hip to bump him out of the way of the stove, taking the bacon off the heat. atsumu puts up no fight, leaning on the counter to watch you grab a plate, eyes filled with a mushy lovesick glow. you should be used to this kind of unadulterated display of adoration, but it still makes your cheeks heat up like it did when you were in high school.

“i missed ya’,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for you to hear. you glance over your shoulder at him, smirking in confusion, “i didn’t go anywhere, did i?”

atsumu simply offers a content laugh, grabbing a piece of bacon from the plate, “i meant i missed ya while you were asleep.” he rolls his eyes as if it’s the most logical thing to assume in the world. you snort playfully, “weren’t you only awake for, like, 10 minutes before me?”

taking a (rather difficult) bite from the piece bacon, he nods, “exactly.”

𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 ✶ 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞

“sexy to someone is all i really want.”

osamu peered into your hotel bathroom upon smelling the scent of your perfume, a usual indication he has since learned that meant you were nearly done getting ready. an expression of confusion contorts his face into a frown at the sight of your own unhappy grimace.

“what’s wrong?” he inquires softly, watching your eyes through your reflection in the mirror. you groan in bemusement, setting the perfume bottle down, “nothing’s cooperating with me today, look,” you ruffle your hair a bit, trying to place it the way in which it usually sits on your head.

apart from your hair, you feel like you might have rushed too much on your makeup, and when you look in the mirror, maybe your dress doesn’t go as well with your shoes as you thought it did when packing.

you and osamu were in tokyo tonight, getting ready to go down for a celebratory dinner for the grand opening of the new branch of onigiri miya. while the thought of seeing all of your friends in one place was exciting, your hasty attempt to get ready in time was beginning to dampen your mood.

“what are ya talkin’ about, darlin’?” osamu knit his brows, genuinely baffled by what you could be implying as he leans against the doorframe. you blow out a short breath of frustration, gesturing at the mirror, “i feel like i look like a mess.”

osamu’s lips part in disbelief, the corners twitching in annoyance, “are ya kiddin’?” he scoffs, leaning forward to place a big hand on your arm. you turn away from your reflection, looking up at him, surprised to see such a perplexed expression upon his face.

“yer ridiculous, ya know that?” he scoffs, already pulling you out of the bathroom, “i’m serious.” you whine in frustration with yourself, begrudgingly following him towards the door. osamu lets go of the soft hold he has on your arm, turning to face you; he bends over to level with you, shaking his head, “yer the most beautiful person i have ever seen in my life, ya know that?”

you go quiet, crossing your arms as he stands back up to open the door for you. osamu glances over his shoulder, a wry grin occupying his lips now as he shakes his head once more, “i seriously can’t believe ya, sometimes.”

you knew osamu better than to think there was any actual malice hidden behind his frustration with you. leave it to him to fix the unfixable. as you walk down the hotel hallway, the way he drapes an arm around your shoulder suddenly makes you consider that he might be right. the admiration in his eyes as he looks at you makes you feel like maybe you are the most beautiful person in the world.

𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐚 ✶ 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰

“when i drive, i always check over the seat, i could see you right there, waiting for me”

it was much too late for this type of situation to be launched at you so suddenly, you knew that, but you still chose to unlock the door when you saw suna through your peephole.

you could tell he was drunk, his cheeks were bright red, hair mussed and eyes lidded with exhaustion. “what are you-” you hiss under your breath as he makes his effort to push into your apartment, experiencing no resistance from you as you let him stumble in. suna turns to face you upon hearing the door click shut, a lazy grin gracing his face.

“hi,” he snickers, readjusting his unstable stance. “hey.” you return, crossing your arms, “you know it’s late, right?” the clock on your phone reads 1:30, exactly two hours past when you should have been asleep. “i knooow.” he muses, walking over to collapse on your couch.

“are you just gonna sleep here?” you scoff incredulously, watching him roll over to look at you, grinning contentedly. “nah, came here to say something.” suna rasps, patting the cushion of the couch beside his head as if he owns the place.

against your better judgement, you choose to oblige, sitting down with a sigh as he makes an effort to sit up hunched beside you. “you know i’m not an idiot, right?” he starts, an unusual mixture of honesty and playfulness in his drunken tone. you crease your brows in confusion, “what are you talking about?”

“i know,” he nods, leaning back onto the couch, “i know what we’ve been doing this whole time.” you feel your heart begin to race, he can’t possibly be hinting at that, can he?

all the playful flirting, the lingering touches and longing glances around friends. they were meant to never be discussed, a secret so forbidden that even the two who kept it mustn’t acknowledge it. the practically invisible elephant in the room. suna was about to mess it all up, and you weren’t sure if your heart beat ten times faster with fear or excitement.

“what?” your mouth has long gone dry, words unsaid all dying on your tongue before they can even flow out to defend yourself. “i’m tired of it.” suna mumbles out, closing his eyes, then cracking one open to look at you, “aren’t you?”

he doesn’t wait for your response, though there wasn’t enough room for thought in your mind to formulate one, anyways. “i used to think i could ignore it, but i never realized how much i think about it until recently,” suna swallows, then turns to face you, head lolling against the couch, “am i wrong? it’s been like this the whole time, hasn’t it?”

you frown, “what do you mean?”

“you’ve liked me this whole time, haven’t you?” suna whispers, the tenderness of vulnerability making him sound so quiet, “because all i do is think about what things would be like if we stopped pretending like nothing was happening.”

there he goes, spoiling the quiet little mutual crush you two shared. something that started small enough not to notice, but grew until it boiled over, and one of you were bound to crack. it was suna who cracked first, albeit drunk, but you knew in the hushed whisper of his confession, that he meant every word of it.

“i-…” your words are lost to you, anything you thought to say no longer exists. suna reaches up a calloused hand, sloppily brushing a piece of hair from your face, “m’ really tired of missing you when you’re not around…wan’ you ‘round…all the time.” he’s beginning to slur his words, and you realize how drunk he actually is, his breaths slowing with the tightening grips of sleep.

as suna’s eyes flutter shut, you can’t help but wish he doesn’t forget about this when morning seeps in through your living room windows and wakes him up from a long, drunken slumber.

𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐨𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 ✶ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚

“(you make me wanna) buy a new dress, (you make me wanna) slip off a new dress”

you can’t believe how different life feels when you completely give in to love. how have you gone so long without the addictive sensation of loving and being loved? with tooru around, the blandest situation becomes technicolor; the chirping of birds by your window in the morning is no longer annoying, the coffee shop seems to always make your order right, and you look prettier in the mirror than you ever have before.

tonight the moon did not bring the chill of seaside winds with her, instead, the warm kiss of a summer’s breeze drifted through the air. you and tooru had long forgotten about your walk back to the car after dinner and had ended up at the pier, salty sea air dancing through locks of hair and playing with the hem of the dress you’d bought specifically for this date.

a warm pair of hands come from behind you, fitting snug against your hips as oikawa tucks his chin into the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “have i mentioned you look beautiful tonight?” he murmurs. before, you would’ve been so embarrassed at how easily he could make you blush, but now it doesn’t matter.

“i think you’ve mentioned it a couple of times.” you hum in response, leaning into his touch. oikawa snickers, watching waves lap against each other in a foamy dance. “could i mention it again?” he returns slyly and you giggle, “i’ll allow it.”

tooru leans forward, whispering into the shell of your ear, “you look beautiful tonight.” he seems all too pleased at the way your cheeks burn red, how easily you could be flustered if you let yourself be.

“how’d i get so lucky, hm?” he adds, nosing into your cheek, following the soft touch with a peppering of kisses along the side of your face. “tooru,” you whisper, voice shaky with the aftertaste of laughter, “hm?” he purrs into your skin.

you bring up a hand to place on the other side of his face, situating your head to return a chaste kiss to his cheek, “let’s head home, yeah?”

oikawa stands up straight again, brushing his fingers over to spot you’d kissed you suddenly. while he prides himself on his ability to make you flustered, sometimes he conveniently ignores the fact that you’ve always had the exact same effect in tenfold.

“i think that’s a great idea.” he muses, slipping a hand from your waist to link fingers with your own as you walk back up the pier. in the midst of your lovesick chatter, he interrupts you, “hey, my love?”

“yeah?” you mutter lightly in response.

“i forgot what direction we parked the car in.”

𝐡𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 ✶ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮

“i really hate to admit it, i put my pride on the line, ‘cause when i met you, i knew it, i’d thank you for your time.”

being like this was never easy for hajime, which is why he chose against this for so long. it was a tiring six-month battle of hallway encounters and awkward elevator rides before he finally admitted to himself that he was head over heels for the girl across the hallway from him.

loneliness seems so distant now, and he’s long chased it away in return for your sleeping figure beside him. iwaizumi can’t imagine what his life would be like nowadays if his pillows didn’t smell like you or his shoes didn’t fit so perfectly next to yours at the end of the day.

he can’t find it in himself to sleep tonight, and neither can you, a short moment of surprise exchanged as you roll over to find he’s already looking down at you. after a blink or two, the both of you felt grins of amusement tugging on either corners of your lips. hajime pulls you closer, wrapping his big arms around your torso, thumbing the small of your back.

“you’re my favorite, you know that?” he mumbles into your hair with a certain waggishness to his words. you huff out a short laugh, “favorite what?”

“just in general.” he returns, moving back slightly to look down at you with big eyes full of fondness, “i like you a lot more than anything else.”

giggling, you bring a hand up to cup the side of his face, feeling the setting of his jaw under your palm at the touch, “you’re not so bad yourself, either.”

hajime scoffs in amusement, rolling his eyes, “oh, thanks.”

the dark bedroom is filled with the mirth of quiet laughter, a moment that seems to last forever, a feeling that you wish to keep in your pocket and carry around. there’s nothing extraordinarily funny happening, and perhaps you’re only laughing in disbelief of the fact that this is real

living with hajime is like moving in with your best friend, there’s nothing about plain existence that’s entertaining, but with him everything is funnier than it’s ever been. you two never get enough sleep because you’re always up for hours, savoring each word, touching each other’s skin, feeding off the thrill of breathing each other’s air like the opportunity is only for one night.

hajime is glad that you made him a weak man. there’s nothing more in the world he could have ever wanted than this, and he’d be thanking you for sharing your time until the day he died.

𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐢𝐣𝐢 ✶ 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧

“simple thing, i don’t need much to like, i find.”

saturday nights were never spent like they used to be back in college. you suppose that’s a part of growing up, becoming boring. but despite how plain the pattern of your life has become since you’ve started working and settling down, you never once considered wanting anything more.

akaashi’s cramming days worth of work into one night, lips stained with red wine as he types with precision onto the clacking keyboard of his laptop. you’re on the other side of the couch, legs bent up to support your own laptop that you draft an email on. you let out a pained groan at a sudden ache that tears through your thigh, setting the laptop onto the coffee table to stretch out the tight muscle.

keiji pauses, looking up at you. his glasses were almost askew, sliding down his nose. a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, a collegiate habit that sometimes still haunts the both of you, especially on nights like these. “is your leg cramping?” he inquires, setting his laptop on the cushion beside him. you nod, kneading at the skin.

a soft breath of surprise sucks in through your lips when a pair dexterous hands replace your own, pushing between the muscles with precision. you look up to find akaashi’s focused expression, what was left of his cigarette burning out on the ashtray placed haphazardly on the couch’s arm.

sudden relief washes across your body as his index finger pushes into the right spot, a low sigh leaking from your lips. akaashi glances back up, a rare smirk making its appearance, “better?” you nod in response.

akaashi looks at his watch, then up at you, “it’s kinda late, huh?” he notes, leaning over to shut his laptop. “it was kinda late two hours ago, it’s really late now.” you return, stretching your sore back out. once again, akaashi’s hands return to your body, kneading at the tired muscles without a second thought.

a soft kiss is pressed to the tender back of your neck, it smells like red wine and cigarettes, you longed to turn around and taste his lips, but restrained yourself. “you tired?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“i just…i really need to finish this project by monday, i’m worried that-“ keiji silences you with another kiss, this time to your cheek, “you won’t get anything done if you’re tired, why don’t you work on it tomorrow?”

you think about arguing, but you ultimately know that he’s right. your shoulders relax and you let your body weight rest up against his chest, savoring the rise and fall of his ribs with every breath he takes.

tonight was simple, perhaps a bit stressful, but that was the typical night with keiji nowadays. you couldn’t ever find yourself growing restless with this, however, and moments like these made you feel like no matter how unremarkable nights like these are, you love them more than anything. you love keiji more than anything.

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: Chp 5

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

In the cozy, firelit warmth of the sitting room at the River House, Rhysand, Cassian, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor gathered, their conversation initially light, but soon shifting to more serious matters. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the faces of those present. Feyre sat comfortably beside Rhys, her hand resting on his, while Nesta lounged with a cup of tea, and Mor leaned back in her chair, a curious smile playing on her lips as she sensed the shift in the conversation.

Cassian, his usual easy-going demeanour tempered by a hint of concern, spoke first. “There’s something we wanted to discuss with you, ladies. Rhys and I... well, we’ve been noticing something off with Azriel lately.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed as she looked between her mate and Cassian. “What do you mean? Is he alright?”

Rhysand leaned forward, his violet eyes serious. “It’s hard to say. He’s been more withdrawn than usual, and we think we might know why. Yesterday, when Cassian and I were out... well, let’s just say we ended up at a certain pleasure house in the Hewn City.”

Mor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, while Nesta sipped her tea, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp with interest.

“While we were there,” Cassian continued, “we met a woman—YN. She works there, and... well, there’s something about her. Something that seems connected to Azriel’s recent behaviour.”

Feyre frowned, her thoughts racing. “Connected how?”

Rhys exchanged a glance with Cassian before answering. “She mentioned she has a baby, and a boyfriend. But there was something off about the way she spoke, as if she was hiding something. And today, we overheard her talking with one of the other employees. She mentioned she’s going shopping tomorrow. It got us thinking.”

Nesta’s gaze sharpened. “You think she’s involved in whatever’s been bothering Azriel?”

“We’re not sure,” Cassian admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But something about it all doesn’t sit right. Azriel has been acting strange, and we know he’s been keeping secrets. YN might be part of that.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered this. “You’re suggesting we keep an eye on her? Maybe follow her while she’s shopping?”

Rhys nodded. “Exactly. If we can figure out what’s going on, we might be able to help Azriel. He’s been carrying something heavy, and we need to know if she’s involved.”

Mor’s smile faded into a more serious expression. “Do you really think this woman could be a threat?”

“Not necessarily a threat,” Rhys said carefully. “But she might be the key to understanding why Azriel has been so distant. If she’s somehow involved in whatever he’s going through, it’s worth looking into.”

Nesta leaned forward, setting her teacup down with a decisive clink. “So, you want us to go to the Hewn City, shop around, and see what we can find out?”

Rhys nodded. “Exactly. It’s a perfect cover—just a day out shopping. No one would suspect anything. But keep your eyes and ears open.”

Feyre, ever protective of her family, glanced at her sister and Mor before nodding. “We can do that. We’ll go tomorrow and see what we can learn.”

Cassian grinned, his usual mischief returning. “Just try not to get into too much trouble.”

Nesta shot him a dry look. “Speak for yourself, Cassian.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as the women considered the plan, the gravity of the situation weighing on them. But before they could delve deeper into the details, the sound of approaching footsteps made them all fall silent. The atmosphere shifted as Azriel walked into the room, his presence immediately felt by everyone.

“Evening,” Azriel greeted, his voice as calm and measured as ever, though his sharp gaze seemed to linger on Rhysand and Cassian, as if he sensed the undercurrent of tension.

“Azriel,” Rhysand greeted smoothly, masking any trace of the conversation that had just taken place. “We were just catching up. How was your day?”

Azriel studied them for a moment, his expression unreadable as always, before nodding slightly. “Productive. Any new developments?”

“Nothing worth noting,” Cassian said casually, though there was an almost imperceptible tension in his posture. “Just the usual.”

Azriel didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let it slide, moving to stand by the window, his gaze distant as he looked out at the night sky. The others exchanged a brief glance, silently agreeing to keep their suspicions to themselves for now. There would be time to investigate tomorrow, and until then, they would carry on as if nothing had changed.

But as the conversation shifted to more mundane topics, each of them knew that something had shifted. Secrets were being kept—by all of them—and the truth was only growing more complicated with each passing day.

---

The next day, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor found themselves in the bustling streets of the Hewn City. Despite its dark reputation, the city was alive with activity, the market streets crowded with merchants hawking their wares, and shoppers moving between the various stalls and shops. Feyre kept her hood up, blending into the shadows cast by the tall buildings, though she still felt the weight of curious glances as they walked. She had been to the Hewn City before, but never for something as delicate as this.

As they approached the heart of the market district, Feyre felt Rhysand’s presence brush against her mind, his voice a soft whisper in her thoughts. She’s just ahead, looking at some baby clothes. You’ll recognize her by the dark hair and the buggy. Along with his words came a series of images—snapshots of YN that Rhys had seen when he and Cassian visited the pleasure house with Azriel. A woman with soft, dark hair, delicate features, and an air of quiet strength, even in the depths of the Hewn City.

“Got it,” Feyre whispered back, nodding slightly as she looked to Nesta and Mor, who were both scanning the crowd. “She’s just ahead. Let’s keep our distance.”

The three women wove their way through the crowd, carefully avoiding drawing any attention. The further they walked, the darker the shops became—both in ambiance and in merchandise. The shift was subtle, the luxury of the Hewn City marred by the unmistakable undertone of cruelty and excess. Feyre’s gaze flicked from shadowed alleyways to the opulent yet ominous storefronts, the contrast of the city always unsettling her.

Finally, they spotted YN. She was pushing a simple buggy, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a cozy sweater, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. The baby in the buggy was small, barely a few weeks old, wrapped snugly in a soft blanket. YN’s movements were slow, deliberate, as she browsed through a rack of tiny clothes, her eyes scanning the options with the intent focus of a mother lost in her thoughts.

“There she is,” Mor murmured, nodding subtly towards YN. Feyre and Nesta followed her gaze, taking in the sight of the woman who had unknowingly become a focal point of their investigation.

Feyre watched as YN reached out to touch a soft onesie, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she ran her fingers over the fabric. Her expression, though serene, carried a weight of exhaustion—something Feyre recognized all too well from her own early days with Nyx.

As YN continued to shop, the baby in the buggy began to fuss, tiny whimpers breaking the quiet air around them. YN immediately turned her attention to her child, her smile softening as she bent down to pick up the baby, cradling him against her chest. She rocked gently, her lips moving in what Feyre could only assume were soothing words.

“Is that...?” Nesta started, her voice low as she observed the interaction.

“I think so,” Feyre replied, keeping her voice just as quiet. “The baby must be hers. The one she mentioned to Cassian and Rhys.”

Mor narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched YN. “She doesn’t seem like a threat. But still... there’s something more going on here.”

Feyre nodded in agreement. YN’s demeanour, her clothing, the way she cradled her baby—none of it aligned with the typical image of someone who might be a danger or have any influence over Azriel. She seemed more like a woman trying to balance the weight of motherhood with whatever burdens life had thrown her way.

They kept their distance as YN continued to shop, picking out a few more baby items and placing them in the buggy’s basket. Her movements were unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world, though the lines of tension in her posture suggested otherwise. Feyre noted how YN would glance around occasionally, her gaze lingering on the shadows, as if expecting someone or something to emerge from them.

As they trailed behind, YN paused in front of a shop that displayed more elaborate and ornate baby clothes, clearly beyond the simple, practical items she had been selecting. The baby fussed again, a soft cry escaping his tiny lips, and YN immediately lifted him out of the buggy, holding him close as she bounced him gently in her arms.

The women watched as YN whispered to her son, the love and care evident in every movement, every soft murmur. Feyre felt a pang of empathy for the young mother—she knew all too well the fears and challenges that came with raising a child, especially in a world as dangerous as theirs. But beneath that empathy was also a growing curiosity. What was YN’s connection to Azriel? And why was she so deeply enmeshed in his recent troubles?

As YN continued her slow stroll through the market, the shadows of the Hewn City seemed to close in around her, a stark contrast to the warmth she tried to create for herself and her newborn son. She adjusted the blanket around Knox, who had finally settled against her chest, his tiny breaths warm and steady against her skin. The cool air brushed against her cheeks as she looked around, scanning the shops with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

She pushed the buggy with one hand while holding Knox in the other, her movements careful and deliberate. The market was as lively as ever, with vendors calling out their wares and patrons haggling for better prices. The sounds echoed through the narrow streets, but YN seemed isolated in her own world, focused entirely on her son and the tasks she had to complete.

Feyre, Nesta, and Mor remained several paces behind, moving with practiced ease through the crowds, keeping YN within their line of sight. They observed her every movement—the way she delicately placed each item in the buggy’s basket, how she lingered over certain displays, and the protective way she held her son close to her heart. There was something undeniably tender about the way she interacted with Knox, a deep bond that resonated even from a distance.

“She seems so... normal,” Mor whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the market. “Not at all what I expected.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s so dangerous,” Nesta murmured, her eyes sharp as she watched YN pick up a small, hand-knit sweater. “If she’s involved with Azriel, she’s hiding it well.”

Feyre frowned slightly, torn between her suspicions and the simple reality of what she was witnessing—a mother, caring for her child, doing what she needed to do to survive in a place as unforgiving as the Hewn City. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for spying on YN, but she reminded herself of the stakes. Azriel was one of their own, and they needed to understand what was happening to help him.

YN moved to another stall, her gaze flicking over a selection of baby blankets. She reached out to touch the fabric, her fingers lingering on a soft, blue woolen blanket that was far more luxurious than anything she had chosen so far. She held it up, considering it for a long moment before shaking her head and placing it back on the pile. It was clear that practicality outweighed indulgence in her world.

Knox stirred slightly in her arms, his tiny fist clenching around the edge of her sweater as he fussed again. YN immediately shifted him, her voice low and soothing as she murmured to him. She kissed his forehead, her expression softening as he settled back into a peaceful sleep. She glanced around the market, her gaze momentarily distant, as if lost in thought. For a moment, she seemed entirely alone, despite the crowd bustling around her.

Mor tilted her head slightly, observing the way YN seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Whatever she’s involved in, it’s taking its toll.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Feyre said softly, though she couldn’t ignore the sense of unease settling in her chest. “She might not be a threat.”

Nesta’s expression remained hard, but there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes as she watched YN finally select a plain white onesie, placing it gently in the buggy. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

YN finished her shopping, her steps slow and measured as she made her way toward the edge of the market, the buggy rolling smoothly along the cobblestone streets. Knox was still cradled in her arms, his small face tucked against her shoulder. She seemed tired—more than just physically—but she moved with the determination of someone who had long grown accustomed to the weight of her burdens.

“Let’s give her space,” Feyre whispered, signaling to Nesta and Mor to hang back as they reached the outskirts of the market. “We’ll follow up with Rhys and Cassian later.”

They slowed their pace, letting YN disappear into the shadows of the narrow street ahead. As she faded from view, Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. There was more to YN than they had seen today, more than a young mother simply trying to care for her child in a difficult world.

-

YN stood at the base of the narrow, winding steps that led up to the small apartment she shared with Azriel, cradling Knox in her arms. The cool air of the Hewn City brushed against her skin, making her shiver slightly. The streets around her were quiet, the bustle of the market now a distant memory as she and her son returned home from their shopping trip.

Knox had fallen asleep during the short walk back, his tiny body relaxed and warm against her chest. She adjusted the blanket around him, pressing a soft kiss to his downy hair. His small, steady breaths were the only sound she focused on as she stood there, momentarily lost in her thoughts.

But the unease she’d felt earlier at the market lingered, a nagging sense of being watched that she couldn’t quite shake. She had caught glimpses of figures moving just at the edge of her vision, people who seemed to linger too long as she shopped, their attention on her more than the goods on display. YN had kept her composure, acting as though she hadn’t noticed, but her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

She took a deep breath, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside as she gazed up the stairs, preparing to climb them with Knox in her arms. Just as she was about to take her first step, the flutter of wings caught her attention, and she looked up to see Azriel descending from the sky, his shadows swirling around him as he landed silently in front of her.

His eyes, usually so composed and unreadable, softened when they met hers, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her at the sight of him. Despite everything, despite the secrecy and the hidden life they shared, Azriel was her anchor.

"Azriel," she breathed, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief. She had been expecting him to be gone for longer, given the tension of the last few days.

“YN,” he greeted, his voice low and warm, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took in the sight of his son nestled against her. But as he stepped closer, he immediately noticed the tension in her posture, the way her eyes darted around the street as if she was still on edge. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing around again, as if expecting someone to emerge from the shadows. Finally, she met his gaze, her voice quiet but laced with concern. “I think I was being watched today. At the market. I... I could feel eyes on me, and not just in passing. It was deliberate, like someone was studying me.”

Azriel’s expression darkened instantly, the softness in his eyes replaced by a steely resolve. His shadows seemed to react to his mood, swirling more tightly around him as if preparing for a threat. “Did you see who it was?”

YN shook her head, frustration evident in the tight lines around her mouth. “No. I tried to be discreet, but whoever it was, they were good at staying out of sight. I didn’t want to draw attention by looking too hard.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as he processed her words, his mind already racing through the possibilities. The Hewn City was full of people who could have an interest in YN, and not all of them would be friendly. The fact that someone had been watching her—someone skilled enough to remain undetected—was deeply troubling.

He stepped closer to her, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against her arm in a comforting gesture, though he kept his touch light, aware of the public space they were in. “We’ll figure out who it was. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

YN nodded, though her worry didn’t fully dissipate. She had known the risks of being with Azriel, but it didn’t make the reality of them any easier to face. She glanced down at Knox, who remained blissfully unaware in her arms, and her resolve hardened. She would do whatever it took to protect their son.

Azriel leaned in closer, his head dipping toward hers as if to whisper something, but she knew the movement was as much about shielding their interaction from any prying eyes as it was about speaking. His proximity was both a comfort and a reminder of the secrecy they were forced to maintain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. For not being able to protect you both the way I should.”

YN looked up at him, her expression softening as she reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “Don’t apologize. We knew what this would be when we chose it. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.”

He nodded, though the tension didn’t fully leave his features. He lowered his gaze to Knox, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch his son’s tiny hand. The baby stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his small fingers curling around Azriel’s.

“I’ll be home tonight,” he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet hers again. “We’ll talk more then.”

YN nodded, understanding the unspoken promise in his words. “I’ll be waiting.”

Azriel lingered for a moment longer, his eyes searching hers as if to reassure himself that she was truly okay. Then, with one last glance around the deserted street, he stepped back, his wings flaring slightly as he prepared to take off again. YN watched him go, her heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, of the life they were forced to hide in the shadows.

---

Azriel sat at his desk in the dim light of his office, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared at the maps and reports scattered across the surface. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of the papers as his shadows drifted over them, their movements restless and agitated. He couldn’t shake the nagging sense of unease that had settled deep in his chest since YN had told him about being watched in the market.

His thoughts were a tangle of possibilities, each more troubling than the last. The Hewn City was a treacherous place, filled with spies and informants loyal to whoever paid the highest price. If someone had been watching YN, it could mean any number of things—a rival, an enemy, or even someone trying to get to him through her. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine, a rare surge of fear that he quickly buried beneath layers of calculated resolve.

But as he sat there, letting the silence settle around him, something didn’t quite add up. Whoever had been watching YN was skilled, yes, but the timing, the precision—it felt too familiar. His instincts, honed over centuries of espionage, were telling him that this wasn’t just a random occurrence. There was something more deliberate behind it, something closer to home.

It was then that the faint sound of voices reached his ears, muffled by the thick walls of his office but distinct enough for him to catch fragments of conversation. Azriel’s shadows swirled more tightly around him as he focused on the voices outside in the hallway, recognizing the low, familiar tones of Cassian and Mor.

“…I just wanted to be sure she wasn’t a threat,” Cassian was saying, his voice carrying a hint of defensiveness. “It’s not like we could just ask him outright.”

Mors voice responded, tinged with a mix of concern and frustration. “I get it, but what if he finds out? You know how protective he is—especially after everything that’s happened.”

“Rhys told us to keep an eye on her,” Mor continued. “We weren’t going to hurt her, just… observe. Make sure she wasn’t involved in anything that could put him or the rest of us in danger.”

Azriel’s breath caught, realization dawning like a slow, creeping shadow.

The inner circle.

It was the inner circle who had been watching YN, trailing her through the market, spying on her every move. His fists clenched beneath the desk, a mix of anger and betrayal swirling in his chest. They had been so close to finding out—so close to uncovering the one secret he had kept from them, the one part of his life he hadn’t allowed them to touch.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain calm, to not let his emotions betray him. There was no point in confronting them—not yet, at least. If they suspected YN of being a threat, it was only because they were trying to protect him, in their own misguided way. But the thought of them tailing her, of making her feel unsafe in the one place where she should feel protected… it made his blood boil.

Azriel pushed back from the desk, rising to his feet with a quiet, controlled movement. He had to get out of here before the anger bubbling beneath his calm exterior spilled over. He needed to be with YN, to ensure her safety and shield her from any further interference. He would deal with the inner circle later.

As he stepped out of his office, the voices in the hallway fell silent. Cassian and Mor looked up as he passed by, their expressions carefully neutral, though Cassian’s brow furrowed slightly as if he could sense something was off. Azriel didn’t acknowledge them, his face an unreadable mask as he walked past, but he could feel their eyes on him, could sense the questions lingering on their tongues.

Just as he reached the main hall, he was tackled by a blur of movement, the sudden impact almost knocking him off balance. He looked down to see Nyx, Rhys’s son, grinning up at him, his small arms wrapped tightly around Azriel’s leg. A second later, Agnar, Cassian’s son, joined in, his laughter ringing through the air as he attempted to climb up Azriel’s other leg.

“Uncle Azriel!” Nyx shouted, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “We got you!”

Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he ruffled Nyx’s dark hair. “It seems you did,” he replied, his voice softer than it had been all day. Despite the turmoil in his mind, he could never resist the infectious energy of his nephews.

He lifted Agnar into his arms, the boy’s wings fluttering excitedly as he settled against Azriel’s shoulder. Nyx clung to his other side, laughing as Azriel hoisted him up as well, balancing both boys with ease.

As he carried them down the hallway, he passed Rhys, who was leaning casually against the doorway of his office, arms crossed over his chest. Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on Azriel’s unusual demeanor.

“Azriel,” Rhys called out, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “Heading somewhere?”

Azriel met his gaze, his expression carefully guarded. “I’m taking a week off,” he said simply, his voice brokering no argument.

Rhys blinked, clearly taken aback. ��A week off? Are you—”

“Don’t worry,” Azriel cut him off, shifting Nyx and Agnar slightly in his arms. “Everything will be handled.” He didn’t wait for Rhys to respond before he turned and continued down the hall, his steps purposeful as he made his way out of the house.

Once outside, Azriel set the boys down, giving each of them a quick hug before sending them back to the house. He watched them run off, their laughter echoing in the air, before he spread his wings and took off into the sky.

The wind whipped through his hair as he soared above Velaris, his mind already focused on the apartment where YN and Knox were waiting. Whatever plans the inner circle had, whatever suspicions they harbored, he would not allow them to come between him and his family.

Azriel landed silently on the balcony of their apartment, the cool night air whispering through his wings as he folded them behind him. The familiar creak of the floorboards under his boots as he stepped inside was a comforting sound, grounding him in the reality he had chosen—a reality where YN and Knox were his world, even if it had to remain hidden from everyone else.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

[aspoonofsugar]

Hi! Where do you think Alastor's arc is going? Redemption or villainy?

Hi!

Thank you for the ask, I loved watching Hazbin Hotel and I am happy I can write for the series :)

As for now, I think Alastor will spiral and hurt Charlie very badly, but he will eventually redeem himself (probably in a key moment). That is because Alastor is framed as Charlie's Jungian shadow.

What is the Jungian Shadow?

According to Jung, the shadow is what a person represses, both positive and negative. So, it can be one's violent tendencies, but also one's potential and energy. It really depends on the person.

So, why does Alastor fit the Shadow Archetype? Well, first of all:

Alastor's powers make use of shadows. Not only that, but Alastor's own shadow is very expressive and shows the demon's repressed feelings. In other words:

On the one hand Alastor embodies the shadow, in the sense he represents what Charlie refuses to face

On the other hand Alastor himself represses his emotions behind a smiling face:

Alastor: Just because you see a smile, don't think you know what is going on underneath. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing and ensures tha no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control.

This is a good characterization for a jungian shadow because the shadow grows stronger and more dangerous, when it's ignored. So, the most one refuses to face their feelings, the most these feelings fester and grow powerful and dangerous. This fits Alastor both when it comes to others and to his own character:

He takes advantage of an emotional unstable and vulnerable Charlie to strike an abimguous deal with her. Similarly, he uses Husk's gambling addiction to steal his soul. He uses people's weaknesses an unsolved problems to take over.

He suffocates his feelings, which symbolically manifest in his powerful shadow-tentacles. His design and abilities are representative of his psychological coping mechanism, which is nothing, but repression.

As written above, though, the Jungian Shadow can be both negative and positive depending on what one hides. This duality is shown in Alastor's two roles in Charlie's arc:

He is a demonic archetype (even moreso than Lucifer, the titular devil), as he waits in the shadows for a chance to manipulate Charlie

He is an evil mentor, as he genuinelly likes Charlie, sees her potential and wants to guide her towards greatness:

She's filled with potential that I could guide

This isn't a contradiction, but complexity. Alastor is chaotic and mixes negative traits and intentions with positive ones. Just like what people repress can be both bad and good, usually at the same time.

This is clear when it comes to the Princess of Hell:

Charlie to Alastor: What's that you said about smiles?

Charlie is similar to Alastor in how she represses herself behind her pollyanna persona and her smile. This doesn't mean she is faking her altruism and generosity, but that she is using these traits to hide something else:

Lute: The only reason you're still here is that Daddy gave you and your Hellborn-kind a pardon from an exorcist's blade. How does that feel? To know how little you matter.

Deep down, Charlie invests herself in the Hazbin Hotel project because she wants to matter. She feels powerless and unimportant, as a result of her parents' neglects and of Hell's difficult situation.

So, our protagonist has strong self-issues that she refuses to face:

Husk: Princess is a bleedy heart who wants to solve everybod else's problems, 'cept her own.

That said, this isn't the only thing Charlie represses. The Princess of Hell hides:

Every negative emotions she feels, like her self-hate or her anger at Vaggie for hiding her true identity:

Rosie: How does that make you feel? Charlie: Just... angry? Because we share everything! Because she always supported me, and my ideas, and now I don't know whether or not that was just more of the lies... Oh no, that's a horrible thing to think! Do I think that? Yes! No? Kinda?

Her most violent and aggressive side, which makes so she is unable to make full use of her powers:

Vaggie: Well, I mean... You're the princess of Hell, but you don't really use the power that comes with that. Mybe you can, I don't know? Command a little more... authority. Charlie: But that's so mean.

In short, by repressing her negative feelings, she also represses her potential. It is only by facing herself as a whole, that she can fully grow and bloom into her most powerful and complete self:

This is made clear in Charlie's quest in Cannibal Town. There, our girl is at her lowest, but she is pushing herself forward for the sake of her loved ones. She is trying to imitate Alastor by smiling, even if she is sour inside. However, things do not go well and it is only through her heart to heart chat with Rosie, that Charlie is able to pull herself together and inspire her people. Symbolically, she gets through them not with a 100% optimistic song like "Inside of every demon is a rainbow". Rather she opens her speech, by showing vulnerability and honesty:

It's a feeling like a rumbling in your gut That you could finally be faced with A billion needy faces I guess what I mean to say is For the first time in my life I might have to be ready for this Ready to be the one who's leading from the front Gotta come into my own Gotta come into my throne Gotta take charge and defend my only home And although I kinda feel unsteady Now I need to be ready for this

She affirms who she is and her willingness to grow into herself:

For the first time in my life Maybe I can be ready for this I can be the marshal leading the parade I can come into my own And I think I've always known My destiny could never be postponed When Adam brings the battle here I must appear like I'm ready for this

So, it is only by tapping into her own shadow that Charlie can be successfull. It is through expression and not repression that she can reach her goals.

What about Alastor?

He is the same, but so far he has been refusing to open up to others:

Angel: He's been here a while and he's still a big, creepy mystery.

That said, his time at the Hazbin Hotel has had an impact on him. He is forced to deal with others without killing them:

Vaggie: Pentious's eggs are all over the place. I need you to get rid of them. (...) Humanely!

He is shown cutting ties with a poisonous friend:

He openly admits he likes the people of the hotel:

Alastor: Ah, an enjoyable collective to be around. I admit one could get accustomed.

However, he still refuses to openly show vulnerability and ends up like this:

Let's highlight that Charlie and Alastor are foiled in The Show Must Go On song.

Both stand in the ruins of their homes/dreams.

The Hotel:

I took a hotel, and I destroyed it I know I could have done better Better, instead of letting you down

The Radio Station:

This place reeks of death There's a chill in the air And I barely escaped being killed by a hair

And both decide not to give up and to keep pursuing their objectives. However, Charlie is framed positively, while Alastor negatively. Why?

Charlie sings about her feelings openly and is supported by her father and found family:

Alastor sings about his pain privately and even then he barely shows his desperation before going back to his villanious mask:

Symbolically the moment Alastor reunites with the Hotel Crew, he sings:

And we're doing it with a smile!

He is back in control of himself, ready to hide everything behind his neverchanging smile.

So, Alastor is both Charlie's negative foil and Jungian Shadow. As her negative foil, he is bound to spiral. As her Jungian Shadow he is bound to be saved. Why is that so? Two reasons.

The Jungian Shadow can't be killed, but needs to be integrated with.

The main themes of the series are redemption and love, so it is improbable that Charlie won't help the person, who co-founded the hotel with her.

If anything, it seems that our princess is progressively asked to forgive, inspire and see the good in more and more complex cases.

It starts with Angel, who willingly stays at the Hotel. It goes on with Pentious, who infiltrates the Hotel, but makes no real damage. Then Lucifer, whom Charlie loves, but that has been absent from the majority of her life. Finally, Vaggie, who breaks Charlie's trust.

Each conflict Charlie has challenges her in a different way and helps her discover herself and grow. She is bound to meet new struggles when Lilith becomes a broken pedestal and finally when Alastor betrays or hurts her. Still, she is going to forgive and to understand them.

Charlie is going to see the good in Alastor and to better understand herself as a result. As a matter of fact Charlie's journey is one where she is slowly discovering a world, which isn't black and white:

If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky The rules are shades of gray when you don't do as you say When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again

Just like people aren't black and white. Just like she herself isn't black and white. By saving Alastor, she is gonna save herself too. Together with the whole universe.

And what about Alastor? Well, he needs to work on himself, as well. He too must integrate with his shadow, who is embodied by a certain character:

Husk is a powerful overlord, who lost his soul to a demon. Just like Alastor:

Husk: Big talk for someone, who's also on a leash.

Alastor and Husk are both on a leash. Still, Husk admits it and starts working on his shortcoming:

Husk: You're a loser, just like me

Alastor instead affirms his willingness to be in control and to pull the strings:

Once I figure out how to unclip my wings Guess who will be pulling all the strings?

Alastor is a loser, just like Husk. Just like all the characters in hell. Sinners vs Winners. And yet, he refuses to admit it. This is why he makes no progress. Similarly, he wants freedom, but enslaves others. This isn't going to work out, which is why I am fairly certain he will eventually set Husk free. Probably by doing so, Alastor will make the first real step towards his own freedom. He will start integrating his own shadow.

Thank you for the ask!

[kdramastrix]

I have. Something to talk about and its very very VERY important.

We know that last scene of TDJ where its just PEAK yearning but can we PLEASE appreciate the micro-expressions that passed over both Yohan & Gaon's faces when they faced each other DIRECTLY after a MONTH (if im not wrong) of that whole blowing up fiasco + Yohan's arrest before that??????? Because my GOD.

So we see Gaon call Yohan by his Full Government Name™ (which wasn't very wise for a declared dead enemy of the state who is ALSO wanted but we'll let it pass for romanticisms' sake) and look at his face. His face is one of a scared man. He's not hesitant but he is afraid of how Yohan views him after what transpired between them.

In turn, Yohan looks back and well.

He is also somewhat apprehensive. They're both testing each other & the waters they're in. Although Yohan doesn't have a revenge vendetta shackling him down anymore, Gaon, on the other hand, has tremendous stuff to unpack. They're carefully, if not gently, evaluating the distance between them.

And then, Yohan gives a clear sign that he holds nothing against Gaon. An open arm, an open invitation. To join him? Maybe. To decide what to do with them? Perhaps. It's vague but it's also clear that Yohan is done manipulating Gaon & that he has left the ball in Gaon's court.

Then come the positive changes. With Yohan's green signal, Gaon is somewhat relieved but also incredibly guilt-ridden. I think these frames speak for themselves.

The wet smile & the eye crinkles. He is so relieved to be in Yohan's good graces but also just looking at Yohan be his ever glowing self after serving his life's purpose.

Yohan. My dearest Yohan. Look at him. He's equally heart-broken to be seeing Gaon like this, to be leaving him behind but that little nod he does???? Like he's made a decision that he needs to stick with for the betterment of Gaon???? That's what truly gets me. It's so clear the distance between them is hurting him but he also knows that it's necessary to give Gaon space & time, to unravel & to explore things on his own. Perhaps another assumption on his part because who truly knows what Gaon wants except Gaon himself?

Then it's a brief look exchanged. As he turns, giving Gaon one last reassuring smile as he turns and leaves behind one of the most important people to him.

And gaon watches. Look at his micro-expressions here. Look at his breathing. His sagging shoulders. His eyes. His wet smile. His balled hands. His tiny nods.

He also thinks this is necessary but you can so clearly see its taking every bit of nerve & fiber in him to stay rooted to his place & not chase after Yohan. He's DELIBERATELY not taking a single step towards Yohan. He thinks he doesn't deserve to chase after him, that hes content to see Yohan: alive, well and so utterly free. That's all that matters.

I would genuinely like to appreciate both jinyoung and jisung for their acting bcs they NAILED the raw emotions needed for this absolutely stunning yet gut wrenching scene. It's so difficult to convey such complex emotions through such little means yet they did it to PERFECTION. They both gave their characters LIFE. And for that i will always be grateful bcs i dont think anyone else could've done Kang Yohan and Kim Gaon the way they did.

[elysiansparadise]

Heyyo !! Hope you're doing well. I have a question if are going continue your planets in houses series for 8th House moon

Hello! I’m doing just fine, I hope you too. Of course I will continue, until I’ve covered each placement. 🤎 

Moon in the 8th house

They are people of complex nature, since many of them tend to be very cautious when it comes to opening up to new people, they do not trust their hearts so easily in others and they can even show themselves as very self-sufficient in the emotional field, however, these natives internally desire a deep degree of emotional intimacy, even bordering on emotional. They prefer intense, meaningful ties that really contribute something to their lives rather than something superficial and vain. This is usually something difficult for them because it is difficult for them to open up and want to meet new people. This is due more than anything to a fear of appearing vulnerable, manipulable and, mostly, due to bad experiences with previous relationships. It’s likely that the relationship with the family, mother or a specific member was tense and taught them to always be alert for any sign of lying or betrayal. They detect people who show false emotions or who lie, as they stand out for being observant. They may prefer to make decisions based on their mind rather than their heart, and it is likely that at some point in their life they ignored their emotional needs, both other people and themselves. They fear that they will feel a lot and get hurt or that the other person will not give themselves in that devoted and passionate way with which they do it.

For them it is crucial to give their all when it comes to something important or meaningful to them, they do not give themselves halfway. They find it difficult to be expressive, but once they are comfortable enough they are very constant with their demonstrations of affection or appreciation. They have this ability to feel the emotions of others and tend to accurately deduce the emotional triggers and needs of others. They have a genuine curiosity to know the core of those who matter to them, they will want to know every part of your mind, your history and everything that your heart is silent about, this in order to understand you better. In the sexual field, they need a certain emotional closeness or feeling in love to fully enjoy. A pretty face is not enough for them and they tend to be very attracted to complex, interesting and understanding personalities. They give themselves completely, body and soul, and there is nothing they like more than feeling that their partner does the same. Aftercare is crucial and necessary.

They know how to be alone and highly value their time with themselves, they are introspective with their emotions and they like to get to the root of things. A lie can be something unforgivable for many of them and they will always prefer a very honest truth over a white or sugar-coated lie. Their intuition is very strong and they may feel an attraction or even have a knack for things like tarot, astrology or similar things. They read you like a book, but you can hardly do the same with them. They have a deep connection with their unconscious. It is likely that since they were children they have had very intense spiritual experiences and that the mystical world seems truly fascinating to them. They have one goal [among their many goals] to become the adult they felt they needed when they were children, since it is likely that their inner child carries a feeling of fear and insecurity. They are people who behind their strong and empowered personality is someone sensitive and compassionate. People often see them as a very strong pillar in which to fully trust, and it is likely that only the natives themselves are aware of their emotional intensity, as others describe them as calm and collected most of the time.

-> Go back to the masterlist

[8hsaturn]

-- my astrology observations pt.1

Aquarius risings with Neptune on the ascendant can be extremely popular for their appearance amongst their peers, they’re also pretty influential and can be copied very often if Uranus is conjunct the ASC. They tend to have an immaculate fashion sense especially if paired with Taurus placements.

What separates Libra from Taurus is their way of expressing Venusian energy: Taurus, fixed earth, expresses it through a beautiful voice and coveted seduction, they’re down to earth and aware that they’re naturally attractive, acting chill and not being a try-hard is their trick. libra, cardinal air, on the other hand, isn’t scared to shake things up and keep people on their toes, they’d flirt to see how well their charm works and would change “tactics” to hook people in. they’re cardinal and so know how to spark someone’s interest but their air nature can make them pull away before they feel trapped. Taurus alternatively might prefer to simply sit because they know they attract people without moving a finger. Both can be very charming but also difficult to pin down especially as they grow older and more in tune with their Venusian nature.

As someone who always does readings for my friends, I noticed people with similar majors tend to have similar placements! law/political science majors tend to have a lot of Libra or just Libra on the angles and even 7th-house placements. IT/coding majors tend to have a lot of Scorpio/Virgo/Aquarius. actually, you can even guess why they chose the major from their chart.

My Capricorn friend chose software engineering because of the job prospects and because he enjoys working hard on a program and seeing it come to fruition which is very Saturnian.

8th house synastry is a complex matter but I believe the issue lies in people looking for that one overlay that guarantees a perfect relationship: there’s no such a thing. each overlay will have different results depending on both people’s charts and how they use or abuse their own placements. 5h synastry with your 5h stellium crush can seem incredible until you realize their Saturnian nature makes them see 5h energy as inherently immature and repress that nature, and have their ego drive them to see all fun they don’t initiate as cringey. 7h synastry can seem like a promise for marriage until you realize your person hates how they lose themselves in their relationships and distance away from you. In short, you can’t promise anything even with a synastry chart in front of you if you don’t know the trauma and experiences of both people. Makes sense, because astrology is truly just a tool to understand better, it doesn’t control or define anything.

8th house moon synastry can make the moon person very attuned to the other person’s feelings and want to know how their deepest emotions. Bad intentions can make the moon person use their knowledge to manipulate the house native though. it can be an aspect for understanding but if the house person has a Scorpio or Saturnian moon, or a natal 12h/4h/8h moon, or moon aspecting Saturn they might see this desire as annoying and could put them off, especially if they’re emotionally unavailable/stunted: they see the connection as making them too vulnerable and will escape it.

Sun conjunct Saturn… might make the sun person feel as if the Saturn person is repressing them, dulling their light, and just dampening their mood. In what exactly? that depends on the sun sign and house where the conjunction happens. e.g: if the sun conjuncts Saturn in Gemini in the 9h: sun person might feel that Saturn isn’t as enthusiastic or excited about the things that they’re passionate about or doesn’t understand their jokes or interests, shuts down convos or doesn’t let them talk. They might feel mocked for their beliefs or that the Saturn person doesn't take their philosophies and deeper concerns seriously.

I disagree with the notion that certain placements indicate intelligence or otherwise lack of. Intelligence is so complex and difficult to define, and I don’t mean eq vs iq or mathematical vs linguistic Intelligence, I mean that people’s experiences can push them to hone certain intellect over the other: having a libra stellium doesn’t mean all you got is street smarts, but that’s what you found yourself focusing on developing due to the cards you were dealt in life. I believe your chart will indicate which skills and intelligence you had to use, or need to use, be it something you have to learn from scratch or an instinctive talent, rather than natural skills.

that’s all, thank you for reading this far <3

[rnn11203]

I really love Sebastian. I think hes a great character and im sad that hes often brushed off as just some emo boy. Im sure a lot of what i think can be said as headcanons but i feel like if needed i could really have a convincing argument for why i think all of this.

But anyways, Sebastian is very anti social. He says so himself that he doesnt really enjoy the company of others, but i dont really think that he views other people as bothersome or annoying or like a hassle. I think hes afraid of being vulnerable, his inferiority complex doesnt allow him to be open or honest with others because hes afraid of what they’d think about him. I think his relationship with Sam and Abigail is very surface level, i dont view their relationships as very deep or intimate. I think Sebastian could be seen as a chill but solemn guy by the rest of the community but its really cute that he’s secretly very nerdy. He likes comics, dnd, and web design.

I really love that hes a bad older brother, i too am an older brother who feels like ive disappointed my younger siblings, i was supposed to be there for them but instead i let my insecurity, my jealousy of our parents affection, and ultimately my feelings of inferiority get in the way. Is it selfish to want to be loved? I dont think so, but it is selfish to let it get in the way of loving others. I think Sebastian feels guilty over the way he behaved towards Maru, im not sure if i think they’d ever reconnect.

I headcanon their ages as 22 and 18, it must’ve been difficult for Sebastian to cope with his father’s absence and such a sudden change. I think he wouldve felt casted aside, almost like he was being replaced. I think Sebastian grew up in pelican town, that the house was built prior to his parents split, i like to think that him and maru shared a room up until he was 12? Maybe 13? And insisted to live in the basement instead. I think he wouldve been satisfied with that but slowly he realized that no one was really interested in checking on him, instead of communicating it he’d internalize it, lash out by spending even more time alone. I think both Robin and Demetrius love him, but excuse it as personality differences. However Sebastian in game seems kinda prone to emotional outbursts, instead of acknowledging something is wrong his parents just think hes just the more difficult sibling. I also think that he had loose contact with his bio dad, but the bastard suddenly stopped responding at all so he further convinces himself that he is unwanted. “Would it really matter, if I just disappeared?”

It’s really interesting that in his 2heart event he says “They’re engaging, straightforward, and unselfish. Quite the opposite of a lot of people I know." I wonder who that refers to? Is Demetrius boring? Sam a bit scrambled? Abigail selfish? (I say Abigail is the selfish one bc he expresses discontent about her coming over and disregarding his work in the same scene).

But really, i think Sebastian just wants to feel like he belongs. I think the farmer makes him feel comfortable, valued, and understood. I really like that about him.

[annoyinglovetyrant]

Alien!OC x reader

Yan. A year is what you call it. That’s how long it’s been since you came back. It’s been hard trying to avoid you. I’m your father’s royal guard, ever devoted to you, he’s by your side constantly, and in turn, so am I. I can’t be upset with him, your energy is so warm and inviting, it’s not as hard to be in your presence anymore. In the beginning, it was unbearable, seeing you smile and enjoy life here as if you weren’t the worst being any one in the five realms had to endure, it made me sick. But, you didn’t know. You still don’t. You don’t know why everyone shrinks away from your touch, why everyone’s breath stops when something isn’t to your liking. I wonder if you’ve put the pieces together yet; the King refuses to let anyone tell you of your past life’s crimes, deeming it unfit to mention something so complex to a human.

You’re not stupid though, I can see that, you understand people, you see things in ways others can’t. You’re like your father that way. The king has always done well at understanding his role as a ruler, he perceives the complex intricacies of the aristocracy. He discerns the importance and, at the same time, insignificance of living beings and what we do. “We are all one, sentience and awareness as the universe, experiencing individuality through itself.” That always stuck with me, your father seems to understand certain things about life I am unable to fathom. It seems you’ve figured it out, too, just like him.

• •

I see the way you’ve been looking at me lately. Your eyes convey what you’re too shy to confess. Hundreds of years we shared together, there is nothing in your expressions I cannot decipher. You died, lived countless lives on Earth until you finally understood what life meant to you, then, fate contorted in a way for you to crash land on my planet, thousands of light years away from where you were born. Now, you’re back. I can’t tell if the fates wish for nothing but torment for me. It’s been so difficult trying to ignore you: the lingering glances, the reddish hue on your face, the sheepish grin when you pass by me. I can almost picture you from when we were young together, the same girlish crush so evident on your features. It shatters me in a way you cannot understand. I cannot love you again. I won’t. No matter how kismet bestowed you upon me.

Although, why did the stars align in such a way? Could it be time for my soul to move on, too? No. I refuse. If my hatred for you dissipates, what’s left? I’ll have to face the betrayal, the knowledge that my beloved had deformed me beyond all hope. Why did you do this to me? I have so many questions for you, questions that’ll never be answered. All I can do for now is watch, observe you as you navigate your ‘new’ life here. I miss you. I hate you. My mind and spirit are in shambles. I’m broken, tore apart by your hands, an amalgamation painfully and inadequately put back together. Maybe you weren’t the one with the knife, but you gave the order, you are the monster in my story. Your actions fragmented me, but, maybe, you’re the only ones that can put me back together again.

[yanderes-galore]

If you were serious about accepting more ASOIAF/GOT requests, could I request a Jaqen H'ghar concept? Only if you feel like it!

This is a bit difficult due to how... complex he is, but I hope to do him justice >:) Might be short due to his character?

Yandere! Jaqen H'ghar Concept

Pairing: Romantic (?)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Murder, Blood, Violence, Stalking, Dark themes, Mentions of bedding/courting, Dubious/Forced relationship.

The Faceless Men are a mysterious assassin group who worship death.

It's yet another one of the strange religions within the world of ASOIAF.

Jaqen is merely a name and identity used by one of these assassins.

This group utilizes magic to disguise themselves, to wear a new face and spread bloodshed by those who are willing to pay for it.

They have no identity and hide within the shadows to do the dirty work.

Due to this, I feel Jaqen's motives with an obsession would be dubious in nature.

He isn't entirely looking to court and bed you, he's mostly drawn to bloodshed.

The scariest part about him is how fast he kills.

Just one name given and the deed is quickly done.

Having such a man fond of you is a... terrifying thought.

Even if you try to avoid him, he'll find you again... yet another new face and name in an attempt to win you over.

For a concept like this I have to tweak his character a bit.

Perhaps the assassin takes an interest in you for one reason or another.

For the most part, Jaqen likes to observe.

He doesn't worry too much about his identity, such a thing can easily be stripped away.

In fact, such a thing allows him to manipulate you into his grasp.

It merely takes one time to make you catch his eye.

One fateful encounter before he's following you everywhere.

He might as well be your shadow with how close he is all the time.

Jaqen doesn't entirely possess you.

To do such a thing would require an identity.

No, instead he has his fun with you throughout different identities.

He courts you, perhaps even managing to get you alone a few times, all while pretending to not be anyone significant.

He may start with the face known as Jaqen, expressing interest in you as he plays you.

But the next time you meet may not be as Jaqen.

He's a mysterious character to think about.

I doubt you could ever fully get away from him if he had an interest.

Just imagine the paranoia of having a Faceless Man after you.

No matter what you do, even if he seemingly dies, he could still be around.

You'd be none the wiser that your admirer is still there.

Unless Jaqen gave away a certain behavior, you may think he's simply another person trying to woo you.

That's the scariest part of Jaqen.

The fact he lingers, waiting to strike, just like death.

Speaking with death, such a thing follows you with him around.

It's so easy for him to get rid of those around you.

In one sense you could view him as a guardian of sorts.

He's fond of you enough to protect you no matter the identity.

Your guardian angel of death.

On the other hand, Jaqen may target any other sort who wishes to court you.

A one night stand? Someone perhaps even managed to gain your hand?

They're mysteriously dead later...

As though it's a punishment for loving anyone but him.

Jaqen knows he can not possess or court you like any other man can.

A price to pay for giving up your identity... for no one to truly know your name.

Yet Jaqen knows you can be his in other ways.

He molds your mind by preventing you from settling down.

The only romantic comfort coming from the flings you have, all with him one way or another.

In a way you're his... yet also not.

He is complex, making his obsession and interactions with you complex.

He'd be like a phantom in your life.

He knows he can't fully have you, he can't give you a pretty ring or make vows...

But he can keep you alone, he can tease you with temptation...

Then, when he no longer wishes to share you with the rest of the world...

He may be your personal Grim Reaper to keep you as his alone.

[feuillesss]

I'm new at this so please can you read the personality of jungwon enhypen

Enhypen Jungwon Personality

***DISCLAIMER***

I do not know these idols personally! This is just my interpretation of the cards that I pulled, please take this reading with a grain of salt. For entertainment purposes only.

( day/month/year - 9/11/24 )

Jungwon's Personality

Personality: ( 9ow/3pent/Magician/Aos,Qoc,6worev/9pentrev/5swo/Kniofswo/ )

I have a lot to say about him lmao, he's very complex, let's get into it. Jungwon shows a lot of resilience in the face of struggles, even if he's going through a difficult time, he'll still give 100% effort. Even when he gets knocked down, he's not one to give up, it would take a lot to get rid of him lol. There's a lot of determination here, and he seems quite guarded and suspicious of other people. This may come from tough past periods in his life, and it's made him stronger and more willing to fight for what he wants. Jungwon is a team player, he likes working with a team and has great teamwork skills, which makes sense since he's the leader. He's someone who thrives when he's working and feels deeply connected to his job. Communication is a strong suit here, and he has a lot of pride in his group. Jungwon is extremely driven and more intelligent than people may think, very charismatic. Yeah, in almost all of these cards is determination, he does not play about getting the job done lol and he will not give up. He's very logical and brings clarity to situations, someone who would be a mediator in arguments. Someone who values their head over their heart when making decisions. With the Queen of cups, Jungwon is very compassionate and in tune with other people's feelings, he's a very sensitive and loving person, someone that people would go to to express their feelings. He struggles with adapting to changes, struggles to let go of the past. I'm also getting stagnation here which is interesting since I also got that in my Jake reading. It's possible Enhypen as a group is going through a frustrating period where they feel they aren't going as fast as they would like to, and being held back and restricted. They feel like they aren't progressing. Yeah, he seems very guarded, may have difficulties opening up to and trusting other people. He's not feeling fulfilled, generally speaking, he might be someone who spends a lot of money, materialistic. Tbh he might be a bit confrontational and I'm getting a bit of a smug vibe here. He's very ambitious and wants to win no matter the cost, extremely competitive to the point where it might not be healthy. With the knight of swords, he is witty, decisive, and prone to being impulsive with his decisions. Honestly, I don't think people give him enough credit for how smart he is, logically and emotionally. Definitely more intelligent than how people perceive him.

I asked for some negative traits as I believe it's important to remember that idols are also people, complex people and are not perfect. ( 8swrev/knightpent/justice/kingpent/kiofcups/sun )

Jungwon is his own biggest critic, he's very tough on himself and might have some self-deprecating thoughts at times. Again, I'm getting that he's still living in the past and misses those periods. I got knight of pentacles which is interesting because it signifies hard work, I'm going to interpret this as Jungwon working too hard, pushing himself too far. He might focus too much on the logical side of things and end up ignoring or disregarding other people's feelings and emotions. Can be passive-aggressive, like would pretend it didn't bother him but make subtle jabs. He does seem materialistic, has a strong value for money and material wealth. I definitely think he's not as positive or bubbly off-camera, which isn't necessarily a bad thing depending on how you see it. There's definitely a lot of his personality that isn't shown, nothing too crazy, just the 'non idol like' part.

[missfrieden]

I got bored on my way to work and then on the way home. So here I force a random drabble on you all.

Summary: Let's set the scene shall we? You jabe a random question for Tech, that catches him a bit off guard.

Rating: Mention of sex

Pairing: Techxreader (think I managed gender neutral)

Note: Hope all of you know what dyscalculia is. Because Tech having a partner which is useless with numbers, is endaring to me.

Word count: Listen drabbles are often from my phone notes, so yeah I ain't counting them.

Rabbits

That night, as Tech shook out your blanket, preparing the bunk for the both of you to settle in, you are lost in thought, a playful question forming in your mind. As you climbed into the bunk and snuggled down into the soft covers, you looked up at the man who had become the center of your galaxy. There was a hint of curiosity in your eyes as you turned to him.

“Tech?” you began, your tone light and inquisitive. Tech, always attuned to you, looked over with that familiar, attentive expression. “Yes, Y/N?” You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip, a nervous habit, as you considered how to phrase the question. But then, with a smile, you decided to just go for it. “Have you ever… I mean, have you ever counted how many times we’ve had sex? We’ve been together for about a year and a half now, so I was just wondering.”

Tech blinked, the question clearly catching him off guard. But true to form, he didn’t miss a beat. His mind quickly scanned through the mental data he always kept so meticulously organized, and within a moment, he delivered the answer with his characteristic precision. “Yes, I have,” he replied, almost too matter-of-factly. “We’ve had sex approximately 214 times, and that’s not including the individual rounds within each session, which total to 367.”

Your eyes widened in shock and surprise, mouth falling open slightly as you processed what he had just said. “Wait… what?” you laughed, clearly amazed. “Tech, that’s… we’re like rabbits!” Tech frowned slightly, confused by the comparison for just a moment before realization dawned on him. “Oh, you mean in terms of frequency,” he said, his expression clearing. “I didn’t intend to imply anything, I just… well, I tend to keep track of details like that. It’s a habit of mine.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his earnestness, your heart swelling with affection. The idea that Tech had been keeping such precise count was both endearing and a little surprising, but it was also so perfectly in line with who he was. “Tech, you’re amazing,” you said, still chuckling. “But seriously, why do you keep track of it?”

Tech hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words to explain himself. “Well,” he began, somewhat awkwardly, “I suppose it’s because I’m a person who finds comfort in data and patterns. Tracking these moments allows me to… analyze and understand our relationship in a more tangible way. It’s not just about the numbers, it’s about ensuring that our connection remains strong, that I’m meeting your needs… and, well, it’s just part of who I am.”

As he spoke, he began to stammer slightly, his usual composure wavering as he tried to articulate something that, for him, was both deeply personal and difficult to put into words. But before he could finish, ypu leaned in, placing a gentle finger over his lips to stop him. “Tech,” you start softly, your voice filled with warmth, “you don’t need to explain. I love that you’re so precise, that you care enough to keep track of things like this. Someone in this relationship has to be good with numbers, and if it isn’t me, then I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled at him, eyes shining with affection. You had always admired Tech’s incredible mind, the way he could handle complex calculations with ease, while you struggle with even basic math because of that stupid dyscalculia of yours. But you had never felt inferior because of it, Tech had a way of making you feel valued and appreciated for who you are, no matter what. Tech’s tension melted away as your words sank in, and he relaxed, returning your smile. “I just… want to make sure you’re happy,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “That’s the most important thing to me.”

Your heart swelled with love as you leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “And you do,” you murmured against his mouth. “Every single day. I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Tech. Not one thing.” You stayed like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the warmth of your connection surrounding you like a comforting blanket. When you two finally pull back, you settled against him, resting your head on his chest, closing your eyes, a contented smile on your lips.

“I’m really glad you’re the one who’s good with numbers,” you said softly, your voice tinged with a hint of playful teasing. “Because I know I can always count on you.” Tech chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around you and holding you close. “And I’ll always be here to count on,” he replied, his tone filled with warmth.

As you lay there, the quiet of the night settling around you, Tech couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the incredible person in his arms. You understood him in a way that no one else ever had, and you loved him for exactly who he was, numbers and all.

Main Masterlist

And as you two drifted off to sleep, Tech made a silent promise to himself that he would continue to cherish and protect this incredible bond you shared, ensuring that your relationship remained as strong and full of love as it had been since the very beginning.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter @moonwreckd @sskim-milkk @heidnspeak

[ephemeral--dreams]

Ideal types in partners - Alhaitham, Scaramouche, Ningguang, Ayato

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

Alhaitham

Ideally, someone more outwardly emotional and expressive than he is. He needs someone to balance his more reserved nature - as well as someone who can read him well enough to not get scared off by it. He can be a bit too blunt with things. Fights may arise out of this if you can't handle that part of him, so it's better if you're sensitive but not Too sensitive.

Intelligence is important as well. Alhaitham needs to be able to have complex conversations with his partner. You'll need to be able to keep up with him when he talks about his interests and knowledge. Will probably be overly fond of having debates with you over academic matters.

Overall, someone who has enough empathy to understand him and perhaps bring his own emotions out more. He's a complicated person! Understand that about him and everything should work out.

Scaramouche

He needs someone with the patience of a saint. You're going to have to deal with a lot of things. Mood swings, teasing, and the fact that he's often harsh (even when he may not mean to be). He can be difficult. His partner must be able to accept all of this easily, without blowing up at every little thing.

I think he would do well with someone affectionate. He's spent many years feeling abandoned and distancing himself from others. To have someone who is very openly loving toward him would be a welcome change, and would certainly help him settle him as a person. He may say it's annoying if you're clingy, but he's just as clingy himself. :)

You must be able to read between the lines with him - he doesn't often say what he truly feels or thinks outright. He's often an actions over words sort of person. He may not say he loves you so straightforwardly, but you can see it in how he treats you so long as you pay attention.

Ningguang

Someone who can challenge her. Ningguang, after all, thrives on such things. She is surrounded by people who admire and revere her, people who take her word for gospel, who hang on each bit of information or order she gives. What will make you stand out is that you don't do that. Question her, bicker with her, show that you have a mind and will of your own. She'd love to banter with you.

She doesn't have much need for wasting her riches on herself, but expect to be showered in expensive gifts. Ningguang would like someone she can spoil. Accept what she gives you. She won't take no for an answer when it comes to this.

Know that she will often be busy. You will need to have enough independence to spend a lot of time without her. Don't expect her to drop her work for you, and don't be too needy. She is yours, but she is also Liyue's. If you aren't the sort who can accept this, things wouldn't work out.

Ayato

Much like Ningguang, he's often extremely busy. And, again, you'll need to be able to get along well enough on your own when he is.

He needs a partner who is good with people. You'll have to go to events with him, talk to others of high social standing. Maintain a good public image and get along well with others. Have good manners and be polite. And, most importantly - be intelligent enough to tell when someone doesn't have Ayato's best interests in mind, and refrain from saying anything to them that might come back to bite you. To that end, someone who can defend themselves would be ideal as well, considering how many people go after him, and may go after you…

It is, of course, expected that you'll be completely devoted to him in every way. Love is nothing without loyalty, in his eyes.

Being the leader that he is can be rough. If you're able to easily comfort him after a long day, it would be appreciated. Ayato takes care of many things, including you. Take care of him in return.

[helgahaze]

Shine Bright: A Guide to Light Up Your Inner Sun

Astrologically, the Sun is the heart of individuality, a generator of joy, one of the three main sources of energy in the chart. Self-esteem relies on it, as well as self-concepts, the ability to desire, choose what's pleasing, create, and innovate.

A blazing Sun is necessary for self-realization and all forms of healthy relationships, but its most valuable gift is the sense of connection with oneself. When cultivated, a vast number of destabilizing factors and problems dissolve on approach, naturally, like shadows in the light.

It's difficult to manipulate a Sun person. Yet, they're not in constant confrontation with everything and everyone. A blazing Sun merely creates a protective screen in the psyche against external opinions, judgments, and pressures. In a harmonious scenario, it's not a deaf wall of "everything else is irrelevant, I'm all that matters," but a flexible membrane allowing a person to navigate situations and circumstances.

Perpetual lack of strength, interest in life, feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy are astrologically described through tension on the Sun. People with a natal Sun in discord often use phrases like "I don't know who I am/don't understand myself/I don't know what I want." Here lies a nuance that can derail finding a working solution.

"I don't know/don't understand" belongs to the earth-air lexicon of mental forms. The Sun, however, belongs to the fiery principle. Active, self-sufficient, expressive, spontaneous, bright, uncontrollable. It's the drive that arises from within. It ignites and flares up from sincere actions in accordance with one's true nature, not from incoming information. It's lived and integrated into personality through feelings and sensations, not through mechanical fitting and sorting through possible options in the mind.

The task of astrology here is to compute actions that create, sustain, and/or enhance this state of drive.

How to start calculating them?

Make your natal chart in any astroprocessor.

Find in which sign the Sun is placed.

Select the appropriate description from this post.

Test what looks appealing.

Invent your actions with a similar meaning, especially in the spirit of "I've always wanted to try, but somehow never got around to it."

Track the result in the form of excitement, curiosity, joy, the sensation of movement, increased energy.

The target indicator state looks something like this:

If the Sun is afflicted by disruptive aspects or other factors, mechanically performing only these actions won't fix the whole problem. It's a more complex and challenging task requiring an analysis of the entire chart context. But with these actions, it's still better than doing nothing at all. They, at the very least, send a signal inward that the patient is more alive than dead and interested in moving in the desired direction. In other cases, when the Sun is at a functional level, solar hygiene actions increase energy, help strengthen the bond with oneself, and actively support the internal engine's revolutions.

Sun in Aries

Goal: to be first, to initiate, to defeat everyone, to quickly achieve visible results.

Ignites from:

Sports and impulsive activities (sprints, but not marathons).

Entrepreneurship, project launches (starting, but not continuous management).

Publicity, active self-demonstration.

Competition, rivalry.

Creativity in the format of "this is done by my hands, here's the result, I'm better than everyone else".

Sun in Leo

Goal: to play, to shine with oneself, to show off, to be noticeable, to reflect and continue oneself in one's projects.

Ignites from:

Manifestation of spontaneous desires and whims.

Creative activities, realization of the impulse to create something new.

The state of play, feline excitement, when you lose track of time.

Publicity, focusing others' attention on one's uniqueness.

Creativity in the format of "I did this, this is mine, everyone saw it, right?".

Sun in Sagittarius

Goal: to be an authority, to scale up, to live by meanings and goals, to fill space with oneself.

Ignites from:

Studying aimed at expanding and changing one's worldview (ideas, concepts, abstract knowledge).

Teaching, expert performances, public philosophizing, expressing one's opinion.

Active exotic travels, exploratory trips, new experiences that influence one's worldview.

Scalable goal-setting and goal achievement.

Creativity in the format of "what the author wanted to say", the main thing in the creation is the ideas and meanings it conveys.

Sun in Taurus

Goal: to multiply, to stabilize, to experience calm pleasure ("I like this"), to interact with the material.

Ignites from:

Unhurried, measured, productive activities with tangible results.

Wealth, accumulation, collecting.

Receiving income, gifts.

Harmonious demonstration of acquired beauty ("here's my house/my garden, yes, I created this beauty myself, I like it, so I'll show it to you too").

Creativity in the format of "I create beautiful material things".

Sun in Virgo

Goal: to do useful and practical things, to organize, to fix.

Ignites from:

Routine, meticulous activities (sorting papers, wardrobe revisions, arranging books by cover color).

Taking care of beauty and health.

Tangible use that can be provided to others.

Creating practical, aesthetic, detailed designs (jewelry, floristics, interior items).

Creativity in the format of "I create useful beautiful order".

Sun in Capricorn

Goal: to manage, to plan and bring to a concrete result, to structure, to make durable.

Ignites from:

Responsibility, systematic "construction" of oneself and one's life.

Active elevation of one's social and/or professional status, advancement upward in any vertical hierarchy.

Administration, organization, creation and implementation of rules and systems, preferably complex and intricate ones.

Strict luxury, ascetic premium, high quality without flaunting.

Creativity in the format of "I do fundamental and precise work for a specific result".

Sun in Cancer

Goal: to nurture, to surround with care, to live through, to adapt.

Ignites from:

Sensations of simple everyday things (the sun warms, the cat is soft, smells delicious).

Immersion in psychology, studying feelings, emotions, subconscious processes.

Creating coziness at home.

Time spent with loved ones.

Creativity in the format of "I create atmosphere".

Sun in Scorpio

Goal: to intensify, to concentrate, to destroy the obsolete, to manipulate, to expose the essence.

Ignites from:

Thorough research and analysis (psychology, finance, science).

Any kind of energy practices, especially deep and complex ones.

Going through crises and personal transformations in the process.

Sensations of overcoming, risk, adrenaline, limits, and second wind.

Creativity in the format of "I expose the essence and expand the boundaries of what's possible".

Sun in Pisces

Goal: to feel, to sense, to connect with all living things, to believe, to follow an ideal/dream.

Ignites from:

Music, photography, painting and illustration, cinema and theater, literary creativity and poetry (drawing, writing, directing, filming, composing independently).

Dreamy solitude and contact with nature.

Exploring ambiguous mysteries, myths, symbols (from legends and history's puzzles to foreign languages).

Charity and helping those in need.

Creativity in the format of "I create magical worlds and illusions".

Sun in Gemini

Goal: to learn, to educate oneself, to communicate, to be curious.

Ignites from:

Working in multitasking mode.

Continuous circulation of information, satisfying one's own curiosity.

Hangouts, trips and travels.

Acquiring light, superficial, practical knowledge.

Creativity in the format of "I create simple, interesting, and relevant things".

Sun in Libra

Goal: to build relationships, to harmonize, to evaluate, to establish and maintain balance.

Ignites from:

Intellectual conversations.

Positive feedback and recognition from others.

Consultations, discussions, expertise.

Relationships, having connections in circles of certain status.

Creativity in the format of "I create beautiful, refined, and balanced things".

Sun in Aquarius

Goal: to invent, to be free and original, to solve global problems, not to hold back and not to be bored.

Ignites from:

Communication with like-minded people, generating ideas, studying complex concepts (both humanitarian and technical).

Sensations of speed and height, wind in the ears, endless horizon in front of the eyes, impressions.

Working with technologies, future projects, startups, large meaningful tasks.

Antics, jokes, laughter, showing off, absurdity.

Creativity in the format of "I create the future".

Aspects and other individual placements of each chart will complement and transform these values. Here was considered only one element of interpretation out of many—the zodiac sign of the Sun.

[insomniumstella]

spite her, spite me (7) | bucky x avenger!reader

summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.

warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky, smut MDI

word count: 8,485

author's note: i cannot believe we reached the end — thank you for all of the comments and the love you've showed this series, it truly means the world! also, i don't know how the nsfw section stretched to be over 2k words and now i'm rethinking every smutty fic i've ever written

WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist

series’ SPOTIFY playlist

“The dress is a bit much,” the sergeant’s eyes raked over her gown. 

The intricately beaded dress was black, and sensual, and outrageous, with a deep slit, which exposed most of y/n’s upper thigh. She might’ve seemed like an angel in devil’s clothing to those of unsuspecting eyes, but James understood better. The woman was a fallen saint, and as he committed the image to memory, he had decided that she was placed on this earth solely to tempt him in every way she could. Their story was never destined to be comforting, and easy, no, the story of James and y/n would always be difficult, complex, and shamefully sinful. 

“It seems Maui had been harsh on you, James,” she spoke, “otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” 

The cool touch of his metal arm brushed against y/n’s skin when he took a step forward, coming to stand beside her. It was bothersome, the closeness of his body as they observed the gala’s guests unsuspectingly dancing, drinking, or conversing about matters they had deemed important.

There was only a single matter on her mind y/n considered meaningful, and she had not seen him for the entirety of the night. Steve had been a nimble shadow, shaking hands with the leaders and first ladies of the world. 

“Perhaps, I was wrong,” the word felt foreign on his tongue, “and HYDRA ceased to exist.”

She angled her face to read his expression, but it was aggravatingly blank, “how’d you figure that out, Sherlock?” 

James noticed the sarcasm in her tone and nearly chose to ignore it, “reviewed some files, checked a couple databases,” possibly hacked into Sam’s iCloud to read the texts between you two. "Have any more theories you’d like to share?” 

She chuckled, then chuckled again from the bewilderment before breaking into a boisterous laugh; it couldn’t have been more disingenuous if she tried. “Why should I if the Winter Soldier will only trample on my ideas?” 

Though the dimly lit ballroom overflowed with chatter and soft sounds of jazz, a tense stillness settled between them. The looming threat of Steve’s assassination was not a time for games and stubbornness, and James was frustrated at the spy’s thorny attitude. 

“The Winter Soldier was blinded by bloodlust, but he’s ready to hear out his partner,” Bucky replied with a deep sigh, hoping she’d crack.

“Oh, we’re partners now?” The clench of his jaw didn’t go unnoticed, and she begrudgingly dropped the act. “Back when we attended Elijah’s yacht party, Mark was wary of you hence the fish tend to be vigilant around James comment. I might forget a name, but I always remember a face.” This time, she angled her entire body to face him. “Mark attended a gala in Germany a couple years prior, Steve had me monitoring the security cameras for hours then, and nothing was particularly interesting except for Mark and Wilfred Nagel’s unlikely friendship.” 

“Shit,” his flesh arm clasped around her forearm, “ Nagel’s the doctor CIA had recruited before he seemingly disappeared into thin air.” 

“Bingo,” she replied with a popping sound. “The accusations against Elijah, Mark’s presence on the boat, and the conversation between him and Wilfred months before Wilfred’s disappearance had me conceptualizing a theory of Mark and Elijah working alongside Nagel to produce super-soldiers.” A server boy approached the couple, and she promptly replaced her empty champagne flute with a fresh glass. “I’d assume Captain America would ruin those plans." 

“The theory’s still blurry,” James released the grip on her arm, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles of his black suit. “If they’re plotting to execute Steve, why wouldn’t they assassinate me as well?”

She drank him in — the sergeant’s black suit was made of satin, alike the dress shirt, matching her onyx gown. Perhaps he had willingly chosen to abstain from a tie, or perhaps, he had been too headstrong to admit she had been correct about HYDRA, subjecting James to a lack of time for elaborate preparations. She decided it must’ve been the latter, for Bucky had worn the outfit to a party Natasha had organized after the court had pardoned his crimes. 

“They could,” she agreed, “but they wouldn’t because you’ve been forgiven and have since retired, remember? The Winter Soldier enjoys a peaceful life away from criminals, Avengers, and fights.” 

“The sucker has a wife too,” James gawked into y/n’s eyes, and she tittered at his attempt at a joke. “She looks good tonight.” 

The glimmer in his expression she couldn’t understand.

She took a swig of champagne, peering at James over the flute for a single awkward moment too long, “was that a compliment?” 

“It should’ve been,” he pursed his lips together. 

James was allowed to feel frustrated, angry, and disappointed about y/n’s actions, he had decided after she had packed up and hastily abandoned the honeymoon. The woman had betrayed him by hiding significant information and biting her tongue on theories of HYDRA and its remains. Worse, she had fled Maui without as much as a goodbye, leaving James to sleep in the bed, angrily alone. Though his appetite had been ruined, he had chosen to order room service and watch terrible TV shows she had recommended to Wanda in the prior months. The sheets had been tainted with the scent of y/n’s perfume and lotion, a delicious blend of strawberry and vanilla. The Lovers’ Suite had been scattered with traces of her, and when he had ditched the room at last, deep into the night, even the beach had seemed to remind James of the bizarre yet pleasant memories they had shared. He wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but he had begun missing y/n’s presence, prickly remarks, and the pointless arguments over the smallest of things. 

“Steve’s backstage," Sam’s voice was a muffled sound through the earpiece. 

She took a step forward, using Bucky’s body to shield herself from possibly prying eyes. “What about Mark Basso?” 

James paled at the closeness of their bodies, but remained professional, examining the ballroom of feasible threats. 

“I can’t find him, the dude’s been a ghost for the entire night, but,” there was a pause in his speech, “Elijah Williamson is backstage,” she could hear Sam drum his fingers on a metal surface, “they’ve been conversing for a good while.” A second passed before his words reached y/n’s ears once more. “Are you certain Mark’s appearance at the party is enough to incarcerate him?”

The woman recognized she should inform Sam of the situation without excluding certain details, and yet she couldn’t. If Sam understood the gravity of Elijah’s gala plans, he’d abandon monitoring the security cameras and would certainly place himself in danger to save the Captain. She needed the footage of the events that were to occur backstage, for she had already deceived James, allowing the soldier to believe HYDRA continued to exist. 

The eight months they had spent together, unraveling Elijah’s life, had been honest, on y/n’s part, but the last five days had not. James had pursued false leads and theories, and she had let him. Sam might punish her with a harsh lecture, move to live on Natasha’s floor or stop coming to Friday’s Tequila Nights at Barry’s if he discovered y/n’s incomplete truths, but it’d be worth it, for he’d be in the security room in case Mark had planned to delete the footage. James deserved peace, and she craved to ease his mind two criminals at a time. A former HYDRA officer and a corrupt politician behind bars was a good start to rid of the nasty organization and its remains. 

“The man’s a HYDRA operative,” she reminded, clutching James’ hand to lead him through the crowd of guests, “who just happens to be identified as deceased,” y/n maneuvered around people, dodging staff members and unsuspecting bystanders, “imagine the headlines and the public’s fear when it’ll get revealed the US government missed a dead man walking after the program to incarcerate security threats was implemented.” A corrupt program for a corrupt country. “President Ross would imprison Mark just to save face.”

The pair soon found themselves backstage. The stage was narrow much like the hallways, and though the space had plenty of overhead LED lights, it was painted a pitch-black color, and the confusing maze of corridors, entrances, and clothing racks seemed rather murky. She hauled James into the women’s bathroom and hurriedly locked the door. The soldier had seen women dragging men into bathrooms at clubs and parties. He was old, but he wasn’t dead — James understood what a couple would do in a bathroom together hence his confusion and reddened cheeks. 

She raked her eyes over his face, “we’re not having sex, Barnes.” 

“Is it because Steve needs saving or,” the smallest of smirks danced on his lips as James observed y/n step on the toilet to open a vent, “is it because you want our first time to be special?” Amusement colored his tone. 

She threw a miffed glare toward him before continuing to rummage in the outlet, “do you actually believe I burn with lust for you?” 

“Yes,” Bucky caught a pale yellow gym bag after she tossed it at him, “surely did during the honeymoon.” 

“We’ll always have Maui,” she smiled with faux sweetness, stepping off the toilet and on the sparkling white tiles. 

The smirk dropped from his lips at the comment because he had been open, honest then, and she just teased him about it. If time allowed for it, she might’ve apologized, guilt beginning to claw at her heart, but she ignored the strange emotion. 

“Sam,” she pressed a finger on the earpiece before squatting down to search in the sack, “James is with me,” y/n found an additional earpiece, standing up and taking a step forward to gently attach the gadget onto the soldier, “do you have eyes on Steve?” 

“Yes,” the Falcon murmured, audibly upset by Bucky’s presence. “James, hi,” he spoke through the intercom, “y/n, didn’t you say you'd leave the tin-man in Hawaii?”

“Obviously, I failed,” she replied, earning a soft smack from James on the shoulder, “when does the charity auction start?” 

“It should begin in fifteen minutes,” Sam spoke, inspecting the view on the monitors, “an incredible date with Amelie Barnes, a gorgeous New York City socialite, is fifth on the list to be auctioned, seven offers before the old-fashioned date with the handsome Captain America.”

She glanced up at James, studying his bewildered expression. “There might be a few things you’ve missed,” y/n grinned in faux innocence before promptly clarifying, "we needed access to the backstage areas. Do you have a gun?” 

“No,” James begrudgingly admitted, ashamed to have missed a crucial detail in his attire. 

The pair stood in front of each other without a sliver of space in between. She didn’t give herself a minute to think the action through, resting her hands on his chest as she hastily lowered into a squatting position to reach the bag. James sucked in a breath as y/n’s hands slid across the length of his body. She rested a single palm on his upper thigh for balance while she retrieved a set of pistols, but just before his mind had enough time to register the sudden stimulation, she arose, clutching his flesh bicep to steady herself. 

“Tuck it into the waistba—“

“Alright,” James interrupted her, “I’ve done this before.” 

She let go of his shoulder, taking a step backward. “There’s no need to be rude,” y/n shrugged. 

“I’m not being rude,” he rebuffed the comment, “just worried about where you’re planning to hide the gun.” 

A slight smile waltzed on her lips as she pushed the bottom of her gown aside, faintly exposing lacy onyx panties and a holster. James choked, once, at the obscenity of her response. 

“I’ve done this before,” she teased him, “sergeant.”

The charity auction had been a distant thought until she was standing on the stage with dozens of eyes upon her. She could hear the voice of the auction's host, describing the date she’d be forced to attend and the chatter of middle-aged men, hoping to secure the evening with Amelie Barnes, but y/n could only focus on searching for Mark in the crowd.

Nancy wouldn’t have lied to someone about Elijah and Mark’s wicked plans because the lawyer had zero motives to deceive a person she trusted. At least the woman hoped Nancy trusted whoever it had been on the other side of the phone because her whole plan revolved around Mark’s appearance at the gala. She’d never wish for Steve’s untimely death, but she did wish for the HYDRA operative and the politician to be caught on camera as they attempted to eliminate him.

“Let’s start the bidding at a thousand dollars,” the host announced, and she swallowed the lump of nerves in her throat.

A man on the left side of the ballroom raised his bid paddle. He seemed utterly too old to take y/n out on a date, and she shivered at the possibility.

The host beside y/n smiled, peeking at her. “We have a thousand, can we get more?”

“Two thousand!”

“Three thousand!”

“Five thousand dollars!”

She could barely register the number of voices, each interrupting the next to outbid the other.

A woman, close enough to the stage that she could see her face, raised the paddle. “Ten thousand dollars!”

“Ten thousand dollars for the woman in a green gown,” the presenter spoke cheerfully. “Amelie loves art galleries and tennis at The River Club of New York!” He encouraged the guests to aim higher. “The woman’s a real good company."

What the fuck did Sam tell them?

If she had ever thought that time spent in James Buchanan Barnes’ proximity must have been the worst thing the world could possibly offer, which she often would, she had been wrong. She was a spy, she had undoubtedly used her appearance to obtain certain information or opportunities on missions before, but the auction caused goosebumps to waltz on her skin — to be suppressed into an object, the perfect accessory for a date night, was one of the worst emotions she had ever experienced. 

James stood in the back, observing her panic-riddled expression. She had forgotten Tony’s credit card in Maui on accident, and though Tony would skin him alive if he spent as much as a dime on it, Tony and James had never been close buddies, so what further damage could his impending action legitimately cause if the damage of the two’s past had already been irreversible.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” James raised the bidding paddle, grinning at y/n.

She stood on the stage perplexed at the sound of Bucky’s voice, frantically searching for his face in the sea of people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we just got our highest bid of the night! Fifteen thousand dollars for the man in the back going in one, two, th-“

“Thirty grand for the man in blue.” A deep voice reverberated through the room.

She abandoned her search for James, locking her gaze on Mark. The spy had inspected the crowd once, then had inspected it for a second time, and the agent had not been comfortably sitting at a nearby table, peering at her through the top of his champagne flute. Mark must have sneaked in, which signified that either Steve was already dead or Elijah was waiting for Mark backstage, conversing with Captain America before commencing the plan of a brutal murder.

“Forty,” James challenged, studying in which direction y/n’s disgusted glance pointed.

“Fifty thousand,” Mark announced before the host had a chance to say anything, continuing to scrutinize her. The agent’s smile was cocky, overconfident, almost as if she was the victim and he was the hunter; as if he had discovered y/n’s deepest and darkest of secrets.

“Fifty thousand going in one, two—“

“A hundred thousand dollars,” James yelled, interrupting the ghost, and maneuvered to stand by the stage.

Silence settled upon the room at the sheer absurdity of his proposed bid. The truth was, the sergeant had spoken before he could think because the world, at that moment, had not existed outside the gala. She was standing on the platform, the glitter in her special lotion, as she’d describe it, glimmering underneath the fiery spotlight. She was clad in an opulent gown, dripping in pearlescent onyx beads and intricate patterns. She was reduced to nothing but an object in the auction, a good company auction's participants could purchase. 

She, the woman who’d never become a friend, for he’d always crave to be her lover. 

The spy averted her piercing gaze away from Mark and glanced at James. Concern was visibly displayed in his eyes, yet his grin, sweet and playful to steady her nerves, remained. A corner of her mouth quirked up, and she mouthed a silent thank you. James was attempting to outbid every person in the room to save y/n from a terrible date, and he was willing to do it in understanding that Tony would lecture, if not evict, him. 

The moment shattered as she returned her eyes to Mark, and her expression turned deadly. The spy might have played the role of an obedient, pleasant wife and woman on Elijah’s boat, but it was apparent he had acquired some kind of insight into who she verily was. It was useless to pretend she desired to be friends with Mark, a positively unsuspicious Elijah’s friend, who just happened to surprisingly specialize in foreign weaponry. 

“This is shockingly incredible,” the host trumpeted in amazement, pausing for a second, “a hundred thousand dollars for the man in the satin suit going in one, two, three.” Mark basked in the daggers she sent toward him, sipping on his second glass of champagne as James glided onto the stage, clasping y/n’s fingers in his gloved hand, and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “The date with Amelie Barnes has just been sold to the guy in a lovely suit,” James and y/n exchanged amused looks at the host’s comment, “but don’t abandon your seats just yet ladies and gentlemen, because up next we have a cooking lesson at Daniel with the beautiful chef Olivia Stroud.”

“Thank you,” she softly acknowledged his sacrifice at the auction, "for what you did back there."

The pair hid behind heavy velvet curtains, a hairsbreadth away from each other, occasionally peaking through the crack to inspect the limited backstage area for Mark or Elijah. It slightly resembled a room suited for rehearsals, mimicking the layout of the ballroom and the stage on a lesser scale. The space was cluttered and messy, with tangles of cords littering the floor and racks of clothing lining the walls.

A date with Steve was the last to be auctioned before the break, establishing the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard and without innocent eyes around to witness the gory sight of Captain America’s murder.

James smiled, shyly almost. “I couldn’t allow myself to watch and do nothing while creepy old men fought over a chance to spend time with Amelie,” he teased, adjusting a fallen strap of y/n’s gown, “my hatred for you doesn’t stretch that deep.”

Heat crawled up her neck and onto her cheeks. “Bucky, you are an old man,” the woman teased, “perhaps not creepy, but weird? Absolutely.” 

“I’m not weird,” he argued, suppressing a smile, “you eat ice cream with pickles for toppings.” 

False shock stained the edges of y/n’s expression, “it was one time, and I only tried it because Pepper affirmed it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.”

“Pepper was pregnant,” he reminded playfully, earning a light smack on the shoulder.

The two Avengers swiftly switched into vigilant agents at the sudden squeak of the door. It was Mark, who entered the room first, scanning over the area for unwanted people. Steve appeared in the room seconds later, an arm resting on Elijah’s shoulders as he vehemently laughed at something the politician had mentioned.

It would’ve taken a fool to miss the obvious problem at hand. 

Steve was seldom intoxicated. She’d know, for she had spent too many gatherings attempting to outdrink the man without real success. Thor’s Asgardian mead was deadly to mortals but pleasantly kind to gods and super-soldiers alike. Earthly alcohol, contrariwise, was harsh on him; the taste delectable, the effects on Steve’s modified human body meager. 

It abruptly struck y/n — guns signified blood, plenty of it, and an operative smart enough to fabricate files of his supposed status as deceased wouldn’t be reckless and leave a plash of evidence in the backstage area of a charity gala’s ballroom. 

“Good news,” Sam’s voice echoed in the pair’s ears, “I have eyes on Steve,” he paused briefly, “bad news, Mark Basso and Elijah Williamson are plaguing the Captain.”

James opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him by placing a tender finger on his lips. “Sam, how closely were you monitoring the security cameras?”

It was a simple question she hoped the Falcon wouldn’t take offense to. 

He did. 

“I was observing the monitors like a hawk, y/n.” 

She refrained against an unnecessary comment and focused on the task, “and the video has audio?” 

“Yes.”

She took a step forward, closing the barely existent gap between them, “Elijah and Mark must’ve spiked his drink,” y/n hushedly whispered, circling a hand around James’ waist to touch the handgun she had provided. 

The pistol was securely tucked into the waistband of his trousers, and the sergeant cocked his head to the side. I’ve been on missions before, the glimmer in his eyes stated, and she could sense the early stages of his frustration, I didn’t accidentally drop it or nothin’. 

“At any point, did you notice Steve drinking a whiskey he had not ordered himself?” 

“Alright,” Sam clicked his tongue, “so I might not have an answer to that particular question, but I can say that Steve went into the bathroom twenty minutes ago, and his face seemed quite pale.” 

James placed a finger on the gadget, “did anyone accompany him?” 

“Yes, a line of beautiful ladies,” the Falcon responded, and James could nearly visualize Sam rolling his eyes in annoyance. 

The two men bickered some more, but she had tuned out the conversation, studying the scene onward. Everyone has a tell, y/n recalled. Though Steve’s words regarded lies and treacheries, the advice had not yet lost its meaning. It had been New Year’s Eve when she had gotten a nasty infection and had forgone Thor’s mead due to antibiotics. The compound’s residents had partaken in a friendly drinking competition then, and Steve had sworn the alcohol couldn’t exhilarate him, except his eyes had been droopy, and he had clutched James’ biceps for balance. 

Steve leaned on Mark, his laugh far less joyous than it had been before, so perhaps Nancy had been wrong, and they had not planned to eliminate him at the gala, but rather drug the Captain, sneakily transporting his unconscious body to a place, devoid of prying glances and curious endeavors. She wondered whether Elijah would linger in the room until the poison took its course. It’d be easier to carry dead weight, for Steve might fight against the operation.

The plan was meticulously calculated except for a single nuance. Why would the two men bring Steve into the backstage area in the first place if they could’ve used the narrow hallways and hidden exits to sneak out?

“We should slaughter Wilfred.” Mark spoke as if answering y/n’s concerns. “I specifically told Nagel he cannot be late.”

“It’s a slight blunder,” Elijah replied, oblivious to the surroundings, and the woman behind the velvet material, around him. Steve was barely awake. “We have Rogers and a bit of time before he’s supposed to appear on stage.” 

It was impossible to ignore James’ piercing eyes, and she hastily peeped at him. “Do we wait?” 

And she craved to have the correct response to his question, but, despite her usual confidence during missions, she didn’t have an answer. James had allowed her to lead, and she felt as if she was disappointing him, lingering behind a curtain as the Captain, a friend, clutched the very enemies they wished to incarcerate. The only thing y/n understood in great certainty was that Steve’s body couldn’t leave the premises of the establishment. 

“Did you see Mark or Elijah on the phone at any point in the night?” 

“Mark was a ghost,” Sam’s voice crawled through her earpiece, “but I distinctly remember Elijah in a heated conversation. The man arrived at the gala with his wife, presumably, and scuttled away into a lonely corner soon after, which I found interesting.” 

The former HYDRA operative’s phone dinged, and she lowered her hands to reach for the gun strapped to her thigh. Steve’s dormant body nearly hit the ground as he lost consciousness, and Elijah slithered his hands under Steve’s armpits to support the Captain’s weight. The woman’s heart clenched at the sight, of her confidante resting against Elijah’s chest like a heavy sack of potatoes, entirely unresponsive to the situation.

“Let’s move,” Mark clasped his ankles, and the unlikely allies hoisted Steve’s figure, “Wilfred messaged he’s awaiting outside.”

She could only comprehend Elijah's high-pitched shriek that rang in her ears, silencing the laughs, chatter, and footsteps sneaking into the space from the ballroom. James was the first to abandon the secure hiding spot behind the curtain, pointing his gun at the man, a stern expression on his face. A couple seconds passed before she trailed after him, shoving a pistol into Mark’s back as a threat. Steve’s body caused a harsh crash sound when it hit the ground, but she could only concentrate on Sam and the amount of time it’d take him to reach the ballroom backstage from the van parked outside.

“On your knees,” y/n instructed, firmly thrusting the gun against his skin.

The operative lazily raised his arms, making no effort to do as she had requested. “Amelie Barnes,” he chuckled, “what a stupid alias,” the situation didn’t afford contemplations on how he could’ve realized she was more than a homemaker, “though I must admit, I almost fell for the lovebirds' act by the way you two basked in each other on the boat.” Mark’s tone was tainted with smugness. 

Elijah landed a painful punch on James’ jawline, and he staggered back at the surprise of the action before he straightened up and kneed him in the stomach. 

She drew in a breath, “you’re wrong.”

The operative ignored the politician and the fight he seemed to be losing, “am I?”

She jabbed the pistol into his muscled back once more, hands quivering at the unspoken confession; it swallowed the room, knocking the air out of her lungs. “Get down on your knees,” she spat the warning.  

“A dozen names,” he snickered, “and not a single true. Mindy Phillips, Tara Marvin, Katherine Bailey just to identify a few.” 

“This is the last time I’ll repeat myself, get down on your fucking knees.”

“C’mon, y/n,” he spoke, lowering his arms a bit, “we can come to an agreement that’d satisfy both of us.”

She froze at the mention. The curiosity almost lured her into the biggest mistake she could make — playing along. “Elijah and HYDRA’s golden agent behind bars is the only agreement I’d be delighted about.” 

Mark suddenly turned around, grasping one of y/n’s wrists, and she clobbered him across the head with the hand that was clutching the gun. He wobbled, momentarily, before he tackled her to the ground, thighs resting on either side of her own, and gripped y/n’s wrist once more. The gun landed by her, and she writhed in his hold to reach it, but it was useless. Mark harshly pinned her arms above her hand, leaning in so close she could feel his disgustingly hot breath upon the skin of her neck.

He snickered, grazing the top of her ear with his lips, “we could’ve worked together,” Mark lightly nipped at the sensitive spot, “could’ve been a real good team.”

She found his eyes, amused and eerily hungry, and spat in his face, “fuck you.”

Mark laughed, but before he could sputter another comment, James was pouncing on the agent, resting his entire weight on him just as Mark had done to y/n, mercilessly pummeling the flesh of his upper body.

She averted her gaze from the bloody sight, searching for Elijah. The politician was sprawled out on the cement floor, by Steve’s feet, unconscious. A huge gash tainted his bottom lip, and purple had begun tinting his cheekbones. She glimpsed at James and the small cuts that adorned his handsome face; Elijah must’ve stricken a few great hits before the sergeant had stunned him cold.

Sam barged through the door. Besides the Falcon, she was the only person in the room without visible injuries, though her joints ached from the pressure Mark had used to clutch them.

“I called reinforcement,” he spoke, kicking her gun to a corner Mark couldn’t reach.

“Care to help?” Bucky’s teasing comment amidst a fight was almost comforting.

Sam rolled his eyes, joining James in the scuffle with the agent. She focused on Steve, crawling to his dormant body. Though it was dreadfully faint, his heartbeat remained. It was difficult to raise the top half of his weight, yet y/n succeeded, supporting his neck and shoulders as she inspected the back of his head for damage. She gasped silently, noticing that the blonde of his hair had been stained red. The split in his skin wasn’t deep enough to be profoundly alarming, but it'd require stitches. Speedily, she checked the time on his watch, creating a mental note, and lowered his figure to rummage in his pockets for a cell phone. The Captain’s head she placed upon her folded legs.

The woman’s fingers trembled as she typed in the emergency number. In the years they had worked together, never had Steve fallen unconscious, nor had he obtained a gaping gash in the back of his scalp. Elijah and Mark must've given him an alarmingly high dose of tranquilizer to knock the super-soldier out entirely, and she was scared.

The two Avengers had handcuffed Mark when the call between y/n and the local emergency service had ended. The operator’s voice has been soothing and calm, and she had turned the iPhone off feeling far more composed than she had been when she made it.

“An ambulance should be here in a few minutes.”

“That was quite dramatic,” Mark noted, a weak chuckle slipping past his lips, “Steve ingested sedatives, not poison.”

James placed a gun to his temple, and Sam planted a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder, “don’t engage him,” the Falcon advised, turning to y/n, “did you know?” 

She recognized Sam’s true question was did you know they planned to kill Steve?

“Yes,” she averted her gaze to observe Steve, “I’m sorry.” The spy was genuinely apologetic for hiding certain information. 

Sam drew in a deep breath, pursing his lips together, “why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

“I needed you to monitor the security cameras,” she answered truthfully, “I needed someone to transfer the footage into our database,” the explanation was honest once more, “I was afraid Mark or Elijah would attempt to tamper with it.”

“She was right, we had a whole plan 'n' everything,” Mark chimed in, and James pushed him down to his knees.

He sighed in frustration, the pistol lingering in its position against Mark’s skin, “stay fucking quiet, asshole.”

The Falcon ignored the commotion in the background, his expression strained as he continued to stare at her, “you should’ve told us.”

The statement disintegrated into thin air, the weight of it still heavy on her shoulders. She stayed silent, brushing away the sweaty pieces of hair that had stuck to Steve’s forehead. His face was eerily peaceful as he rested, unconscious, on the cement floor, head propped on y/n’s thighs. The gown Sam had chosen for the evening was sprinkled with blood in various spots, albeit the dark color disguised it. It was gorgeous and elegant, she’d admit, but it was destined to burn after the events that had unfolded during the gala.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice drained of emotion.

“The two of you should return to the hotel,” Sam suggested when a group of FBI officers spilled into the room, “shower, eat, rest. I have zero doubts it’s been an exhausting week,” he half-heartedly joked, referring to the faux honeymoon, “I’ll stay with Steve.” 

“Sam,” she spoke, “we want t—“

“Go,” the Falcon interrupted her, “please,” one of the officers firmly hoisted Mark, and James swiftly reached y/n’s kneeling figure, “I got this.” The tone of his voice had whispers of irritation at its edges. 

“Alright,” she agreed, helping a paramedic transfer Steve’s body onto a stretcher, “I trust you.” 

Sam glanced at James, shoving his hands into his pockets, and returned his eyes to y/n. “Good.” The look they exchanged was strangely comforting, the kind of look that conveyed Sam wasn’t angry, per se, but rather vanquished, and disappointment she could deal with. 

She offered him a weak smile, “I should shower.”

The Falcon chuckled, mouthing a silent go, and turned his focus to James, both of you. 

James stood in the hotel room’s doorway.

She was fidgeting with lavish jewels, her patience stretching thin as the necklace’s clasp remained closed despite y/n’s nimble fingers attempting to work it open. She glanced at him, once, before regaining focus. “Why are you here?”

The sergeant shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “I forgot to book a hotel room.”

She ceased her movements, observing his awkwardness-laden body language. James’ long-forgotten suit jacket dangled over his bent arm, the other hand shoved into the pocket of his satin trousers.

“May I suggest driving back to the compound?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a small grin at y/n’s thorny response, “we’re in the middle of Manhattan, and the compound is a three-hour drive away.” James closed the heavy wooden door, locking it behind him. “Can I stay with you?”

“It seems you’ve answered the question before I had the chance,” she referenced the action, staring at him in forged disbelief.

The atmosphere stilled in a pregnant pause. It wouldn’t be harmless for the couple to sleep in the same bed. They had done it in Maui, and neither her skin had broken out in a rash nor had she perished. On the contrary, it was peaceful to relish in the warmth of his skin.

James dumped the jacket on an empty chair, slowly coming to stand in front of the woman. She could almost hear the thumping of his heart, his body a hairbreadth away. Sirens echoed outside the sealed window, saturating the silence in crimson sounds. New York City contrasted with the lush green of upstate New York. The living quarters at the compound were usually deprived of clamor, protected against harsh winds and white noise by thick cement walls. 

“Let me help you,” James cooed, sliding his hands across the skin of her arms upward. The soft pads of his fingers caressed her collarbone before he grasped the necklace’s clasp and easily worked it open. “We could be great together,” he spoke, turning to gently place the diamond choker on a glass desk, “great partners,” her fingers ghosted over the spots James had touched, “great lovers,” he toyed with the idea. 

The sergeant returned to his previous place and, “great lovers,” she teased, “you think we could fit together?” 

“Mmmh,” he concurred, “but we always extinguish the flame before it truly burns.”

She brushed her hands across the smooth fabric of his dress shirt, savoring the firmness of his muscled chest beneath the textile. We always extinguish the flame before it truly burns. Perhaps James was correct — she had been opposing a traitorous fire within the deepest pits of her heart, and body, long before Wanda had a terrible idea to send the two on a faux honeymoon. 

“Kiss me,” she spoke in an honest confession of lust. 

“What?” James’ voice was breathless as he gawked at the woman in foreign excitement and disbelief. 

Oh, the way he hoped she’d realize that the line between love and hatred stood thin, and they had surely blurred it in Maui, but never did James think she genuinely would. The fault was his, partially. It had been easy to fabricate false narratives for the compound’s residents, convince himself he loathed the woman despite the countless nights of wandering hands and shameful memories of her body. James had designed a malicious persona, but oh, the way he hoped she’d see through it. 

“Kiss me,” she repeated, “because just once, I need to get you out of my system,” her hands slithered to his biceps, “kiss me, so the next time I’ll touch myself at night, it won’t be your face I’ll be seeing.” 

James cupped the back of y/n’s neck, crashing their lips together. The world in the background ceased to exist at the moment. He swiped his tongue against her bottom lip, asking for permission, and she surrendered to the request, tangling her fingers in his copper locks. She gingerly pulled at the root, earning a muffled whimper from James, and he slid his metal arm down to y/n’s waist to bring the woman closer, to erase the barely existent gap between their bodies. She burned with arousal, and Bucky was equally as famished. It was only the lack of oxygen that pulled the couple apart, and James drew in a deep breath, capturing y/n’s lips once more seconds later.

It was a dangerous promise, the kiss. A wildfire that spread through the entirety of her body, stimulating every nerve ending until she was moaning into his mouth as a plead for more, tongues fighting for dominance. It knocked the air out of her lungs, and when she retreated, James didn’t meld their lips, opting to focus on y/n’s neck. He kissed, licked, and sucked the sensitive skin like a man deprived of the only thing he’s ever desired. She was a drug, and god, was James addicted to her scent and her silky skin, and her hands, sloppily untucking his dress shirt, to slide under the fabric and explore his taut muscles. Everywhere she touched scorched, and he messily searched for the zipper of her gown, discarding the dress to the ground as soon as the piece of metal relented.

She was the most beautiful sight James had ever seen as she stood in front of him in just a pair of lacy panties. Art, created by the world’s most talented of artists, an angel bestowed to him by the gods themselves. 

The sergeant brushed his flesh thumb across her lower lip, blending their lips together. His metal hand, the one she had always disgracefully thought was outrageously attractive, slithered between her plush thighs, and James moaned into her mouth upon discovering that she was soaked and aching for him. He shifted the undergarment to the side for access, dragging his fingers through her silken folds. 

Cool metal thumb pressed into her clit, and she broke the kiss, “inside,” she spoke, the tone of her voice laced with desperation, “I want you inside of me.” 

“Sweet girl,” James chuckled, inserting a single digit into her slick heat, “you need to be stretched first.” 

He thrusted his finger a few times before adding a second digit. She clenched around him, messily unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the carpeted floors. The pace of his thrusts remained steady and agonizingly slow as James basked in her pleasure-riddled expression. 

The woman clutched the waistband of his trousers, messing with the belt, her fingers trembling as James continued to stroke the sensitive spot inside her with two of his fingers. “Please,” she muttered, “faster.” 

A sly smirk waltzed on his lips at the request, but, instead of obeying y/n’s wishes, he halted the activity, removing his hand, and placed the metal in his mouth, sucking it clean, “such a sweet thing you are.” 

Warmth crept up her neck and onto her cheekbones. He hastily removed the trousers, placing his hands on the back of y/n’s upper thighs, hoisting the woman, and gently tossed her onto the spongy bed. She stared at him through curious eyes, lowering her gaze to observe the bulge in his boxers, and swallowed the lump in her throat. Judging by the outline in his underwear, James was huge, far bigger than the men she had fooled around with in the past. 

“I want to taste you,” she confessed, propping herself up on her elbows.

James shook his head no, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her onyx panties to tear them off, “next time, doll.” 

She wasn’t certain whether there would be a next time, for James had discovered a side to her, she had long buried. An alter ego, who was submissive, and pliable, and starved for the touch of a man she described as her enemy. 

James nestled between her legs, arms on either side of her waist, and placed chaste kisses on y/n’s mouth and jawline. His head dipped lower as he assailed her neck and chest, popping a nipple in his mouth. The sergeant sucked the sensitive bud before nipping on it, massaging her other breast with his hand and rolling the right nipple between his fingers. 

She writhed under him, eyes shut from the waves of pleasure racing through her. James didn’t linger over the area, choosing to concentrate on kissing the length of y/n’s body as he crawled to situate himself betwixt her thighs. Goosebumps painted the path of his eager kisses, and she grasped a handful of his hair when James gave her clit a kitten lick to test the response. 

“James,” she purred as he repeated the action and slithered two digits back into her dripping heat. 

“Use your words,” he grazed his tongue over the bud again, applying a little bit more pressure, “tell daddy what you want.” 

The woman’s eyes shot open at the term but then he was thrusting his fingers into her wetness, repeatedly hitting the delicious spot that made her toes curl, the insult toward James forgotten. 

“Mouth,” she mumbled, too lost in the delectation to form a coherent sentence. 

James snickered at her vague response, wrapping a pair of soft lips around y/n’s clit. The thrusting of his fingers persisted as he stimulated the area. James was spelling out his full name on her sex, she realized by the time he had started tracing a b for Buchanan, yet she abstained from further reflections, coming undone by his mouth and fingers seconds before James could complete tracing the s in Barnes.  

“Good girl,” he praised, helping y/n ride out her orgasm.

James withdrew his fingers, sucking them clean of y/n’s stickiness before he removed the metal with a pop, and peeled off his boxers, flinging the garment across the space.

The room was modern and opulent, with floor-to-ceiling windows exposing the ever-awake skyline of New York City, its sky-high buildings, impressive bridges, and countless lights. It was situated on the fortieth floor of the hotel, creating a perfect opportunity to indulge in a bit of a rush and leave the curtains wide open without a true risk of innocent bystanders witnessing the scene.

James kneeled on the bed. The usual glimmer of annoyance toward her in his eyes had been replaced by a feral kind of hunger, and, as she stared at him like a pray would observe its hunter, y/n decided that, just maybe, this wouldn’t be the first or the last time she’d let James treasure her body. 

She loosely draped her forearms over his neck when he slanted to capture her nipple in his mouth, “I know you consistently ignore my wishes,” she whimpered, “but for the love of god, sergeant, I need you.” 

He chuckled, showing attention to the other bud by pinching it, “my sweet girl wants to get filled, huh?” 

James’ throbbing weight rested heavily against the skin of her thighs, and she reached down to palm it. “Yes.” 

The woman’s nimble fingers caressed the reddened tip, spreading his precum on the surface before she dipped her hand a tad lower to gently fondle his balls. A moan escaped past his lips at her eager endeavor. 

“I like it when you’re needy,” James pulled back and she groaned at the loss of him in her hands, “and dripping,” his fingers ghosted over the velvety folds before he was manhandling the spy to rest on her knees and forearms, “willing to let daddy take care of you.” 

She ignored the name yet again but stored it within her memories to use for blackmail in the future. “Is he?” She questioned when Bucky clutched her hips and pushed his hand down on her back for a deeper arch. “Is daddy gonna fuck me, or is he just going to talk all night?” 

James understood she only used the term to mock him, but shit, did it stir his already aching cock. He palmed himself twice before dragging his length along her slick folds, the metal hand abandoning her hips to circle her waist and gently rub y/n’s clit from behind. She clenched around emptiness, pressing into his pelvis for friction, and Bucky ceased his movements, removing the fingers from her bud to harshly grip the flesh of y/n’s hips once more. James continued the torture, lazily teasing her entrance, and she painfully sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. 

“What do we say when we want something?” He taunted the woman, utterly enjoying her anguish. 

“James,” she mumbled into the crisp sheets. 

The soldier found amusement in the warning but showed mercy, sinking into her sodden heat. He’d fuck the brat out of her on a different day.

A strained whimper escaped past her lips at the delicious stretch of his cock, matching Bucky’s hiss at the way the spy’s walls drunk him in. James thrusted into her a few times, experimenting with speed and rhythm. A particularly rough roll of his hips seemed to rip a piercing moan from y/n’s throat, and he grinned, abandoning the hold on her hips to massage her clit again.

The room was saturated in vulgar noises of skin slapping against skin, moans, and desperate whines as James mercilessly pounded into her. She sobbed into a pillow as he led her to the edge for the second time, refusing to burst the bubble and let the flame consume her, thick fingers retreating just before the orgasm could ignite her body, over and over again.

James consumed every shallow breath and every wail, deciding that it would not be the last time he’d listen to the melody — she was a sin he’d gratefully burn in hell for, and an angel he’d break down heaven’s gates to attain. The soldier suddenly removed himself from her, already missing y/n’s silken walls squeezing around him, and shifted the woman, so that she rested on her back. He captured her ankles, draping them over his shoulders before he roughly thrusted back in. She wept at the overstimulation when he bottomed out, balls slapping against the skin of her ass. The new angle allowed James to reach far deeper. 

He groaned, “you’re so tight,” thumb brushing against her plush lips, “my sweet, sweet girl,” he cooed, “wanna worship this pussy all night.” 

And in his head, the statement stood true, but it was his body that opposed it, his arousal steadily creeping over the edge of an orgasm. 

She shut her eyes, expression drenched with pleasure, “I’ma cum,” she moaned. 

“I know, doll.” James wiped off the tear threatening to roll down her cheek and captured y/n’s lips in a messy kiss. 

“It feels good—,” she hiccuped when he pulled away, “—so good.” 

The world stilled. It was only James’ ragged breath and the heavenly orgasm she could focus on, washing over her body in syrupy waves and causing her toes to curl into the mattress below. She raked her nails over the skin of his back, leaving scorching marks in her wake. 

“Shit,” James cursed as his own peak approached, his strokes sloppy. 

It was a few thrusts later when he climaxed, painting her velvety walls white with a loud moan. He licked a sensitive spot on y/n’s neck, propping himself up on his forearms when the thunderous arousal began to quiet.

She brushed the hair that had gotten stuck to his sweaty forehead aside, “we don’t have evidence to convict Nancy,” she spoke when her heartbeat steadied.  

James sighed amusedly, pulling out his softened length and maneuvering to lay beside her. “This is what you say after we just had sex for the first time?” 

“Yes,” she deflected, refusing to admit she had fallen for the soldier and that it would not be the only time they’d get tangled in the sheets. 

“Alright,” he abandoned the bed with a laugh and gathered y/n’s exhausted body in his arms to locate the bathroom, “but let’s shower before we talk shop.” 

James observed the skyline of New York City. It was the place they had first encountered one another, back when he had brutally stabbed the woman. She rested on his bare chest now, peacefully asleep, soft snores falling from her lips. Times have changed, James realized with a heavy heart because change was uncertain and scary. It was worth it, though, if it meant the sergeant could love her up close and without barriers between them. It’d surely take a while to erase the tainted memories of the past, but they had been at war for five years, and he’d happily spend another five falling in love. 

An iPhone James had recently purchased dinged with a text. 

CAPTAIN AMERICA: guess Wanda and I won’t have to sleep with our eyes open after all:)

His mouth curved into a smile, elated Steve had not only woken up but was cracking jokes over the situation he had forced Bucky into. 

WHITE WOLF: debatable. 

It was not debatable — Steve and Wanda sending the couple on a honeymoon in Maui was the best decision they could’ve made, for the moon found his sun at last. 

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