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kurooh · 16 days ago

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★ EPISODE 01. GREED

SUMMARY. nothing like new beginnings, right? UA studios is the luckiest second chance you’ve ever gotten! once you’ve met your new manager and signed the last legal papers, you’re supposed to head off to your very first shoot. there, you’ll film your debut and prove that you belong to UA.

WARNINGS. 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader, casting couch, panties used as a gag, dry humping, unprotected sex, blowjobs, dirty talk. wc / 7.3k

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a document covered in legalese, clauses, and words you’ve never seen before is slid toward you, along with a pen for when you’re finished reading through it.

“this is the last one,” your new manager gives you a half smile, unsurprised by the confusion that washes over your face. “it’s a form verifying that everything you’ve signed off on is true.”

your eyes drift further down the page, toward the neat signature of his name. shinsou hitoshi, printed beneath a scribble of what appears to be his initials. although you haven’t been with him for more than an hour, you’re already much happier than you were when you’d stepped foot in the building. naturally, as all people do, you compare shiketsu studios and UA side by side. it’s pretty unfair, because of your disdain for shiketsu and lack of experience at UA, but the latter comes out on top.

shinsou sips his coffee. you read through the contract, pausing to squint at some of the last few conditions referring to unprofessionalism in the workplace; here, it’s taken seriously. you were nervous at first, especially with the ball and chain of shiketsu’s scandal dragging behind you, but it never came up. not in the phone call, not in the conversations on the way up to the office, and not once since the paperwork began.

black ink glides across the paper, smooth and formal. with two fingers, shinsou tucks the paper into your file, along with the rest of your necessary personal information. he offers you a wider smile—exhausted at the edges—and easily extends his hand, as if he’s done it a million times before.

your palm presses against his in a firm handshake, and he fixes you with a meaningful look.

“welcome to UA.”

“more than happy to be here,” you reply automatically, smile making its way through your voice as he leans back into his chair, folding his hands.

“we went over scheduling on the phone, and i set you up for a shoot today, just as requested. i know you’re not necessarily new to the industry, but i’m gonna tell you all of this as though you are, okay?”

you nod, raising your cup of complimentary coffee to your lips. creamer swirls in the middle of it like a whirlpool; each sip is slow and unhurried as you savor the flavor. it’s an ordinary cup of coffee, but it’s the most ordinary you’ve had in a long time.

“it typically depends, but you can expect to be on set for more than two hours today. filming can take a while, and we’ve had talent spend the whole day on one set, just to get everything right. because of this, actors are limited to filming a maximum of three times a week.”

your eyebrows shoot up, but you nod again. “that’s actually a great rule to have.”

“people need time to rest and recover, and plus, the studio’s huge! there’s no need to overwork the same actors. at UA, maintaining work-life balance is really important to us. our films and videos are kind of crazy, but management is everything but. anyway, let me give you my number.”

with his nice black pen, shinsou scribbles his phone number onto a light purple sticky note. it seems to match the color of his long, grown out hair, and you can’t help but wonder what came first. did he like the sticky note color so much that he dyed his hair to match it, or was his hair always purple and he just bought the stationary to match it?

“this is my personal number,” the square of paper is torn away from the stack with a sticky sound, “if something comes up and you can’t make a booking, you call me. if you’re adding people to your yes list and no list, which you’ll do over time, you let me know so i can take care of it and keep track. even if it’s something simple, like you get turned around when you’re walking through the studio, send me a text. i’m your manager. i’m here to help you and make your job easier. don’t hesitate to reach out if you’ve got something going on.”

. . .

noon rolls around faster than you expect it to.

shinsou’s given you all of the details regarding where you need to be, who you’ll be with, and what you need to be wearing when you get there. the dress code is simple—you’re expected to wear a casual, slightly revealing outfit with a matching set beneath.

you tug unsurely at your top, smoothing down the ruffles near your midsection for what’s probably the sixth time in ten minutes. it barely moves, looking the same as it did before. anxiety thrums in your chest, tangling itself intricately in your ribcage; the pressure to perform at your best is eating away at you, leaving you with an uncomfortable weight in your stomach and little to no air in your lungs.

again, you try to remind yourself that UA was the one pursuing you, not the other way around. the affirmation is supposed to put you at ease, but it has the opposite effect—if they were after you, they clearly expect the best from you. that thought doubles the weight upon your shoulders, nearly crushing you to the floor like a soda can.

before you can overthink any further, you’re already at the door, hand trembling just above the knob. you can hear the chatter of voices inside, the relaxed tones of conversation. you suck in a sharp breath, quickly running through the information about the shoot in your head; it’s some kind of run-of-the-mill casting couch video with one sero hanta. when he was reading you the details from a printed sheet of paper, shinsou didn’t seem worried in the slightest. he just wore a neutral expression, and reminded you to get there on time.

nausea swirls in your stomach. if you don’t just breathe and walk in, you’ll end up getting sick all over the floor and fired within the hour. you inhale shakily, plastering a smile onto your face as you twist the door open. this is fine.

all heads turn toward you. too many faces in such a small room, with so many cameras and microphones set up around a black couch. you can’t even choke out a greeting before someone’s on his feet, offering you a handshake and easy smile. “there’s the lady of the hour.”

“that’s me,” you laugh nervously, grasping his hand. the carpet looks dull, the once colorful patterns faded by foot traffic and time. despite its worn appearance, it looks cleaner than one might have expected. you look up at the person standing in front of you, so dazed you hadn’t even noticed you were staring at the carpet.

“the name’s hanta,” your co-star releases your hand, jerking a thumb at himself. he’s saying something about the camera crew, but you don’t really hear it—you’re more focused on how big he is. he’s a lot taller than you and full of energy, the corners of his lips tugging into disarming smiles that almost make you want to melt. “—this one’s mostly improv, y’know? kinda going for an all-natural video here, and your manager totally thought i was the right guy for the job.”

hanta’s standing in front of you, sounding all nice and friendly when he talks. he almost has the audacity to look a little clueless, like he’s completely unaware of how good he looks. you’ve seen him on camera, watched a few of his videos. at shiketsu, during breaks, you’d sometimes hear his name come up in conversations between the girls. some of them would watch UA’s videos before shooting, just to get themselves wet for their unsightly co-stars. once, you may not have seen the appeal. but now, standing as close as you are to him, you definitely understand it. something electric rushes through your stomach and leaves a sparking hot trail as it descends between your thighs.

“sounds great,” you say, even though you blacked out at some point while he was talking and only regained consciousness just now. he probably knows a thing or two about you, but you officially introduce yourself nonetheless. “nice to meet you, hanta.”

the director comes over to shake your hand. “like he said, this is supposed to be a very low-key debut. i’ve prepared a small list of things you might want to say, but otherwise, this is mainly improv. if you’d like to take a seat on that couch right there, we can go ahead and get started.”

. . .

you’re on the couch, sitting up straight with your hands folded in your lap. it’s already a few degrees warmer than when you’d first stepped into the room—the fan had to be unplugged, lest it become an annoying noise in the background during filming. a few camera people busy themselves with setting up and situating the microphones and such, while the director looks through the camera at you.

“hmm. perhaps you could be a little more relaxed? maybe sit back and lean into the couch. we don’t want you to be too stiff, even if you are nervous.”

you’re in the middle of readjusting yourself when hanta clicks his tongue, holding a hand out to motion you to stop moving. “she looks good the way she is. you see nerves, i see confidence and attention.”

the faintest trace of tension curls through the air like dissipating smoke. the two men hold their ground, looking one another in the eye, before the director raises his hands in surrender, exhaling through his nose.

“i suppose i hadn’t thought of it that way.”

someone tells the director something about having set up all of the microphones, while another plugs in a hand-held camera to charge. hanta situates himself in a chair behind the camera, looking like he’s in command of everything, while the actual director sits beside him with a whiteboard and marker.

“you can call cut at any time, if you’re uncomfortable with something. i’ll hold up the whiteboard in case you need any additional guidance or help with lines if you draw a blank.”

“thank you,” you nod at the director and take a deep breath. he glances briefly at hanta, playing it off as though he was just looking toward the camera. “action!”

“so, how’d you hear about us? what brings you to our agency, babe?”

it’s easier to lie, or come up with an answer, when you’re focused on hanta, not the camera. “i’ve seen a few ads online, but i’ve also heard really great things from my friends.”

the girls at shiketsu talked about more than just sero hanta—many of them had little crushes on the UA stars, as well as personal interests in the studio. but with UA studios being a primary rival to shiketsu, conversations remained hushed and secretive. honestly, shiketsu’s downfall turned out to be a success more than anything else; some of the drug addicts could finally recieve help, and the sober talent could look into working elsewhere.

clear and effortless, hanta’s words roll right off his tongue, despite the absence of a script in his lap. he’s looking directly at you, as if the camera doesn’t exist. “i understand you’re looking to work as a model with our agency. could you tell me a little more about what you’re interested in?”

you introduce yourself by name again, face growing warm as you follow his lead. “i’ve done some modelling before, and i took a small break, but i’m ready to get back into it. oh, i’ve never modelled swimwear or underwear before, but i wouldn’t mind giving it a try.”

he smirks, eyes shamelessly raking down your clothed body, as if he’s daring you to strip. “someone isn’t shy. would you mind showing me what you’ve got to offer to our agency?”

it’s acting. it’s fake, and yet, his words make your thighs squeeze together.

you nod, smile wavering. for a moment, you think the director will call for a cut, but he holds up the whiteboard and its instructions: strip down to your underwear & bra.

the jeans are the first to go. denim slides down your thighs, barely catching on your heels, and soon, it’s on the floor. you take care not to move too quickly, too hurried, as you lift your shirt up and over your head. it lands beside your jeans in a pile on the dull carpet, and you’re left in a matching black set.

hanta’s grin only grows wider. “our producers are gonna love you. if you’re interested, i can pull some strings and set you up for a shoot as early as tomorrow. how does underwear sound?”

a genuine smile spreads across your face; you don’t realize how innocent it makes you look, or how much it turns hanta on. oh, and you even sound a little excited! your acting is spectacular, for a newbie. he’s seen your shiketsu videos—trashy, low quality clips of you getting ruined on camera, posted for millions of people to see—and was more than excited to accept this shoot with you. shinsou had let hanta know that he’d specifically requested him for the job because of hanta’s tendency to be easygoing and charismatic with new actresses; at the end of his email, shinsou wrote a note saying that this set-up was him paying off his debt to hanta.

“that sounds great! i wasn’t sure if i could find my groove again, after being out of the industry for so long. could you tell me a little more about the photoshoot or the brand it’s for?”

hanta leans forward, propping his chin up on his fist. “slowww down. i haven’t even told you what i want in return for giving you this job, sweetheart.”

you pout, playing along perfectly. you’re selling this nervous, virgin-turned-slut image really well; hanta’s rock hard, though his slacks do a good job of hiding it. he’d rather have you feel it than see it—the thought of your reaction makes his cock twitch against his thigh. what if he touched you in all the right places, spoke everything you’ve ever wanted to hear into your ear? would you fall apart and forget all about the plot of the video and its loose script in favor of him?

“oh. i didn’t know your offer came with strings attached.”

“it’s just apart of the industry,” hanta murmurs, his eyes hooded with barely restrained desire. he’s so open, displaying his emotions on his face; he looks at you like you’re some kind of dessert that he doesn’t want to keep his hands off of. “anyway, what i want is for you to sleep with me.”

part of your true persona shines through in your breathless response, “i . . okay. yeah. yes, i’ll do it. for the, um, photoshoot.”

hanta draws it out, just for the camera. just because he wants your debut video to do well. definitely not because he’s on the verge of creaming his boxers from excitement and arousal. no. never. (he needs to jerk off more often.)

“that easy, huh? you’re a model, not a pornstar.”

“i could be both,” you say, eyes meeting his in a heated glance.

the director calls for a cut and claps his hands, getting to his feet. he’s going back and forth with two members of the camera crew, and you don’t really realize that the camera’s no longer rolling until hanta’s standing in front of you. tall and broad, his body casts a shadow over you.

your eyes drag up from his waist to his face, where a small grin plays on his lips. “that was pretty good, babe. where’d you learn how to act so well? ooh, and that improv.” he playfully wiggles his eyebrows, and it makes you laugh.

“i don’t know. i kinda picked it up over time, y’know? making porn isn’t that different from making movies.”

“gotcha. i gotta hand it to you, you’ve got—”

“places, everyone! we need to get ready for the next shot.” the director unintentionally interrupts him as he tries to get your attention and hanta’s. he turns around to look at the director, his face souring, but you don’t see it.

“couldn’t have waited until i was done talking?” “we’re on a tight timetable today,” the director replies, voice clipped. “places, please. i want both of you on the couch, so we can edit the last scene to fade into this one.”

you stand, and hanta lays back on the couch, propping his head up on the armrest. the rest of his body is stretched out over the cushions in a not-so-silent invitation for you to take a seat. heat rushes to your face, and you smile nervously, glancing at the director.

“should i take off my heels or leave them on?”

“leave them on for now,” hanta purrs, even though your question wasn’t directed at him. the director nods jerkily, likely put off by your co-star’s penchant for making filming decisions. “sit down and we can start rolling again.”

without kicking him, you swing a leg up and over his waist; now that you’re hovering above him, you slowly lower yourself onto his lap. the contact makes your eyes widen—he’s hard enough to cut diamonds, his cock pressing firmly against you through the few layers of clothing between your bodies.

he sort of grimaces, hands flying to your waist. “mind if i adjust you? your heel’s kinda digging into my leg.”

hanta barely lifts you more than an inch. he moves you forward and slowly drags you back, the ‘adjustment’ nothing more than a ruse to get some friction. the director either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t call it out; he gestures toward you instead, using his hands to motion forward and backwards.

“if you could get on all fours, that’d be great. we’re trying to transition the talking scene smoothly so that you’re already in the middle of it by the time it fades out,” your hips lift up and off of hanta’s lap as you position yourself according to the director’s instructions. “yes, that’s great! now all you’ve gotta do is arch your back and keep it that way until he moves you later.”

“sorry if my heels are poking you,” you tilt your head forward to whisper the apology into his ear, cheek brushing against his.

his voice is breathy when he replies, “you’re good.”

“action!”

there is a split second where you aren’t sure what to do. but hanta’s hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, and he pulls you in for a kiss. it’s a smooth, fluid action, as if it’s been done a thousand times before. the stubble along his upper lip is rough in contrast with the softness of his lips, which slide hungrily against yours.

hanta tests the limits, running his tongue along the seam of your mouth. breathless, you let him in, moaning softly at the new contact. but as he kisses you, tongue moving with yours, it doesn’t take long for him to get greedy. large palms coast along the planes of your lower back before he starts to insistently push you down, his hips jerking up to meet yours.

“fuckkk,” hanta lets out a broken moan and tucks his face into your neck, breathing you in. then, more for you than the camera, he murmurs, “you have no idea what i wanna do to you.”

what does he want to do to you? would he fuck you with reckless abandon and keep going even when he has to hold your limp body up? what if he decided to sit you on his lap, play with your pussy with one hand, and choke you with the other? you want nothing more than to find out.

“show me what those hips can do, sweetheart.”

you’re already panting. you hadn’t quite realized how hot you’d gotten since the camera had started rolling, or how easily he’d stolen your breath away with those slick kisses. you sit back, aligning your pussy with his cock through all of the clothing, steadying yourself with your palms planted on his pecs. the lean muscle is solid beneath your splayed fingers.

“like this?” it’s a half-moan, half-plea for some praise. hanta answers you with a grind of his hips and a drawn-out groan. he likes it. he likes what you’re doing, even if he doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to.

one of the camera people quietly steps toward the couch with a hand-held camera to capture different angles for the video. you’d nearly forgotten about the video, having gotten caught up with your co-star and everything you want to do to him. god, if there wasn’t a camera and a job to do, you’d sit on his face and see if his tongue was more than just silver.

“yeah, you got it,” hanta’s eyes squeeze shut against the indomitable arousal coursing through his body, hot and buzzing under his skin like a live wire.

“gonna give me that underwear shoot tomorrow, boss?”

you swear you feel his cock jump at your words, and that excites you. it’s only your first shoot, and you’re already making waves. how much could your reputation and popularity skyrocket if you were to get him to cum without even taking his clothes off? wicked delight floods your chest at the thought, and you bear down, pressing more firmly against him.

his throat bobs, and you can see the cogs in his head turning while he tries to think up a response. it must be difficult to do so when you’re batting your lashes innocently, acting as though you’re not riding him like a pony.

hanta makes up a response by the skin of his teeth. even though the director is silently pointing at the whiteboard with instructions, his movements frantic, your co-star absolutely refuses to accept the help. is it pride? is it snootiness? is he just trying to keep up with your improv?

you expect him to show off his desperation, but he flips the script by scoffing at you, like you’ve just said something stupid. “if you think just this will get you a job, you’re sorely mistaken. put in some work, girl.”

the friction is almost too much to tolerate—each deliberate, aching drag of fabric against fabric makes your mind all the more hazy. wetness visibly soaks your panties, dampening the material enough for it to slide too much to one side now and again. hanta notices—of course he does—and it only winds him up tighter, gets him feeling more frustrated.

he smirks up at you, pleased by the concentrated pinch of your brows and the feverish expression taking over your face. this is you putting in work, and it is hot as hell.

“better. i’m slightly more convinced, babe. might put you down as a backup if the main gal cancels.”

your clit catches perfectly on the seam of your underwear and your jaw drops, a moan spilling out of your mouth. it’s louder than either of you expect it to be, and now that it’s out, you can’t seem to stop. one turns into two. two turns into three, and then the room is full of noise that you can’t hear. you can’t even hear anything past your own heartbeat as you chase the ultrahot ecstasy coiling in your gut, the pressure of it increasing with each rough pass of your hips.

hanta just watches you, eyes tracing your face like he’s trying to memorize everything. past all of the flushed skin and sweat, there is a sort of reverence buried in his expression. he counts himself lucky to be the very first to see you like this—one could argue that you’re no virgin, and you’ve been in the industry for a couple years, but your experience means nothing. you’re a good actor both in unscripted conversation and on the set; in many of your shiketsu videos, you didn’t look like this. you did a good job of faking orgasms and taking weak dick, and now you’re finally enjoying yourself. only ten minutes in and you’re starting to gasp, mouth running too fast for your brain to keep up.

“oh, oh, i’m gonna cum,” hanta’s hands are still on your erratic hips, and he’s guiding you straight to heaven as you begin to lose your rhythm, “fuck, hanta, i-i’m cumming.”

you probably weren’t supposed to say his name, since he never actually introduced himself in the video. but when you’re saying it like that, who is he to give a damn about the plot of a porn video?

you look gorgeous when the euphoria shatters you, hitting you so hard you fall onto his chest, shuddering as the aftershocks rock your body like little earthquakes. hanta holds you close, and out of the corner of his eye, notices the director’s whiteboard and the black writing scrawled across its surface.

it reads break?? and all hanta can derisively think is how kind the bastard must be.

there’s a beat of silence. no response from hanta, and you’re still slumped against his chest, trying to regulate your breathing. his hand strokes over your back, fingers slipping under your bra straps; you came all over him—he can feel something wet seeping through the front of his pants—and he barely had to lift a finger. it’s a major ego boost, of course. without saying much, he can tell you’re really interested in him . . good, he’s definitely making number one on your yes list.

“cut!”

the camera stops rolling in the nick of time. it doesn’t catch the way his face darkens, and neither do you. his eyes narrow at the director, but he doesn’t say anything aloud.

with a soft sound, you push yourself up and off of his chest until you’re sitting up straight again. your eyes have glazed over with a noticeable desire for more, but the director steps forward before either of you can do anything off-camera.

“are you both doing okay? i’ve got a few bottles of water if either of you need some.”

“thank you,” with a polite nod and dazed smile, you start to move off of your co-star’s lap. water sounds pretty good right about now, honestly. a sip of cold, right out of the fridge water might just give you another orgasm.

hanta moves faster than you do, his hands securing you in place. his grip is solid, preventing you from moving any further. “we should finish the scene first.”

not standing far from you, the director eyes hanta and raises a brow. “it’ll take less than two minutes. a quick break would benefit both of you anyway.”

quite literally, you aren’t in much of a position to say anything. the refreshment can wait ten or fifteen minutes, right? it’s better to deal with it later, if it’s this much of an imposition.

hanta’s dark eyes narrow, “water’s not going anywhere, is it?”

the director almost frowns, but he backs off and gets behind the camera again. you watch as he drinks some of his own water, his eyebrows furrowing when the erased whiteboard is handed to him by a member of the camera crew.

“eyes on me, babe,” your co-star draws your attention back to himself with a gentle hand cupping your jaw. when you look at him, his face is devoid of any negativity; his expression is calm and curious, like he didn’t just butt heads with the director of the shoot. still, you find yourself leaning in close, skin prickling when his breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. “you ready for the next scene?”

heat floods your cheeks. are you ready for the next scene? you swallow, nodding. “yes. yeah, i’m ready. i’ve been ready.”

“action!”

you take the lead, and hanta follows suit. he grinds you down on the bulge straining through his clothes while your hands waste no time slipping under his shirt and hiking it up. the only time either of you pause is when he sits up to pull his shirt off of his head; it goes smoothly, giving you a great view of his upper body.

lean musculature defines his entire torso. his chest looks like something you could take a bite out of, and his waist—god, his waist—is slender, shaped on either side with the sharp curves of a v-line. a dark smattering of hair trails along his lower abdomen and descends past the waistband of his pants. you’d be lying if you said your mouth wasn’t feeling particularly empty at the sight; he notices the hunger in the way that you’re looking at him and he chuckles, lips curving up in a half smile.

“like what you see, huh?”

you make quick work of his belt before hooking your fingers into his waistband and dragging his pants down his thighs. “shouldn’t i be asking you that?” you mutter in reply, buzzing with impatience. finally, his god damn boxers are off. you yank them right off his ankles and toss them to the floor, glad to be rid of them.

hanta’s cock nearly looks as good as it felt. thick, long, and curving to his left, it looks like quite the mouthful. you’re staring at it with this bright look in your eyes, and he swells with pride. yes, he knows he has a great dick, but this just inflates him even more. but then, almost apprehensively, your hand wraps around the base of his cock, and he sits up straighter.

“i wanna – uh, is it okay if i just give it a try?”

it strokes his ego, literally.

hanta nods, fighting back the instinct to push your head down. he really shouldn’t be this damn excited. it’s just a blowjob, something that he’s had plenty of during his time at UA studios. he’ll split his focus, so that he’s outwardly paying attention to you while he inwardly names cities in japan so that he doesn’t cum too quickly.

you’re nervous, at first. silky soft and pretty pink, your tongue experimentally laps at the head of his cock. his precum tastes salty, and the faintest tinge of smoke makes its way to your tastebuds before the flavor dissipates entirely.

one of the crew members silently steps closer, holding onto a large camera. he tilts it in a way that gets the premier angles of this slow, unhurried act of sin. hanta drags in a breath when you wrap your lips around the tip and lightly suck before sliding further toward the base, little by little. the grip of your hand loosens as you take in more of him, letting his cock fill up your mouth.

sendai.

his palm cups the crown of your head, fingers making their way into your hair and curling tightly. you’ve begun bobbing along his cock, almost clumsy as you try to develop a rhythm that works for you. firmly, you start to stroke the lower half of his cock, compensating for the inches you can’t quite fit into your mouth.

yokohama.

thin and permeable, the fabric of your panties is completely soaked through. since you’re on all fours with your ass up as you suck him off, it’s safe to assume that the person holding the camera is zooming in on the wet spot between your thighs. hanta’s heavy on your tongue and sliding even deeper with each movement of your head; tears of both strain and delight gather in your eyes.

nagoya.

hanta may be struggling. he might be finding it very difficult not to tremble against the sheer glory of your mouth, and the city counting method might actually be failing him. if you were to just sit up and ask him what city UA studios is located in, it’d take a minute for the answer to load in his brain. the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag; everything tightens deliciously around him, and he lets out a moan, fingers winding tighter in your hair.

osaka.

you’re struggling to breathe as the pace increases, growing a little sloppy. each stroke is fast and filthy, better than it has any right to be. you glance up, looking past the tears gathered on your lashes, to see his head tossed back over the armrest while he chews on his lip. the sight of him is a reward and motivation to push yourself a little harder—he doesn’t look that far off from letting out a whine or two. a particularly breathy moan spills out of him before he can muffle it with the back of his free hand, and the sound goes straight to your clit, making you moan in response.

toky—oh.

something salty gathers faintly in the back of your throat, and hanta drags you away, willing his eyes not to roll back when your front teeth graze along the length of his too-sensitive cock. he yanks you off of him with a sticky pop and his eyes meet yours. it’s a clash of lips and teeth and whatever in between when he pulls you into a kiss, releasing the tight grip he’d had on your hair.

you had him on the ropes there.

nobody gets him that close with just their mouth.

fuck, he’s really gotta start jerking off more. or film more scenes with you—but he doesn’t think he could ever get used to that mouth of yours.

operating based off of the director’s hand motions, the guy with the camera steps back to film from a different angle. hanta’s sitting up now, his eyes closed as he pulls you against him, all without breaking the kiss. breathing is close to impossible now, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest when he’s pulling your panties off you.

well, almost.

it’s more difficult than it should be to divest you of your panties, and hanta’s not in the mood to stop so you can properly slide them down your legs. so, he tugs until the fabric gives with an agonized rip, and then tears them right off you. because your bra is easier to work with, it doesn’t meet the same fate; your fingers bump into his as you hustle to get it off.

“god, fuck,” hanta lets out a sigh once you’re finally just as naked as him. his hand finds its way to your bare chest, where he lightly squeezes you. not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. “tits like yours are my favorite, sweetheart. can’t wait to see ‘em when you’re modelling.”

he sees the confusion pass over your face. “just fuck me,” you say, hips swinging toward his cock. part of him wants to make some stupid quip about the whole modelling script, but it’s time for him to do what he intended to do since the very moment he saw the news about shiketsu studios’ shutdown.

with a short and out of breath laugh, hanta lifts you up. this time, he moves you, turning you around so that your back is facing him. instead of being face to face with your attractive co-star, you’re now looking at the director, who’s quietly doodling on the whiteboard to give you at least a shred of privacy. also, the camera is positioned directly in front of you and capturing your every movement, along with the hand-held being moved around the room for closeups.

“lift your hips, baby. i want you on your knees for a sec,” hanta’s voice is in your ear, guiding you in the right direction. your bare pussy sideswipes his cock on the way up, and the anticipation bubbles up in your chest like carbonation in a shaken soda can. there was so much foreplay, so much buildup, that every second now feels like it’s dragging past much slower than it actually is.

his hand is wrapped around his spit-slick cock, keeping it straight and steady for you. he doesn’t even have to say anything and you’re already sinking down, arching your back as his cock slides into you. it’s a tight fit and an even tighter stretch—each inch punches a gasp out of your lungs and leaves you breathless, shaking against him.

“mhm, y-you got it,” hanta tries his best to keep the stutter out of his voice and fails, but you’re too caught up to notice. for some reason, you’re torturing yourself by sitting down as slowly as you are. he supposes it’s something to be thankful for, though. if you were to just drop yourself down on him when he’s still not over the sensitivity from your mouth, he might end up cumming and ruining the entire scene. but would it really be a bad thing if he had to re-shoot this with you?

maybe there’s a wire or two crossed in your brain, because you start pulling up. yes, up, and away from his cock. he thinks you’re going to pull off when you barely have the tip left inside you, but then you do the very opposite—you sit back, dropping yourself all the way down.

“holy shit,” hanta half exclaims, half groans. he wraps an arm around your middle and feels your heart pounding out of your chest as you struggle for breath. incoherent mumbles and whines slip out of your mouth, nothing that he can understand, but he just presses a kiss to the nape of your neck and looks to his left, then right. he reaches for your now tattered panties and offers them up to your mouth. he’s planning to make you scream, and this might prevent your sounds from being picked up as background noise on the videos of anyone that may be filming nearby.

you bite down on the panties, hips twisting impatiently on his cock. he’s both filling you up and stretching you out, but neither sensation is enough. you won’t be satisfied until he fucks you so hard you forget this is being filmed.

hanta’s hands come up under your thighs, and he holds you firmly, slightly pushing you up. the muscles in his arms pull taut, stretching with the effort, and he looks good. slick with sweat and flushed all the way down to his chest, with the cherry on top being that divine look on his face when he’s really enjoying himself.

you want to see him so badly. you almost want to call cut so someone can move a mirror in front of you, but you’d be lost in your own world and fucking by the time they came back with it.

“keep looking into the lens, babe. i want all of this on camera, and i’m pretty sure you will too.”

low and quiet, his words make their way to your ears. what he’s saying isn’t loud enough for the microphones to pick up, but it’s clear that something’s going on, with the way you nod feverishly in response.

it isn’t slow, and it isn’t controlled.

with about as much grace as that of a wild animal ready to mate, sero hanta begins fucking up into you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to have you. his cock bullies itself deep against your cervix and stretches out your cunt in a way that renders you speechless. a graceless sob tears out of your throat, just barely muffled by your wet panties, and it only inspires him to go beyond.

clap, clap, clap.

your ass is bouncing off of him with each and every vigorous thrust. because you’re facing forward, you have no choice but to look into the camera as he fucks away any coherent thought you could possibly have. embarrassment over having sex in a room with people you don’t know watching and filming you? gone. nervousness about your raunchy debut at UA studios? nowhere to be found. all of it vanishes into thin air, until the only thing left in your empty head is the echo of his name trembling on your tongue.

stars shoot across your vision, glowing and golden as he fucks you into oblivion. hanta’s panting, his ragged breaths hot and balmy against your back. his heart is pounding out of his chest like he’s running on the treadmill at the gym, but he grits his teeth against the exhaustion setting in and shifts his hips.

“oh, shit,” your mouth falls open in a sob, back arching hard in his grasp, and he smiles. “right there—oh my god, d-don’t you dare stop.”

“looks like i found it, huh?” the cockiness makes its way through his voice, and if you weren’t falling apart right now, you’d roll your eyes before retorting something back.

wetness pours from your soaked cunt and makes the slide of skin against skin all the more filthy. there’s enough to dampen the couch, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care about it. thick and curved, his cock is lodged in all of the places you could possibly want it; each nudge of the tip against your cervix is controlled, just barely, but you can feel the strain of restraint behind it.

god, just the thought of him destroying you this much while also still holding back is enough to push the tears over your lashline. they run down your cheeks in crystalline trails, and you must be audibly crying now, because hanta chokes out a groan, tipping his forehead against your shoulder.

“i’m gonna—fuck, i can’t, i’m so close,” your head is falling back, teeth clenching around the ruined panties, and impending euphoria surges through you like a cresting wave. at this point, teetering on the very precipice of something big, you’ve stopped making sense. hanta can almost make out what you’re babbling through the panties; each word is broken and choked thanks to the change in his rhythm. instead of holding you up and fucking into you that way, he’s decided to drive his hips up and pull you down onto his cock; each thrust hits much harder than it did before. “p-please, hanta, you’re gonna make me cum—!”

that’s right.

he’s going to make you cum, and he’s going to make you cum hard.

he yanks the panties out of your mouth and drops his hand from your chest. hot with intent and moving quickly, his fingers make their way down toward your clit, where he begins to rub it. twisting and arching—a little like you’re possessed—you gasp as it all starts to become too much.

“go ahead, sweetheart,” hanta murmurs into your ear, no longer caring if it’s picked up on the video or not, “tell them. tell everyone that’ll see this who’s fucking you this good.”

your breath escapes you when you sob out his name again.

teeth sink into the slope of your shoulder, but you’re too lost to feel the sting. this time, when he speaks, his voice is husky with conviction and acidic desire. “i want to hear you cum all over me, okay? ugh, fuck, if this wasn’t your first goddamn shoot, i’d—”

you cum all over him with a noisy keen of his name, and it’s the only thing on your tongue as you ride it out, slumping back against his chest. he follows shortly afterwards, spilling hot and thick inside your pussy.

hanta wishes he could just lay here with you on him, but his eyes open and he ends up looking straight into the camera. standing behind it is the director, holding up the whiteboard and some directions that he couldn’t care less about. instead, he presses a kiss to your temple, almost smiling at the way your body twitches in response.

he has definitely made number one on your yes list.

good. he hasn’t gotten his fill of you yet.

hanta smirks as his eyes run over your exhausted, spent body. then, he looks into the camera, holding you close and spreading your thighs to showcase the mess between them.

“looks like someone’s officially secured her first photoshoot.”

#🎬 kurooh’s showtime #mha smut #mha x reader #mha x you #mha imagines #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha x you #my hero academia smut #sero smut #sero x reader #hanta sero #sero hanta #smut #mha series #bnha series

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smutmind · 1 month ago

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NO RECORD OF RETURN ft. Minju [TW]

-----

a little crossover idea with "When it Doesn't Fit", Monster and the famous #BREEDMINJU

------

Minju sat with her knees together, fingers curled tight around the frayed strap of her canvas tote. Her eyes darted to the man across from her.

"You lost your passport," he said flatly. "No visa, no re-entry stamp. That makes you undocumented."

Her voice was thin. "I didn’t mean to. I just… it was stolen. I filed a report."

He tapped a thick finger on the table. "That might’ve worked three weeks ago. But now, you're over your stay. No ID. No way to verify your status. You understand how serious that is?"

She nodded, barely.

He was still. Watching. Damian. Broad-shouldered in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled, forearms heavy. His badge glinted beside his wrist.

"I can escalate this," he said. "Or—"

Minju blinked up at him. "Or?"

He studied her. Eyes dark, unreadable. "There are options. Off-book."

A beat passed.

"Do you want to stay?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Then we talk." He rose slowly, locked the door. His tone stayed even, but something in the air shifted—a weight pressed into the space between them.

Damian moved behind her. She stiffened.

"Relax," he murmured.

She didn’t.

His palm came down, broad against her shoulder. "This isn’t standard procedure. But I make the rules in this room. And you? You follow."

Minju swallowed. Her breath caught when he dipped his head beside hers, voice warm against her cheek. "I can keep you here. Safe. Legal."

His hand slid down her arm, fingers brushing her wrist. "But you have to show me you want it."

Her knees quivered. "I don’t know what to do."

"You do. You're just scared of how fast you want it."

She let him pull her up. Her body moved before her brain caught up, breath shaky as he turned her to face him. She barely reached his chest. Her head tilted back.

"Take off your top."

She hesitated.

His voice dropped. "Now."

Minju's fingers shook as she unbuttoned her blouse, revealing pale skin, soft curves, a white lace bra that suddenly felt too delicate. Damian stepped closer. His knuckles dragged along her collarbone, then lower. She flinched.

"First time being handled like this?"

She nodded.

"Good."

He kissed her neck, slow and firm. She gasped. Then again, lower. Each press of his mouth coaxed another sound from her, until her knees gave. He caught her easily.

"Desk."

He guided her backward until the back of her thighs hit the edge. He laid her down, tugged her skirt up with a practiced grip. When his fingers grazed her panties, damp already, he chuckled.

"Look at that. Innocent girl soaked for her officer."

I’m not sure what that means…” she whispered.

"You do now."

His fingers slid inside—two, thick and unrelenting. She gasped, back arching off the desk as her breath tangled in her throat. His thumb found her clit, slow, circling, until her sounds softened into shaky, helpless moans. When he pulled away, she whimpered, not knowing if it was relief or loss.

Then came the sound of leather sliding free.

Minju froze.

Her eyes snapped to his hands as he undid his belt—deliberate, calm. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“I… I can’t—” she whispered, voice trembling.

Damian looked down at her. “Still want to stay?”

She nodded—but it was a frightened, fragile nod, barely more than a flinch. Her thighs quivered. Her eyes never left his.

He lined up, the swollen head of his cock dragging against her soaked entrance. One hand gripped her hip, the other braced on the desk beside her head.

“Breathe,” he said low. “I can smell how badly you need this—don’t lie to me.”

Then he pushed in.

Her scream tore from her throat, sharp and startled, echoing off the bare concrete walls. “Oh my god—” she gasped. It wasn't pain—it was the shock of him. The sheer size. The pressure. The impossible stretch as he forced her open, inch by aching inch.

“Keep squirming. It makes it tighter.” he murmured against her ear.

She shook her head wildly, breath caught. “I—I can't take it…”

She clawed at the edge of the desk, knuckles white, eyes wide and unfocused. He filled her—slow at first, savoring the tight pull of her walls.

“Good girl,” he growled. “Cry if you want. You’re still gonna come.”

Then he started to move. Rough. Purposeful. Hips slamming into hers with rhythm that left no doubt who was in control.

Each thrust punched a sound from her. A gasp. A cry.

“Officer—!” she sobbed, voice cracking.

Her legs locked around his waist but couldn’t stop the trembling. He was relentless—burying himself deep, dragging out, then pounding back in.

“F-fuck, you’re so deep—” she cried.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say who’s inside you.”

“Wait—slow down, it won’t fit all the way—!”

Every motion raw, slick, and obscene.

Her body clung to him, helpless under the weight of it. Of him. Of everything she’d just given up.

“You think this is rough? I’m still holding back.” he said, breath hot against her skin.

“Please—stop.” she whimpered. “You’re too deep.”

His hand caught her throat lightly, just enough to still her. He drove deep, again and again, until her cries turned raw. She met every thrust, every slap of skin on skin.

"This pussy’s mine now. You’re getting every drop.” he panted.

Terror flooded her eyes as they met his.

"No, no, not there—anywhere but inside…

He just laughed—low and wicked—and slammed deeper. “Too late,” he growled, as he spilled inside her, pulse after thick pulse. “You’re mine now.”

Silence fell.

He pulled her upright, buttoned her shirt with care.

Her expression was hollow —relieved only that she’d get her passport and travel records. But behind her eyes, something had broken. She hated the man still standing in front of her.

#BREEDMINJU

#minju #kim minju #girl group smut #kpop smut #smut #female idol smut #male reader smut #kpop idol smut #male reader #gidle smut #idol x bbc #asks

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honeyandruin · 1 day ago

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Idle Hands - Auto Shop Teacher!Joel Miller x Reader : PART TWO

🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩

Pairing: Auto Shop Teacher!Joel Miller x Reader (college AU)

Summary: Part two of Idle Hands as so many have requested. After the night in your car, you tried to believe it was a mistake (and failed). But back in class, the tension is impossible to ignore—and when jealousy gets the better of him, you both learn you were never going to stop.

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. Age gap, explicit sexual content, JEALOUS JOOOOEL BABY, unprotected sex, choking, rough sex, possessive Joel, teacher/student dynamic, praise & degradation, power imbalance, aftercare.

Word count: 3k (please don’t hate me that it’s a shorter one than the usuals)

A/N : I tried tagging everyone who asked to be tagged, and if it didn’t work, I’m so sorry!

🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩

The shop smells like motor oil and old concrete.

You stand in the doorway a beat longer than you mean to, gripping the strap of your bag so hard your fingers ache.

Joel is already there, the hood of a rusted-out sedan propped open in front of him. He’s bent over the engine bay, forearms braced on the frame, jaw dark with stubble.

When he straightens, you swear he feels you watching him. His head turns—just slightly—and your eyes catch.

For a second, everything from last week floods back at once: the heat of his mouth, the low sound he made when you begged. The way he’d buried his face against your throat and whispered the filthiest things you’d ever heard.

He doesn’t look away.

His gaze drags down your front—like he just can’t help it—and when he drags it back up again, something in his expression flickers.

He’s trying to be neutral. Professional. But he isn’t ignoring you. And that almost makes it worse.

You take a slow breath, moving to your usual workbench. He watches you go, wiping his hands on a rag he keeps tucked in his back pocket.

“Morning,” he says, voice low. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since he left you in your car with your hands still shaking.

Your heart beats too fast. “Hi.”

He hesitates like he wants to say something else. But the classroom door bangs open behind you—other students filing in, heavy boots echoing across the concrete—and whatever he was going to say dies before it can reach you.

You drop your bag on the stool, pulling out your notes and trying not to fidget.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him watching you a moment longer before he clears his throat and calls the class to order.

“Alright,” Joel says, voice steady but quieter than usual. “Listen up.”

He shifts his weight, bracing one hand on the edge of the workbench, the other still worrying that rag.

“For your final project, you’re gonna do a complete brake system overhaul. Pads, rotors, calipers—front and rear. You’ll bleed the lines, verify pressure, and log every step. If it doesn’t stop on the test drive, you fail.”

Someone groans behind you.

“Yeah,” Joel says flatly. “That’s the point. It’s meant to be hard.”

He sets the rag aside, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you have questions, you ask. Don’t guess. Don’t half-ass. And don’t touch anything you’re not ready to finish.”

His eyes flick to yours again—just for a beat—and your stomach flips.

“Get started,” he says, voice low. “I’ll be around.”

The group breaks apart in a shuffle of boots and muttered complaints. You exhale slowly and pick your way toward your assigned bay, heart thudding.

You spend the next half hour working in silence, carefully removing the first caliper. You can feel Joel nearby—hear the scrape of his boots, the low murmur of his voice as he checks on the others—but he doesn’t come over to you.

You’re trying to focus. Really. But the memory of his mouth on your skin keeps blurring the edges of everything.

That’s probably why you don’t notice Kyle until he’s too close.

“Careful,” he says, leaning an elbow on your bench. “You’re gonna strip the bolt if you keep wrenching it like that.”

You pause, glancing at the caliper bracket in your hands. “No, I’m not. I’m backing it off a half turn at a time so I don’t crack it.”

He smirks, ignoring you. “If you want, I could help you after class. Maybe go over it together? Over dinner?”

Heat crawls up your neck, part embarrassment, part annoyance. You set the part down carefully, wiping your hands on a rag.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, smile widening. “No offense, but it looks like you’re struggling. Wouldn’t want you to mess it up.”

“She’s not.”

You both turn.

Joel is standing a few feet away, arms folded tight across his chest. He’s not pretending to check the other bays anymore. He’s just watching.

Kyle shifts, trying for casual. “Yeah, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Joel cuts in, voice low. “She’s doing it right. Let her work.”

Something in his tone makes Kyle’s smile flicker. He glances at you like he expects you to jump in. When you don’t, he huffs a little laugh and backs away.

“Whatever you say.”

You don’t look up until Kyle’s gone. When you finally meet Joel’s eyes, they’re darker than before—something quiet and furious simmering underneath.

“You don’t need him,” he says, voice rough.

“I know.”

He holds your stare a second longer. Then he pushes off the beam, turns, and walks away—like he has to physically remove himself before he does something about it.

***

The rest of the afternoon drags.

You try to keep your head down, focused on reassembling the caliper and logging each step in your notes. But every time you glance up, Joel is there—never watching directly, but close enough you feel it anyway.

You can tell he’s making himself stay occupied. Finding excuses to check inventory, update paperwork, do anything that keeps him from looking too long.

And you hate how much you like it.

By the time the clock above the door clicks past six, the last of the class is packing up, slamming their lockers shut. Someone mutters a goodbye on the way out. Another kid laughs, cursing about how much his hands hurt.

You pretend to be absorbed in double-checking your torque specs, but your heart is hammering.

You don’t look up until the door closes behind them.

Then it’s just you. And him.

Joel is at the desk again, one hand braced on the top, his other rubbing slow over the back of his neck. He looks tired. Not the usual end-of-the-day tired—something deeper, heavier.

You wipe your hands on a clean rag and gather your notes, forcing yourself to move like nothing feels different. Like the room isn’t too quiet. Like the memory of his mouth on your skin isn’t still playing behind your eyes.

Your boots scuff over the concrete as you cross to his desk.

He doesn’t look up.

“I finished the checklist,” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be.

He flips a page in the logbook, staring at it without reading. “Leave it there.”

Your pulse thuds in your throat. “Joel.”

Nothing. Just the tick of the old clock above the tool cabinet.

“I don’t—” You hesitate. “I don’t want this to feel like a mistake.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t lift his gaze. “It was a mistake.”

You swallow, fingers flexing on the edge of his desk. “You didn’t look like you thought that at the time.”

He drags a hand over his mouth, exhaling slow. “Don’t.”

You take a step closer. The air between you feels too thin.

“You don’t mean it,” you whisper.

He lifts his head then, finally meeting your eyes—and whatever you were braced for, it isn’t that look.

Wrecked.

His hand curls into a fist on the desk. “You think this is what you want?”

You don’t back down. “I know it is.”

He shakes his head, rough and disbelieving. “You don’t.”

Your voice drops, steady and soft. “Then show me.”

His breath shudders out. For a long second, he just looks at you—like he’s waiting for you to take it back. Like he’s hoping you will.

You don’t.

And that’s when he moves.

He comes around the desk in three slow steps. Stops just shy of touching you, so close you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

His hand lifts—hesitates—then finds your jaw. His thumb drags along the edge of your mouth, the touch so careful it makes your heart ache.

“You have no idea what you’re asking me for,” he says, voice low and ruined.

Your heart hammers so loud you’re sure he can hear it. His thumb drags across your lower lip, callused and warm, and you see the moment something in him fractures.

“I’m asking you to fuck me,” you breathe.

He goes still. Completely, utterly still.

A ragged sound tears out of his throat—half growl, half plea—and then his mouth crashes down onto yours.

The kiss isn’t careful. It isn’t soft. It’s all teeth and heat and desperation, the kind of kiss that feels like it’s been clawing at him for weeks. His hands find your hips, dragging you into him so hard you lose your breath.

“Jesus,” he mutters against your mouth, voice hoarse, like he hates himself for how good this feels. “Fuck—”

You don’t give him time to second-guess it. Your hands slide up under the hem of his work shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his stomach. He shudders when your nails scrape lightly over the trail of hair leading lower.

“Goddamn it,” he rasps, and without breaking the kiss, he reaches past you.

The heavy thunk of the deadbolt sliding home is deafening in the hush.

He keeps his mouth sealed on yours, like he can’t bear to stop touching you long enough to think about what he’s doing.

He walks you backward, slow but unrelenting, until your hips hit the edge of the nearest workbench. The cold metal bites through your coveralls. You gasp, and he swallows the sound, groaning into your mouth like it’s killing him.

His hands are everywhere—palming your ass, squeezing your hips, dragging up your ribs. When he finds the zipper at your chest, he hesitates for just a heartbeat.

“You sure?” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You fuckin’ sure?”

“Please,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

He tugs the zipper down in one slow pull, the rasp of it loud in the quiet. His palm slides over your chest, thumb brushing the thin fabric of your bra. The contact makes your knees threaten to buckle.

“You have any idea,” he growls, mouth hot against your throat, “what you do to me?”

You try to answer, but he’s already dragging his mouth lower—nipping at the side of your neck, the curve where it meets your shoulder. His free hand rucks the coveralls down your hips, bunching them at your thighs. You feel the rough scrape of his calluses on bare skin, and the noise that slips out of you is embarrassingly needy.

“Look at you,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear. “All fuckin’ sweet now. All mine.”

You drag your hands up his chest, fisting the collar of his shirt to keep yourself steady. He catches your wrists, pins them to the workbench behind you, and holds you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You think that little shit had a chance with you?” His voice drops lower, almost a snarl. “You think I was gonna stand there and watch him touch what’s mine?”

The possessiveness in his tone makes your breath stutter. “Joel—”

“That what you want?” he demands, words hot and ragged against your mouth. “Some fuckin’ boy who doesn’t know what to do with you?”

“No,” you gasp, thighs clenching around his hips. “Want you.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, like it’s breaking him to hear it. “You fuckin’ do.”

He lets your wrists go—only to shove your coveralls the rest of the way down. The cold air kisses your skin, and he palms your ass, dragging you flush against the thick line of his cock straining his jeans.

“Feel that?” He grinds against you, making you whimper. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you look at me like you want it.”

Your hips rock into his, chasing the friction. “Please.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough, “gonna give it to you, baby.”

He kisses you again, messy and deep, while his hand drags between your legs. When his fingers find how wet you are, he groans like he’s in pain.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re drippin’.”

His fingers slide through the slick heat, circling your clit just hard enough to make you bite your lip. He watches every reaction like he can’t look away.

“You want me to take my time,” he mutters, thumb pressing harder, “or you want it fast?”

“Fast,” you gasp. “Please—I—”

He cuts you off with a low, filthy laugh. “Course you do.”

He doesn’t waste another second. One hand fists in your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you again while the other tugs at his belt, freeing himself. The blunt head of his cock bumps your thigh, hot and heavy, and your breath breaks.

He flips you before you can think, palms flattening between your shoulder blades, pressing you down against the cold workbench.

“Stay,” he growls, his voice so deep it scrapes something raw out of you.

You brace yourself, fingers curling around the metal edge, and look back over your shoulder.

His eyes meet yours—dark, starved—and something in them flickers.

“Gonna fuck you so good you forget about every other man,” he mutters. “Gonna fill you up so full you remember you’re mine.”

He drags the head of his cock through the slick between your thighs, teasing you just long enough that you whine.

“Say it,” he rasps, hips nudging forward, the stretch already making your vision blur. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choke out, voice breaking. “You—fuck—”

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking deeper. “All fuckin’ mine.”

When he bottoms out, his hand wraps around the front of your throat, tilting your head back so he can hear every gasp. His hips pull back—and when he slams forward again, the sound it makes is obscene.

Your fingers slip on the workbench. His grip tightens around your throat—just enough to hold you steady—and his other hand slides over your hip, guiding you back to meet each punishing thrust.

“Christ,” he mutters, voice ragged. “So tight—so fuckin’ sweet for me.”

You whimper, every thrust sending sparks up your spine.

“That little shit,” he pants, hips snapping harder. “Thought he could even touch you—”

He drags his hand lower, finding your clit, rubbing rough circles that make your knees buckle.

“Tell me,” he growls, breath hot in your ear. “Tell me who makes you come.”

“You,” you cry, voice splintering. “God—Joel—please—”

“That’s right,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Only me.”

The pressure builds so fast you can’t think. Can’t breathe. His cock drives into you, relentless, and you know you’re close—so close—

“Come on, baby,” he groans, thumb pressing harder, pace turning erratic. “Come for me.”

Your vision goes white. You shatter around him, hips jerking back into his as your orgasm crashes through you—hot, blinding, unstoppable.

He doesn’t stop. Keeps thrusting through it, hips snapping against your ass, low curses pouring from his mouth.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up—”

You can feel every ragged breath, every shudder, right before he finally spills inside you with a rough, broken sound.

When it’s over, he stays there—forehead against your spine, breath gusting across your skin.

As the last tremor leaves your body, you collapse forward onto your elbows, cheek pressed against the cool metal.

Joel doesn’t move for a second. Just stays bent over you, his hand splayed wide across your stomach, breathing like he’s just run every mile he’s ever owed.

After a moment, he drags in a shaky breath. His palm slides up, brushing the underside of your breast, lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice wrecked.

You nod, your throat too tight to speak.

He slips free with a low groan and tugs your coveralls up enough to give you a shred of modesty. Then his hand cups the back of your neck, warm and heavy, like he can’t stop touching you even if he tried.

“C’mere,” he says softly.

You let him help you turn around. Your legs are unsteady, and he notices—his big hand bracing your hip until you’re upright. You can’t look at his face for a second. Not when you feel so wrung out. So full.

His thumb drags along your jaw. “Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes flick over your face, something complicated and unspoken in them. Guilt, maybe. Hunger that hasn’t faded. A tenderness you weren’t ready for.

“You wanna come by my place?” he asks, voice low. “Get cleaned up…maybe eat something?”

Your heart does something traitorous in your chest. “Yeah. I—yeah.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Good.”

He steps back, adjusting himself and tucking himself away with one hand, moving like a man who knows he’s going to hell and still can’t bring himself to care. He re-zips your coveralls, slow and deliberate, his knuckles brushing the tender skin of your chest.

When he’s done, he smooths the zipper flat. His thumb grazes the little metal pull tab.

“You got a dorm room, right?” he says, trying for casual and failing. “Probably not a lot of privacy there.”

You huff a laugh, still a little dazed. “Tiny. Thin walls. You’d be…pretty hard to hide.”

He lifts a brow, mouth tugging at the corner. “Yeah? You think I’m worth hiding?”

“Think you’re worth a lot more than that,” you murmur.

A groan rumbles in his chest—soft but unmistakable. He dips his head, pressing his mouth to yours, slower this time. Not careful, exactly. But different.

When he finally pulls back, he nods toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll drive.”

You trail him toward the door, your heart still tripping over itself.

Just as he unlocks the deadbolt and pulls the handle, you clear your throat.

“So…” you say, voice small but teasing, “does this mean I pass?”

Joel goes still.

Then—very slowly—he looks back at you over his shoulder. His eyes are still dark, but there’s something softer there now.

“No,” he says, voice low. “Means you’re gonna need a lot more practice.”

And before you can think of something smart to say, he leans in and kisses you again—like he already can’t wait to fail you all over.

🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩 ✦ 🔧 ✦ 🔩

Here is the second part that yall asked for! I hope I did yalls requests some justice. @boscogirlsworld, @pixieeee101, @glitterspark & @kaseynsfws 💚🫶🏻

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #tlou joel #joel smut #smut #joel x you #pedropascal #pedro pascal

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ailelie · 4 months ago

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Installing Linux (Mint) as a Non-Techy Person

I've wanted Linux for various reasons since college. I tried it once when I no longer had to worry about having specific programs for school, but it did not go well. It was a dedicated PC that was, I believe, poorly made. Anyway.

In the process of deGoogling and deWindows365'ing, I started to think about Linux again. Here is my experience.

Pre-Work: Take Stock

List out the programs you use regularly and those you need. Look up whether or not they work on Linux. For those that don't, look up alternatives.

If the alternative works on Windows/Mac, try it out first.

Make sure you have your files backed up somewhere.

Also, pick up a 5GB minimum USB drive.

Oh and make a system restore point (look it up in your Start menu) and back-up your files.

Step One: Choose a Distro

Dear god do Linux people like to talk about distros. Basically, from what all I've read, if you don't want to fuss a lot with your OS, you've got two options: Ubuntu and Linux Mint. Ubuntu is better known and run by a company called Canonical. Linux Mint is run by a small team and paid for via donations.

I chose Linux Mint. Some of the stuff I read about Ubuntu reminded me too much of my reasons for wanting to leave Windows, basically. Did I second-guess this a half-dozen times? Yes, yes I did.

The rest of this is true for Linux Mint Cinnamon only.

Step Two: Make your Flash Drive

Linux Mint has great instructions. For the most part they work.

Start here:

The trickiest part of creating the flash drive is verifying and authenticating it.

On the same page that you download the Linux .iso file there are two links. Right click+save as both of those files to your computer. I saved them and the .iso file all to my Downloads folder.

Then, once you get to the 'Verify your ISO image' page in their guide and you're on Windows like me, skip down to this link about verifying on Windows.

Once it is verified, you can go back to the Linux Mint guide. They'll direct you to download Etchr and use that to create your flash drive.

If this step is too tricky, then please reconsider Linux. Subsequent steps are both easier and trickier.

Step Three: Restart from your Flash Drive

This is the step where I nearly gave up. The guide is still great, except it doesn't mention certain security features that make installing Linux Mint impossible without extra steps.

(1) Look up your Bitlocker recovery key and have it handy.

I don't know if you'll need it like I did (I did not turn off Bitlocker at first), but better to be safe.

(2) Turn off Bitlocker.

(3) Restart. When on the title screen, press your Bios key. There might be more than one. On a Lenovo, pressing F1 several times gets you to the relevant menu. This is not the menu you'll need to install, though. Turn off "Secure Boot."

(4) Restart. This time press F12 (on a Lenovo). The HDD option, iirc, is your USB. Look it up on your phone to be sure.

Now you can return to the Linux Mint instructions.

Figuring this out via trial-and-error was not fun.

Step Four: Install Mint

Just follow the prompts. I chose to do the dual boot.

You will have to click through some scary messages about irrevocable changes. This is your last chance to change your mind.

I chose the dual boot because I may not have anticipated everything I'll need from Windows. My goal is to work primarily in Linux. Then, in a few months, if it is working, I'll look up the steps for making my machine Linux only.

Some Notes on Linux Mint

Some of the minor things I looked up ahead of time and other miscellany:

(1) HP Printers supposedly play nice with Linux. I have not tested this yet.

(2) Linux Mint can easily access your Windows files. I've read that this does not go both ways. I've not tested it yet.

(3) You can move the taskbar (panel in LM) to the left side of your screen.

(4) You are going to have to download your key programs again.

(5) The LM software manager has most programs, but not all. Some you'll have to download from websites. Follow instructions. If a file leads to a scary wall of strange text, close it and just do the Terminal instructions instead.

(6) The software manager also has fonts. I was able to get Fanwood (my favorite serif) and JetBrains (my favorite mono) easily.

In the end, be prepared for something to go wrong. Just trust that you are not the first person to ever experience the issue and look it up. If that doesn't help, you can always ask. The forums and reddit community both look active.

#linux mint #linux #deWindows #de365 #deGoogle

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moon-ttokki-x · 6 months ago

Note

hi~ would love to request from the prompt list!!

46 + 49 with bangchan seems interesting :D

hihi, sorry for the delay lol TT producer!chan now joins the fic library alongside producer!jisung. i felt like writing something with most of skz bc i think it makes it more fun :] here you gooooo

electrifying - bang chan

pairing: bang chan x producer!reader

summary: a late night with chan in the studio leads to a little more.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, kind of crack tbh, most of skz is in this fic, hyunlix honourable mention, mutual pining

a/n: producer chan save me. divider by @veonaa

⛓️ prompts: 46. "What if I told you I knew?" / 49. "I have a confession to make."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

"Try one more time," you suggest quietly. "Just the last two lines then we'll move to the pre-chorus."

Minho nods from the recording booth, slipping one headphone back over his ear. He nails it and you replay back the recording, looking to Chan to verify that it's okay.

He's writing down a couple of notes on his lyric sheet, a thin pencil held between his fingers. Looking up, he nods, before his gaze flits to yours and then back again to Minho, who is waiting quietly in the recording booth. You compliment him and give him a sunny smile as he exits the booth.

The process continues with most of the other members; Jeongin and Changbin have already finished recording their parts since they came in early. Seungmin's part takes a little longer, so you and Chan do him next, trying to work productively.

The night ends up running quite late; most of the boys are beginning to get bored, and Chan had initially suggested a group meeting at the end of the session, but after several antics begin to disrupt the process, he dismisses them with a weary sigh.

Hyunjin practically flies out the door, Felix following him with a smile to the dance studio, and the other boys begin to dissipate, thanking you quietly before heading home for the night.

You try not to laugh as you save Seungmin's recording on a file. "Thank you, Seungminnie. You can go."

He nods and thanks you politely before turning to leave. Now it's just you and Chan, who has yet to record his lines. Unlike most of the other boys, Chan's part takes unusually long. He fixes his voice on one line but messes it up on another, dragging out certain words and furrowing his brow.

"Chan, you okay? We can call it a night if you want."

He looks at you through the glass, seemingly surprised. "Yeah, I'm alright, why?"

You set your headphones down. "It's just that it's quite late, and you might do better tomorrow with some rest? You look exhausted."

Chan sighs and nods. Whatever is on his mind, it's clearly bothering him, and you glance sideways at him as he sits back down next to you at the recording table. All is silent as both of you relapse into editing the recordings at your own individual paces.

But you're not so much focusing on the recordings as focusing on your fellow producer. You fight not to look across at him, knowing it'll be obvious, and turn yourself a little away from him in order to not be distracted. You do it subtly, so that Chan doesn't notice, and it works a trick, because half an hour passes and you've almost finished editing the recordings and checking the backing track.

Neither of you have said a word, a comforting silence descending over the studio. Maybe because it's night time and the usual noises from outside the door are beginning to quiet, or maybe it's because Chan is here, bringing with him a sort of safe serenity that you only really feel when he's around.

You lean back in your chair and make to grab a notebook from behind you on the lower table, sneaking a glance at Chan in the process. All black clothes as per usual, his leather jacket slipping off his shoulder a little as he hunches over the desk. His hair is curly and un-styled, a little fluffy under his black cap. He's murmuring to himself as he scrubs a hand across his eyes, smudging a length of pencil graphite across his cheek in the process.

Without turning, he speaks. “You know, Y/n… I’ve been thinking. What if I told you I knew?"

You frown, snapping out of your daze, looking at him slightly confused. “Knew what?”

Chan turns, and there's a gentle smile, almost a smirk painted across his mouth. The world holds its breath and suddenly you find that nothing else matters. Not right now.

He leans a little closer, resting an elbow on the desk. “Knew that you like me. That you’ve liked me for a while now.”

You freeze for a second, tidal waves of reality crashing down on you at his words. Your cheeks flood with colour. “W-What? How—how could you possibly know that?”

Chan chuckles, but there’s a tenderness in it that makes your heart beat a little faster.

He shrugs. “I’ve noticed the little things. The way you smile at me when you think I’m not looking. The way you get quiet when I tease you. I’m not blind, you know."

The warmth in his voice makes your crush’s face turn bright red (more so than it already is), and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. The air between you feels charged, filled with unspoken feelings. Chan reaches over and gently brushes his thumb against your hand.

The touch is electrifying.

His voice is soft. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Also, while we're on this topic, I’ve got a confession to make.”

You looks up at him, heart pounding, as he speaks again, the weight of his words suddenly heavier than expected.

Chan speaks slowly, looking into your eyes. “I like you too. A lot. And I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without messing things up. You know, considering all of this.” He waves his hands vaguely in the air, but you know what he means.

The confession hangs in the air, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything. But the silence is comfortable like before, like everything both of you have wanted to say has finally found its way out. Chan’s hand stays gently resting against yours, a comforting yet giddy warmth, and you feel your heart flutter at the sight of his hand swallowing yours.

You smile shyly at him. “You really knew?”

Chan laughs quietly, not unkindly. “Yeah. I think I’ve known for a while now."

There’s a pause, then both of you break into shy smiles, both realizing that the thing you were both too nervous to say has finally been said. It's clear neither of you know how to continue, as you're too shocked to process what has apparently just happened, and it seems Chan hasn't planned this far either, his energy simply concentrated on confessing.

You both sit and gaze at each other, mouths opening a little and then hesitating, wondering if the other will say something. But neither of you do, until the door flies open with a bang.

Hyunjin and Felix are standing in the doorway, sweating and disheveled from a nightly dance practice. Seeing how they flew out of the studio earlier, you see no foreseeable reason why they would have returned, until you see Hyunjin's phone on the low table.

"Sorry," Hyunjin drawls, panting. "Forgot my phone-"

He cuts himself off and his jaw drops, matching Felix's. The looks on their faces are comical and you would laugh if you weren't suddenly so flustered.

Felix quickly stumbles past Hyunjin and grabs his friend's phone off the table, shooting Chan a not-so-subtle smirk as he bows hurriedly.

"Sorry for interrupting!" Hyunjin calls, cackling before turning away, a giggling Felix at his side.

The door slams shut before either of you can process, hands jerked back from each other as they'd entered and frozen in the air.

The situation is suddenly so ridiculous that you burst into unexpected laughter. You can see Hyunjin and Felix through the frosted glass of the studio door, hunched over and whispering to each other through hushed snickering and giggling.

Chan groans and drops his head into his hands.

a/n: i love the purple theme, suits channie so much

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nothoughtsjustfic · 5 months ago

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Finding Yourself - C.SC [Teaser]

🐢Who: Choi Seungcheol (Seventeen) x female reader 🐢What: 18+. Dark themes. Mafia au. Angst. Fluff. Suggestive. Slow burn. Mafia Boss Seungcheol. Single parent Seungcheol. Strangers to friends to lovers. Chan is reader’s little brother. Hansol is Seungcheol’s son. 🐢Total Fic Word Count: 50.3k. Teaser: 1.5k 🐢Estimated release date: 19th February 🐢General Warnings: Reader is referred to with a nickname throughout. Characters with autism/ADHD. Selective mutism. Gang typical content. Hospitalisation and medical stuff that will not be accurate. Mentions of past child abuse/abusive parents. Each part has more part-specific warnings. Teaser Warnings: Mention of suspected murder. Mentions of past child abuse/abusive parents. 🐢Summary: “In an attempt to protect your little brother, you run away from home and the gang your father forced you into as a teenager.

You truly thought you were done with that life. But months later, when members of the Centaurs gang find you and your brother squatting in their property mid gang-fight, they take you back to their headquarters and force you right back into it.

Suddenly, you find yourself living in the home of the leader of the oldest, most famous gang in the entire country, and you very quickly realise that he isn’t the ruthless monster everyone thinks he is.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Finding Yourself Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3

Disclaimer: Okay, so I feel like I need to point out that I do have both autism and ADHD, and I have done a lot of research around both during my own discovery/diagnosis periods; even now I’m constantly learning that more aspects of myself are very common in people with autism/ADHD so there is truth behind how the characters are portrayed in this fic. Yet, with that being said, both autism and ADHD are very vast in that you can have a room full of people with both disabilities and yet every single one of those people are incredibly different, which means that the characters in this story who have autism or ADHD are not accurate portrayals of every single person with either. There are 4 clearly stated autistic people in this fic throughout and they are each different personalities and how their disability affects them. So please don’t leave comments or send rude asks accusing me of misrepresentation or anything like that just because a character you’ve watched in a movie isn’t written the same as these characters, thanks.

A/N- I need to thank my beabie @ourdawnishotterthanourday for reading this monster of a fic for me and picking out the section for the teaser because I am absolutely hopeless at that kind of stuff. And also the endless support and beta-ing. Basically, JiJi, my love, you are invaluable to me.

It’s almost midnight when there’s a knock on the door and you look over from being curled protectively around your sleeping brother. Something about the knock is different to how Mingyu knocks, it’s firmer, yet still gentle in a strange contradiction that makes your stomach flitter with anxiety.

Silently, as to not disturb Chan, you get off the bed and walk to the door to open it just as the knocking starts up again.

On the other side is a man, who although you’ve never met before, you’ve seen his picture many times in files in your father’s office to be able to recognise his dark gaze and full lips.

Choi Seungcheol, the current leader of Choi’s Centaurs as of ten years ago when his father passed through means that have never been publicly verified. Many even think that Seungcheol himself had a hand in his father’s death just so that he could take over the gang sooner.

You don’t know enough of the man to have an opinion on that matter, but what you do know is that he makes an intimidating figure as he looms over you in riding leathers with his motorbike helmet still in one gloved hand at his side, whereas the other is bare and raised in a fist from knocking on the door.

“Pearl, I assume?” He greets, raising an eyebrow slightly in question while lowering his arm to hang at his side.

You don’t know if the dark look is intentional or not, but you do know the shadows under his eyes aren’t. He looks exhausted and you can’t imagine he’s very happy about having to come to you upon returning home instead of going to bed like he no doubt yearns to.

You nod in confirmation. “Your brother is asleep?” Another nod. “Alright, step out here so we can talk without waking him.”

Silently, you step into the hall when he moves aside, before you pull the door up almost entirely shut, yet cracked open enough that you can hear if Chan needs you.

“So, what I hear is that a couple of my guys found you in the warehouse where it seems as if you’ve been sleeping with your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good, you speak,” he places his helmet on the floor so that he can remove his glove and tuck it into his jacket pocket with the other before unzipping the protective jacket, showing a plain black t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “You’re homeless?”

“Yes.”

“Any family to go to? I can’t send you back onto the streets with a kid.”

“Just like that?” You ask, looking at him puzzled. “You’re just sending us out again?”

“What do you expect me to do with you? I know you’re aware I don’t condone violence towards children, nor do I agree with leaving any kid in a position where they don’t have an adult to look after them. I’m not going to hurt your brother, and hurting you would hurt him too, so my only option is to send you off and hope you won’t try to cause me any trouble by saying shit about whatever you saw and heard at the warehouse.”

“And here.”

“What?”

“Your men brought me into your home; as far as I’m aware that’s pretty fucking unheard of.”

He nods slightly in confirmation. “This situation is unheard of, you’re right, Mingyu fucked up by bringing you into the manor when he could’ve left you in one of the empty houses in the outer wall, but I can’t blame him when he did it to make sure he knows you two will be safe and looked after. So tomorrow I’ll personally drive you to the closest family you have, so that I know you arrive safely.”

“No.”

“No?” He frowns at you in astonishment. “The fuck do you mean no? I don’t think you understand what’s going on here, sweetheart. I’m in charge and you’re under my roof, you’re alive because of my rules and you have no fucking place to say no to me.”

“I’ll say no to whoever I need to if it means protecting my brother.”

“I just said I’m not going to let anyone hurt him.”

“Sending us to family will mean him getting hurt.”

“Did you run away?” You nod in confirmation. “Because your parents hurt you?”

“I took him and ran because I knew it would only get worse for him now that… Look, I don’t give a fuck who you are or what you can do to me; I’m not letting you send my brother back there. I won’t do a thing that puts us back on their radar. So just take us back to the warehouse so I can grab the shit I had to leave behind and we can see the last of each other.”

Seungcheol stares at you consideringly for a long moment as his arms cross over his chest before he nods once in understanding and acceptance. “Alright, no family, but I’m not sending you back to the streets. There must be some kind of women’s and children’s refuge that would take you in.”

“Separately. I’m not his parent and as I’m not a kid myself, we’d get separated.”

“Then lie and say he’s your son.”

“I don’t like to lie.”

He scoffs a laugh. “You wouldn’t last a day in my world with that mindset, sweetheart.” You don’t answer and just stare at him silently, well aware of how wrong his assumption is. “Right, so not that. Well, and this is a once in a lifetime offer, but I’ll buy you a house, put it in your name, give you money to cover costs for a few months while you get on your feet, and we never cross paths again. You won’t owe me shit either; I have more money than I know what to do with anyway, I can afford to help someone in need.”

“If I use my name they will find us, Seungcheol,” you plainly state.

He blinks at you a few times dumbly before responding. “Oh, that’s my name.”

You can’t help but look at him in concern for his odd reaction. “Yes.”

“You seriously do know who I am. I didn’t even introduce myself.”

“You’re the head of the most famous gang in the country, of course I know who you are.”

“Mm, many might know me by name, not by face.”

“Mingyu told me the boss will be by to see me once he’s home; you are the only person who has knocked on the door other than him. And you said you’re in charge; I’m under your roof. It’s not hard to put two and two together,” comes your logical rationalisation, easily explaining how you didn’t fail to recognise him despite his lack of introduction.

He’s right in that most people may know his alias, yet have no idea what his first name is, even if they know his family name, or who the name belongs to if they passed him in the street without introduction.

“Huh, guess so. Just threw me hearing my name suddenly, especially as nobody actually calls me that.”

“I don’t like your alias,” you admit bluntly, and to your surprise, the man lets out a laugh. “What?”

“Nobody has ever said that to my face before. Wow, either you have the biggest balls I’ve ever seen, or you’re so sleep deprived that you’ve forgotten how to act.”

Once again, you don’t answer, just silently stare at him. You truly have no idea what category you fit under right now, if either.

“You’re an interesting one, Pearl,” he declares with amusement tilting the edge of his lips up ever so slightly. “Well, I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with this tonight so we’re both going to go the fuck to bed and get some much-needed sleep, then we’ll talk again. And I’ll meet your brother; the guys say he’s adorable and shy, so I’m real curious about him.”

“Right,” you mutter in response, not sure what you’re expected to say right now.

“Alright, well, seeing as you’re not an idiot and know who I am and what you risk if you try to fuck me over, I won’t have anyone outside your room anymore and no-one will bother you until the morning when someone comes and gets you for breakfast.”

“Get us? Like, to join?”

“Yeah, we can talk over breakfast; I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and the sooner we sort this shit out, the better.”

“Right.”

“Go back to your brother and make sure you sleep too. You look like you’re about to pass out any second,” he says as he bends over momentarily to swoop up his helmet into his hold.

“Says you.”

Seungcheol snorts a laugh as he turns and walks off. “Definitely an interesting one.”

You watch him until he turns at the end of the hall and is out of sight before you go back into the bedroom and lock the door so that when you curl up under the covers with your brother, you feel safe enough to close your eyes and sleep in a soft bed for the first time in months.

Maybe today hasn’t been quite as unlucky as you initially thought.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

#wkcnet #svthub #kvanity #thediamondlifenetwork #keopihausnet #dovenet #choi seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol angst #choi seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic

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ivyfauna-ii · 4 months ago

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DONT VOTE WITHOUT REBLOGGING

The following text is from this instagram post from Tamer

“I live on the rubble of the past. There is no present. I am trying to make glory again from the largest garbage dump in the world, from the most unsafe place in the world. I am doing this to immigrate outside this country and achieve my dreams.”

Please donate and share Tamer’s campaign so that he can afford basic needs for his family and to immigrate to another country!

His campaign can be found on the verified Gaza evacuation fundraisers google doc on line 286

If you have a instagram account then please boost Tamer’s posts!

(Tagging ppl so that the post gets more attention. If you’d like your @ off the list let me know in the comments) @rob-os-17 @terminarch4 @ralseinumberonebiggestsupporter @toshiirou @duaepuellaesubarboresedent @selznick @cosmicbiologist @void-lantern @t4tklonoa @call-me-ace22 @millionthcephalophore @jlemonster @dallasdrevis @toonirl @vaas @livefungus @terezbian @rowans-blues @histrynerdss @nothingmuchreally5 @king-dail @applesxuce @eroticmargarine @bingusoclock @moonaska @soullessjack @emeraldoo @felixnorstubblewealthington @krispiblueberry @ssluggishh @dartp @s1nful-sa1nt @theevilestvillainofthemall @great-eagle-bow @wheels-of-eyes @dilophosaurid @impgender @misscheetahroo @crab-enjoyer @realboutfatalfury @sirsteampunk @gamb0fficial @chaossequence @ghost81194 @murderbot @good-old-gossip @lordzannis @batricity @astylos-theburntrat

#indie animation #the walten files #indigo ✦#tadc #bigtop burger #monkey wrench #dream catchers #gaza strip #gofundme #palestine #gaza under attack #famine #please donate and share now!!!#Help Tamer #Poll

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bishopmyrielfundraiser · 21 days ago

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Emergency Fundraiser Amid the ICE Crackdown in the US

As Trump sends military troops to Los Angeles to crack down on protesters, and ICE is dispatched to other cities to ambush immigrants at their court dates, the Bishop Myriel Fundraiser will be once again using the format used in 2020 to raise funds to support those affected by these arrests.

Rules:

Make a post with your item offer and tag @bishopmyrielfundraiser in your post and I will reblog it here on the auction blog. Your offer can be art, writing, crafts, physical items, etc. Use your imagination and just don't get me in trouble by offering anything illegal. Contribute a post with the number of prizes you are offering and the minimum donation to receive it. First come, first served. Use the tag "#bishop myriel emergency fundraiser 2025" to help people find your original post.

Claim the prize you want by reblogging the reward post with a screenshot of your donation in the required amount, including the DATE of donation. (Do NOT reuse screenshots or try to claim for a donation made before you saw the offer--show the date in your screenshot). Crop out your personal information. If you can't donate immediately, you can also reblog with the amount and the group you are donating to to claim an item, so long as you follow up by emailing [email protected] with the receipt proving your donation within three days of your reblog, or reblog your own reblog with the screenshot in the same timeframe.

Unlike our normal auctions, DO NOT bid in replies and wait for confirmation before donating. This is a first come, first served emergency fundraiser; there is no bidding, so those offering items should feel free to have a higher minimum donation than usual. To avoid trying to claim an offer that has already been claimed by someone else, check reblogs on the post first. If you are making the offer, keep an eye on reblogs and reblog your own post with "The offer has now been claimed" when there are no more items left in your offer. You can reach out directly to those who reblog with screenshots, although if it's a placeholder claim, DM me first to see if the receipt came through on email. I will not be retaining those emails long-term to protect your privacy, just using them to verify and record the amount donated, date, and your tumblr handle.

Places you can donate are:

--General immigrant rights groups working locally or nationally. --Any groups providing legal services to detained immigrants or protesters. --Know your rights trainings, deportation defense, and immigration defense groups. --Bail funds and jail support, because protesters are being arrested. --Groups filing lawsuits against the actions of the current administration related to the violation of people's rights by ICE, police, military, and the government in relation to immigration, protests, and the sending of troops to enforce the government's will. Some example groups: In Los Angeles: CHIRLA, the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights

Immigrant Defenders

The ACLU of Southern California, which also lists the above groups and others on their Rapid Response Network page.

In New York: Make the Road, Unlocal, and New York Legal Aid Society provide lawyers "to those detained, or at imminent risk of detention and deportation, who may not have the right to see an immigration judge or are otherwise facing a fast-track to removal." Make the Road is also suing with the ACLU to stop fast-track deportations.

Envision Freedom Fund for bonds for both those in the regular court/jail system and in ICE custody.

South Brooklyn Mutual Aid is a mutual aid network that does Know Your Rights and otherwise provides support for immigrants.

Although our annual auctions allow for donations to groups working on similar causes in any country, given the current immediate situation in the US, on this occasion I'm going to ask for donations to be to groups that work here--although if they also work in other countries, that's fine. If you're donating from outside the US, it's probably a good idea to stick to larger organizations with official websites to donate through, as I don't know if international funding could be used to demonize smaller groups. If you are in the US, you can use local knowledge of your own state or city to direct your donations to the most effective use, which may be smaller groups that aren't official. Do name the group, though! This ensures that all donations are real and that other people learn of groups you think are doing good work. So, for example, my list above ranged from organizations with tax deductible donation pages to mutual aid networks on Venmo.

As Los Angeles is currently most at risk, donations to groups there are particularly welcome.

If any issues come up in offering or claiming an item, please DM me at @bishopmyrielfundraiser or email [email protected]

#bishop myriel emergency fundraiser 2025 #auction rules #not an auction #bishopmyrielfrundraiser #bishop myriel fundraiser #les miserables #les mis #les miz

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doberbutts · 9 months ago

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Why doesn't privilege come into play in the conversation, what is the preferred way you would prefer trans women refer to the privilege to side step all of the worst concequences of transmisogyny? how do we communicate that?

Bringing up Semenya is a great example of an intersex woman having less privilege to escape transmisogyny than perisex women. This is not really the slam dunk you think it is because the terrible intersexism (with transmisogynist intent) she has been receiving since the transvestigation is it's own separate horror from what would happen to a trans woman- her exclusion no better or worse in my mind than the exclusion the trans woman would face but it is my (good faith) understanding that distinction is important to the intersex community- and it is that marginalization as an intersex woman that makes her less exempt from transmisogyny.

I hope you have a nice day. thank you for talking about this with me.

Because I am not talking about privilege- which I again have already stated is there. I'm talking about the idea that one is somehow exempt from their own experiences.

I have no problem with whatever way trans women want to talk about their own experiences. I do have a question and it is this: how is one *exempt* from systemic oppression? Systems of oppression are, well, systems. They are something that affects everyone. A cis woman who is forced to undergo a genital inspection, a blood test, a cheek swab, a birth certificate check to verify that she is not a trans woman is still being affected by the system of transmisogyny because it is the explicit fear and hatred of trans women that is creating this issue.

A cis woman that suddenly fails this check because it is discovered that she is intersex, such as Semenya, is now sorted into the same file as the trans women whether that is "correct" to label her such or not. There are many people insisting that Semenya is a trans woman specifically because they do not understand what intersex means or even is.

It does not escape my attention that the particular examples I gave- both Khelif and Semenya- are also falling under misogynoir and interphobia. That is the basis of my logic, so you still really aren't in disagreement with me- all of this is interconnected because that's kind of how intersectionality and systems of oppression work.

I also brought up Semenya specifically *because* she is intersex. Khelif swears she is not intersex. The supposed "authority" that Rowling got her information from says she is. According to Khelif, she has never submitted to any medical testing. And Khelif's country has made being LGBT illegal, so I am unsure exactly where that would leave her if it is discovered that she is intersex after all and that may be a significant portion of why she is so resistant to the idea of testing (also bc it's genuinely not anyone's business).

The point is that both Semenya and Khelif went into their Olympic careers as perisex-assumed cis women. Both were transvestitated. One managed to side step the majority of material consequences though I do still see people swearing that she is "secretly a man". The other was not able to do so. So it is not necessarily true that a cis woman is automatically able to dodge the consequences of being transvestigated just because she is not a trans woman. That's my point.

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wobblyficwriter · 1 year ago

Text

It's Okay, Little Doll

My second fic, and the first time I've tried writing about agere. I hope it's okay! Constructive critism welcome! Sorry I don't know how to do the cut thing.

Bucky Barnes x Little reader.

You're desperate to regress, but your house mate is home and you try not to. He has other ideas.

Can't think of any trigger warnings. I guess *slightly* forced regression, but in a caring concerned way?

You walked into your apartment with a tired sigh. Work had been awful, your creepy co worker had spent the day hitting on you no matter how many times you had told him you had a boyfriend. You didn’t have a boyfriend, but he had no way to verify that. He did know you lived with Bucky though, so you just let him assume that you were a couple.

You dumped your work bag and the stack of files you’d been carrying onto the table and kicked off your shoes. You just needed to get changed into something comfy, find some snacks and chocolate milk, then you could go to your room and regress. Bucky was on a mission and wouldn’t be home for a few days so you knew that he wouldn’t catch you in your little state.

You were just about to go into the kitchen to get your snacks and chocolate milk when you heard him.

“Hey, doll, you okay?” A soft voice said from behind you, making you jump and drop the packet of goldfish crackers you’d been about to pour into a bowl.

“Bucky!” You spun around, wide eyed and desperately started trying to fight off the regression that had been starting to take over your mind.

He chuckled and held his hands up showing you he meant no harm. “Jeez doll, it’s just me!” He didn’t raise his voice, continuing to speak softly, though amusement was evident on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you heard me coming.”

You shook your head and smiled. Internally you were screaming. “No, no no! I can’t regress in front of Bucky!” “I’m fine, sorry I must have been in my own world. You’re back early?” You questioned. Maybe he was just back to get something? You needed to regress and it was hard to fight it. Just had to get a snack and retreat to your room.

“Yeah” He nodded. “Turns out they don’t need a full team, Nat and Steve have gone alone”

You were fighting the need to slip with every ounce of will you had. “Oh.. what are you gonna do now?” You didn’t hear the slightly higher pitch of your voice, or the way you were fiddling anxiously with your sleeves. However it didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky and he tilted his head, concern flashing in his eyes.

“Doll, you okay?” He stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder, his eyes widening in surprise when you stepped back fearfully. He removed his hand, the concern now more prominent on his face. “Doll? You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

You nod and wring your hands anxiously. You could feel yourself slipping and were desperately trying to stop it. “‘M fine” you said, and you wince inwardly, you heard your voice that time and realised you were slipping faster than you thought. You grab the bag of goldfish, deciding to forget about the rest of your snacks and chocolate milk for now, intending to rush to your bedroom and hide in there for the rest of the night. Bucky stops you with another hand on your shoulder as you try to push past him.

“Hey, hey, where’s the fire? What’s wrong?” He was concerned, he’d never seen you act like this, and you had certainly never acted scared of him before. He waited for you to answer him, frowning when you stiffened under his hand. He let go again and let you go with a sigh. He wasn’t going to force you to stay and talk to him when you very clearly didn’t want to. He figured he’d give you a little while to calm down and check on you later. He made his way back to his room and lay on his bed with the book he’d been reading. He would have stayed there if he hadn’t heard you muttering anxiously in your own room. His super soldier senses made it easy for him to hear, though he usually did his best to block it out. He couldn’t this time though, not when he could hear that you were so worked up about something.

“No no, not in front of Bucky, come on y/n. You can fight this!” You were pacing in your room, desperately trying not to slip. You knew that now Bucky was concerned about you, he wouldn’t leave you alone the whole night. You knew he would come and check on you and you couldn’t afford to be in your littlespace when he did. He couldn’t see you like that, no one could. If you’d known he was going to be home, you would have been more prepared to stop it, having the whole day to work through it. Unfortunately, you hadn’t known he would be home and had been planning for it all day, so now you were home it was getting harder and harder to fight off.

You’d already put all your little items in the wardrobe so you couldn’t see them, including the plush toy that usually lived on your bed. You were hoping that not being able to see the things that you usually used in your little time would make it easier for you to stop the slip.

You gasped when he knocked on your door, calling out to see if you were okay.

“J-just a minute!” You hastily looked around your room, checking for anything that might give it away before sighing and telling him to come in.

He opened the door and walked in, taking a breath when he saw you. He could see your whole body was tense and you looked on the verge of a panic attack. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?” He moved toward you, careful not to touch you this time. He knew you didn’t like to be touched. You tolerated the occasional short hug from him, but that was all. The hands on your shoulders earlier were normally okay too, but you’d made it clear to him that they weren’t at the moment, so he just kept his hands where you could see them and crouched in front of you to be less intimidating.

“J-just a bad day” you whispered and gasped when you heard your voice. You were still slipping and you couldn’t stop it! This was bad. You quickly looked to the side, trying to look anywhere but at Bucky. This time, Bucky gasped quietly as it clicked in his head. You were regressing! Well, you were trying NOT to regress, but he recognised the signs. He’d never been in the lifestyle himself, but he knew that Steve had had a little at one point and he’d seen them interact a couple of times. Nodded to himself, unseen by you and decided to just treat you like he would a scared child.

“Shh, shh it’s okay, little one.”

He saw you freeze and your breath catch in your throat. “N-not little!” he heard you say frantically, your voice still in that higher pitch but not quite childlike yet. He could see that you desperately needed to regress, and that you were trying not to so he decided to just carry on, hoping to make you feel safe and go into your littlespace. He edged closer to you, still not touching you yet, keeping his movements slow so you could see everything he was doing.

“Oh I know you’re not, not just yet, but you want to be so badly, don’t you little doll?”

You froze again, slowly turning to look at Bucky. “N-no! D-dunno what you’re talking about!” you had to fight the urge to stomp your foot. This was bad, Bucky was going to see! You couldn’t let that happen!

Bucky just smiled at you, slowly reaching out and curling his fingers around your wrist, gently tugging you toward him. “It’s okay little doll, I’m here. You’re safe with me.” his voice was soft, doing his best to sound calming as he pulled you into him, gently wrapping his arms around you. He felt you stiffen but didn’t let you go this time, he simply gently ran his metal hand up and down your back in soothing circles while gently pressing your head into his chest with the other. You stayed stiff, starting to tremble and he worried that he’d pushed you too far. He keeps going though, murmuring softly to you, taking the fact that while you were anxious, you weren’t pulling away as a sign that it was okay to continue. He stops rubbing your back, using that hand to scoop you up into his arms and moving to the bed with you, he sits on it, leaning back against the headboard and pulls you fully onto him, still making soothing noises and starts rubbing your back again.

“That’s it little doll, you just relax here in my arms. Let Bucky take care of you. Just let it happen… everything’s okay”

You keep fighting desperately but you feel yourself losing the fight. You knew for certain that you were going to lose it when you felt yourself relaxing into his touch despite yourself. “There you go… good girl..” when he called you a good girl you could no longer fight it, and just let it take over. You cuddled into him, your thumb sucked into your mouth and closed your eyes. You heard Bucky chuckle quietly.

“There you go little doll, that’s much better isn’t it?” You blinked up at him and saw him smiling softly down at you. You nodded at him shyly, still worried about being little in front of him, but now you’d slipped, you were much more open to accepting the comfort and safety that his presence offered.

“Nothing to worry about little doll, you just relax here in Bucky’s arms. I’ll take care of you.” He started stroking your hair softly and rocking from side to side slowly, smiling gently at you as your eyes started falling closed.

“Shh, that’s it, little one.. Just let yourself drift away. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

You sighed contentedly and let yourself drift off to sleep. Maybe being little in front of Bucky wasn’t so bad after all.

#sfw agere #Bucky Barnes x Reader #bucky barns x y/n #Bucky Barnes x Little!Reader #Bucky Barnes x little reader

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peachjagiya · 5 months ago

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https://x.com/katrinap79/status/1834147164441673961

im sorry but this is crazy.

They should have debated harder and decided not to.

This is a jimkooker. That's the first clue that this will be an absolute powerhouse of bullshittery and fuckaboutery.

Putting it in a wordy thread doesn't make it more accurate. Sheer novel length ramblings, numbered neatly, doesn't make it more accurate. Using big words and important sounding theories do not make it more accurate. There is absolutely nothing here that I haven't read from the most unhinged JmKKrs but they've just formatted it in a way that makes it look like they're talking sense. They aren't. They're, as per usual, driven by envy and anti-rhetoric.

They make the same logic leaps they accuse TKKrs of. They have no definitive proof and half the time, they contradict themselves with the assumptions.

We've learned nothing here. They don't actually know a damn thing more than a Taekooker but where we're going off pictures, they're going off a desperate need for the opposite to be true.

And then I seriously lost all faith in this person's ability to approach this sensibly when they said "Bam looks unimpressed." Yeah you get right into that dogs head, dog whisperer!

I particularly like where Hawaii gets them so riled up that they lose their cool, start swearing and claim it's a staged picture because Taehyung is wearing shorts and only solo jumpers wear shorts otherwise NO instructor would EVER take a guy wearing shorts tandem jumping.

It took me approximately 15 earth seconds to find these pictures of the exact skydiving company tandem jumping with people wearing shorts:

Like it was comically fast, even I was surprised.

Another reason not to be fooled by the length of this tirade is that it's full of anti Tae nonsense, with such delights as "JK wasn't in the room to verify Taehyung's story about their private trip" and by the end just openly accusing him of faking pictures.

And it's full of anti-Jungkook nonsense too with the offensive implication that Taehyung took Jungkook to the Hyoshin musical either to boost star power or "like your mom telling you to take your baby brother."

That is gross infantilising of a grown man and diminishing his character to that of an annoying little brother as if nobody could ever want to just spend time with him for who he is.

Despite the fact that Taehyung is very open about enjoying Jungkook's company. Jungkook is one half of their ship and they can't even believe someone likes him? Yuck.

Unreliable narrator behaviour from a jimkooker AGAIN. Nobody is surprised. I'm printing it out and putting it in my special filing cabinet:

#my asks #y'alls

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simmerandwrite · 2 years ago

Text

Sink Into Me - 08 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size!reader

Pairing: mob boss! Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09

Wordcount: 8.3k

Warnings: canon level violence (guns, physical fighting), allusions to dog fighting (but no mention of any kind of abuse), some angst

Notes: HI I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY. life, ya know? but enjoy this little treat, please. and.. uhm.. sorry.

---

“We need to talk about Steve Rogers.”

You took in a hard breath and scanned the man - he had a permanent smug look to him, something that made you feel unsettled. The tag around his neck with his badge indicated his name was Grant Ward, NYPD detective.

“Give me back my phone,” you said, slowly emptying your lungs in an attempt to stay calm. “Now.”

Ward shook his head, grinning. “Not yet. C’mon, let’s chat.” He slipped your phone inside his jacket pocket and grabbed your elbow, urging you to step further across the sidewalk in front of a closed down shop. “I got your info from Hammond’s file. You were a witness on a little vehicular assault case a while back, right?”

Nothing about this felt proper or to procedure. But you wanted it to end as quickly as possible, so you nodded.

“What I need to know is why Steve Rogers asked you to lie on your witness report and identify the wrong person.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice cracked as you tried to piece together what he was saying. “I didn’t lie about anything. Shouldn’t - shouldn’t Officer Hammond be following up with me - if there was an issue?”

“I’ve reopened the investigation.” Ward leaned against the building, glancing up and down the street casually as he spoke. “Your intentional misidentification put someone innocent in jail. How do you sleep at night?”

“I didn’t lie,” you repeated, swallowing hard. Hercules paced at your feet.

“You’re lying right now. Rogers told you who to point out in that police lineup, didn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in this man’s face but given he was technically a person of the law, you resisted. Instead, you pursed your lips and opted to stay quiet. Shouldn’t you have a lawyer or something to represent you? God, why weren’t you into legal dramas instead of reality tv?

“Here’s what it looks like. Rogers asks you to help him out and in turn, you get a fancy new apartment. Isn’t that right?” Ward took a step forward and pointed past you, towards the rest of the block. “How else can you afford a luxury apartment working your little 9-5 gig? I verified your record of employment and something just doesn’t add up.”

Before you had a chance to reply to his asinine claim, he was reaching for his buzzing phone. “This is Ward.” You tried to listen to the other end of the call, but couldn’t make out the voice.

He looked back at you, eyes roving up and down as he carried on with his phone conversation. “You’re kidding. That was all true? Wow. Okay. Yeah, I’m with her. Sure.” He raised his free hand and suddenly a nearby SUV was pulling up. “Heading there now.”

Your stomach twisted when Ward turned back to you.

“Let’s go.” He tipped his head towards the vehicle, where the driver had gotten out to open the back door. “We’ve gotta move this chat elsewhere.”

Your eyes blew open, head shaking. “Absolutely not. Give me my phone and —“

Ward stepped towards you again, grabbing your hand that was holding onto Hercules' leash. “If you don’t get in that car willingly, you’ll have a dead dog on your hands. Is that what you want?” He flashed you a smile. “Let’s. Fucking. Go.”

“Storm coming tonight..”

Steve looked up from his plate of pasta, watching his mom across the table as she put down her cutlery. Sarah rubbed her hands together, tired with the weight of time and the pressure of weather changes that seemed to grow worse with each passing season.

“I can feel it in these old joints,” Sarah continued, leaning back in her chair before glancing to the window above her kitchen sink.

“Ma,” Steve finally replied, quietly returning his own fork to the side of his plate. “Why don’t you skip the rest of this monologue about the weather and tell me what’s really on your mind?”

Steve tried to have dinner with his mother at least once a week, if time permitted. The last few months had been a bit chaotic for him though, mostly his own doing of course. And Sarah hadn’t pressed when he canceled. But, something about her tone and strange casual conversation wasn’t sitting well with him. In fact, he could read his mother really well and she was upset, maybe even mad at him. If there was one thing Steve hated, it was when his mother was upset with him.

He liked to nip it in the bud as quickly as he could.

Sarah sighed, slowly crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed down her son. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you about who I ran into at the hospital a few weekends ago.”

“You gonna give me a clue?” Steve smirked, taking a long pause to enjoy a sip from his wine glass. “Who?”

When your name left his mother’s lips, Steve felt his chest tighten. He had very quickly and casually explained to her that you and he had called things off, respectfully asking Sarah not to press him for details. Surprisingly, she hadn’t asked any follow up questions, though Steve knew she hadn’t been feeling positive about the news. In fact, he had assumed his mom would have had a much more passionate reaction. And maybe it was still coming.

He took a deep breath. “Oh. And.. how is she?” Would it be possible for this conversation to only last one more sentence? Would he be able to get out of it without his mother making him feel any worse?

When Steve met his mom’s gaze again, he knew that question wasn’t what he should have asked. He was starting to think maybe saying nothing would have been best.

“How is she?” Sarah repeated, letting out a hard laugh. “Steven.”

“Ma, listen, what happened between us is..” He hesitated. Complicated was not the word he wanted to use, but what else could he say? “I had to cut things off. She’s safer this way.”

There. His heart was torn off his sleeve and slapped onto his plate.

“Steve,” Sarah was softer this time, releasing the anger from her shoulders as she reached across the table for his hand. “You’re not being fair. To yourself. How are you supposed to live this way? Don’t you want a family in the future? Or a break from.. everything?”

Steve squeezed her hand but didn’t respond. Sarah waited another moment for him to say something, then stood and carried her plate to the sink.

Without turning back around, she continued. “I told her about Hamilton House.”

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair again and shaking his head. “Ma..”

“Why didn’t you just talk to her? She would have understood.”

“You barely made it out of that fire alive!” Steve pushed back from the table and met his mother at the sink, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And I can barely live with myself as is, but if something happened to her too, I’d..”

“Honey,” Sarah’s voice was even quieter now as she pivoted to look at him. She reached her hand up to cradle his face. “You need to stop blaming yourself, please.”

How could he ever do that? The scars were still quite obvious on many parts of his mother’s body -

“Steve.” Sarah took in another deep breath. “I’m a grown woman who can take care of herself. And so is she.” There was your name again, coming off of Sarah’s tongue like it just warmed her soul. “She’s good for you.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” A painful laugh gurgled up in Steve’s throat. “I made pretty sure she’ll never talk to me again, unfortunately.”

“Steven.” This time the soft edge had left Sarah’s tone. The disappointment was back. “Don’t tell me you pushed that girl away on purpose.”

“I’m a grown man who can take care of himself,” Steve repeated back to her, stepping away from the sink and turning to grab his coat. “I’ve gotta go, Ma. Thanks for dinner.”

Sarah grabbed his wrist, eyes bright with words she wouldn’t say. Instead, she shook her head and sighed quietly. “At least take a container of pasta for Bucky.”

---

The further the vehicle traveled beyond your neighbourhood, the further your stomach sank. You did your best to listen to the conversations happening between Ward and his driver, but nothing seemed clear.

Where were you going? Were you in trouble? You hadn’t lied to the police - you knew better than that. But how could you prove that when clearly they had another story created? Was this about Steve? You weren’t even talking to him. What the hell was going on?

The only thing saving you from a breakdown was Hercules resting his head on your lap. Gently you scratched behind his ears, doing your best to reassure your dog as he did the same for you.

You were going to be okay. There had to be a positive solution to this mess.

Eventually, the vehicle slowed down in an industrial area you weren’t familiar with. In the growing darkness of the night, everything kind of looked the same - rows of large warehouse style buildings, some in much worse shape than the others. As you approached one of the buildings, a garage door opened up to allow you access.

“Let’s go,” Ward barked out as the car stopped, quickly sliding through his door and throwing the one closest to you open. He reached for your nearest wrist. “But first..”

Handcuffs. What you could only assume were police-grade handcuffs joined your wrists together, despite your protests. Ward was choosing every opportunity to remind you he had a gun, so when he told you to head towards the staircase leading out of the parking area, all you could do was comply.

The driver, some other nameless brute listening to Ward’s every word, held on to Hercules’ leash and followed behind. The panic within you stirred.

The building had clearly once been a thriving warehouse or multi-level business hub. Now, it was reduced to whatever criminal activity these men were tied up in. Every second window was boarded up or leaking in cold air through broken shards, with the evidence of previous occupants littering the floors. Old desks, chairs, appliances laid strewn about.

Ward guided you across the second floor, leading towards the far side of the room. You could hear other voices as you approached. He yanked the door open and pressed against your back for you to enter ahead of him.

You stumbled past the threshold, lifting your head up to look around the room. It felt out of place, given the state of the building. This room remained intact from days before, the remnants of an executive office with a large boardroom table sitting opposite the broken windows. A man you didn’t recognize was seated behind an oversized mahogany table, a burning cigar hanging off his lips. Behind him, a disheveled blond wearing an ill-fitting suit jacket stood scrolling through his phone.

That man you did recognize – you were certain he had been one of the men who had broken into your apartment. You could feel the familiar wave of panic come over you again.

Sitting in a pair of chairs in front of the desk were another two men – one dressed in a long overcoat over his suit, with perfectly coiffed hair. The other donned more casual clothes, well worn with a scowl across his face, strong and silent. You thought perhaps you recognized them, too. You might have seen them at Shield or maybe they had worked with Steve?

“This is her?” The man with the cigar asked, rising from his seat. The other two seated men had turned their heads to look in your direction, then stood the same.

Ward laughed, returning his gun to his jacket, and reaching a hand to grip your neck. He urged you closer to the desk.

“Russo – you’re sure?” The same man asked again, shooting a glance at one of the other two men. Ah, nice suit, nice hair - Russo. He had interrupted you and Steve, that day at his office.

“Yep. I know, doesn’t make sense to me either,” Russo replied with a dry laugh, stepping away from the desk and waiting to the side with the other man, Mr. Strong and Silent.

“Walker, you’re on dog duty,” Ward added after. He snapped his fingers and the guy scrolling on his phone was at attention, rolling his eyes as he grabbed Hercules’ leash from the driver.

Hercules whimpered at the back of the room.

You tried to look towards your confused pup, but Ward’s hands landed on your shoulders. He pushed down to encourage you to sit in one of the vacant seats at the desk.

Finally, the man with the cigar looked at you. A tight smirk curled up on his face as he said your name out loud. “Well, nice to finally meet you. I’m Brock. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

You sat still, hands resting on your lap. You resisted replying with some snappy commentary and instead dug your fingernails into your palms. Maybe you needed to comply, but God, what was the point of all this?

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here,” you said quietly, letting out a long breath. “I told him-” you jerked your head at Ward, “-everything I said to Officer Hammond was true. Steve didn’t ask me to lie about anything and I’m sorry if someone you know ended up in jail but I had to tell the truth.”

Brock raised an eyebrow, amused. “Well, I don’t give a shit about any of that. We’ve gotta fix this and you’re going to help.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line.

“You’re going to meet with Hammond and tell him you lied about-”

You shook your head. “I didn’t lie.”

Brock abandoned his cigar and slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t interrupt me, darling.” He took a breath and started again. “You’re going to meet with Hammond tomorrow morning and set things straight, alright?”

“And if I don’t?” You swallowed the lump in your throat as you asked your question.

Brock leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You’re really asking that? Damn. Well, if you don’t - you’re never going to see your dog again, for starters.”

Your face fell and you shuffled in the chair again, turning to look back towards Hercules. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“What do you think, Walker? The mutt would be good for the pit, huh? They could use some fresh meat for the next fight.”

You gasped as Hercules pulled at his leash, trying to walk to you. Walker held the leash tight.

“P-please. Don’t. He doesn’t deserve that, he’s just..” Your voice shook as you turned and looked back at Brock. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk to Hammond.” You just had to agree and get out of here. Once you were home, you could call the police station and tell them the truth and and and–

“Hammond is expecting you first thing tomorrow morning at the station.” Ward was looking down at your phone, tapping away at the screen. Great, he was just sending messages on your behalf. You hated that. Clearly you were not getting your phone back. Fuck, how were you going to get out of this?

“Now,” Brock leaned onto his elbows on the desk, returning his cigar to his mouth for a long drag. “Let’s talk about Rogers.”

You gulped.

“I need every little dirty secret you’ve got,” Brock said with a snap of his fingers. “Let’s go. Talk.”

“I don’t..” You faltered, glancing around the room quickly. Russo was watching you carefully while his partner seemed to be preoccupied with his feet, his eyes were drawn down. “I don’t know what you think I might know.. Steve and I.. We.. He broke up with me a while ago.”

A laugh escaped Brock. “I heard that wasn’t the case.”

Russo stepped forward. “Rogers took you home from Shield a few weekends ago, did he not? Drove you right back into your apartment then even walked you to the door?”

You stilled. Why did these men know about that? Were they following you? Or Steve? How did they know where you lived?

“I don’t know anything, I swear. Even when we were..” You closed your eyes. “We didn’t talk about business.”

“You know, I don’t believe you.” Brock let out a frustrated huff and tapped his cigar ash to the floor. “Let’s start easy, alright? Rogers has a ledger, the Bible for all his transactions. Where does he keep it?”

You shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. I don’t remember ever seeing a ledger or–”

“Bullshit.” It was Russo jumping in now. “You were fucking him for months. Christ, give us something.”

If you shifted your head back and forth in a shake anymore, you were going to give yourself whiplash. “I-I don’t, really.” You didn’t like how they were both crowding in on you, guns visible on their hips as their voices escalated. “Steve didn’t tell me things - he.. I didn’t..”

“Where does he keep his safe? What buildings did he take you to?” Brock continued on, reciting any thought or question that seemed to jump into his head. “I need to know which Senator is really in his pocket. And what he promised to Rhodes.”

You repeated yourself again and again and again as they bombarded you. “I don’t know, I don’t know! He would never tell me those things.”

“Think harder then.” Brock stood up in a fury, circling the desk to plant himself in front of you. “I need something fucking useful.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to think of something, anything to stop this. Everything you retained about Steve wouldn’t be what they wanted - that he was an old soul, a gentleman who kept your best interests at heart. Who loved old musicals and his mother. Who cared deeply about things but had hurt you deeply, too. None of that would have been helpful so what the fuck were you supposed to do?

“I..” You let out a breath. Would it be worth it to lie?

“If you say ‘you don’t know’ one more goddamn time..” Brock leaned forward, closing in the space between you and reaching for your jaw. He held it between his fingers, keeping you in his grasp waiting for an answer.

When you didn’t respond, Brock growled and reached for his cigar, flipping it in his fingers and bringing the burning end closer and closer to your exposed neck. You could feel the heat before it even touched your skin and all you could do was scream in anticipation.

“I don’t– please! Please don’t-” You pressed yourself into the chair, trying to get as far away from him as possible. But, the burning sensation never came.

“Hey–” This was a new voice. The Strong and Silent man lingering near Russo had rushed between you and Brock, shoving him away before the cigar made contact with your skin. “You said you weren’t going to hurt her.”

Brock pushed him back. “This has nothing to do with you, Castle. Back the fuck off.”

Castle didn’t move - acting as a barricade between you and Brock. They stood at a standstill, and eventually Brock let out a long dramatic sigh. “Ward.” He snapped his fingers again and Ward came forward. Once again, a hand landed on your shoulder.

“Take her up to the roof.”

---

“Do we not fucking knock anymore?” Steve called out as Bucky burst into his office, dragging Peter by the collar as he did.

Steve’s patience had run thin following dinner with his mother. She had managed to stir everything else up again, the feelings Steve was desperately trying to eliminate from his heart. Yet, they hadn’t dulled over time like he wanted. They remained steady, as steady as the beat of his heart.

“She’s good for you.”

On top of that, they had managed to clear out most of the out of territory drug dealers creeping into Brooklyn. But it hadn’t really stopped. The drugs still found their way in, and the problems were escalating moreso. Angry clients, aggravated partners, a particularly frustrated future Mayor who needed Steve’s compliance and trusted network underground for insight.

The last thing Steve wanted to deal with now was another issue. But when Steve saw the panicked look in Bucky’s eyes as he grabbed Peter’s shirt, Steve paused.

“Show him.” Bucky urged Peter forward, eyes wide in a panic. “Now.”

Steve stood from his chair slowly, meeting the young man in the middle of his office. “What’s going on? Is this about Beck again?”

“No, sir. No. It’s uh..” Peter’s hand was shaking as he gripped his cellphone, tapping on the screen before he glanced between Bucky and Steve again. “I keep an eye on social media - mostly just to see what’s happening, who’s hanging out where. My friend Ned he..” Peter shook his head. “Whatever. No one knows it’s me who watches their stuff. So. I was clicking through John Walker’s Instagram stories - that guy is an idiot, by the way. Always trying to bait women to find him at clubs or wherever. And..”

Peter tapped through something on his screen then turned it toward Steve. “Mr. Barnes said he recognized the dog in the background of this video..”

Steve snatched the phone and pressed play on the screen recording. John Walker was in the middle of the frame, filming himself with the front camera as he talked about which bar he’d be showing up at later. But none of that mattered to Steve. What did matter was the dog tied up in the background, pulling at his lead as he started to bark.

“Christ. Sorry about the mutt. Dealing with something for work..”

Steve raised his eyes from the screen, eyebrows furrowed. “When was this posted?”

Peter swallowed before he replied. “About 20 minutes ago.”

Bucky turned to Steve. “Is that..?”

All Steve could do was growl, shoving the phone back at Peter. “Send that to me. Right now.” Steve reached for his own phone, heading out the door of his office towards the primary club facilities. Bucky was at his feet, asking what he could do to help.

“Buck, call Kate. I need a timestamp for when Hercules was picked up.”

Bucky nodded and tore off, phone to his ear.

Steve called Clint directly. “Barton, I need your help.”

---

Kate confirmed you had picked up Hercules just before they closed. She didn’t notice anything concerning, aside from your general demeanor seeming quiet.

Clint reviewed security footage outside your apartment building entrance, back door and lobby. No sign of you. It’s possible you had picked up your dog then gone elsewhere, but Steve wasn’t convinced.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Steve paced his office again and again, waiting desperately for some information. Peter and Thor had stolen off to a few well known bars to see if they could track down Walker or any of his friends.

Clint had gone to your building to troll the neighborhood and seek out any additional video footage that might help.

Steve called Vision to see if he could connect with Wanda to get some information about where you might be, without leading to anything especially suspicious.

Steve needed to know where you were and if you were okay. Truthfully, he wouldn’t be able to settle until he knew you were safe - until he saw you himself.

This was the fucking risk, wasn’t it? Letting you in. People were going to use your relationship against him. It was staring him right in the face all along. Fuck, how could he live with himself if you got hurt?

Steve let out a fit of rage that had been brewing within him. He grabbed the rocks glass off his desk, still half full of melting ice, and sent it flying into the back of his door.

God fucking damnit. He didn’t like any of this. With no news from Vision and Wanda, his mind was going to bad places.

Steve stalked across the broken glass and threw his door open, grabbing his coat as he left. He found Bucky downstairs at the bar, phone in hand as Natasha leaned beside him.

“Please tell me someone has some fucking news to share,” Steve growled out as he approached. He didn’t even have to ask Natasha to pour him a drink, as it quickly appeared on the bar.

“No Walker sightings yet,” Bucky said as he glanced at his phone. As he turned the screen, a new message appeared.

The text didn’t contain any information or words, just a simple location pin. Bucky tapped on it, revealing an address on the outskirts of Brooklyn.

“Who sent that?” Steve asked, eyeing over Bucky’s shoulder as he drained his glass.

“No clue. I don’t know the number.” Bucky replied quietly. “No message either. Just a thumbs up emoji. But the timing is suspect.”

Steve shook his head. What did he have to lose? “Let’s go. Have Sam meet us there.”

---

You should have worn more layers, warmer clothes. Not that you anticipated being abducted on your way home. But you trusted the warm fall morning and now all you had was regret. A thin sweater barely kept you covered and the looming thunder overhead meant the threat of rain was very real.

Ward had dragged you up the barren staircases to the roof, where he had then removed one of your handcuffs only to attach it to some external pipe system that hugged the outside wall of the building. You could sit on the dirty cold roof or stand and try to peer down, but nothing else. You were stuck.

When you tried to plead with Ward for your escape, he only smirked then offered an alternative.

“Tell you what - if you get on your knees for me, I’ll remove the handcuffs altogether.”

As an answer to that proposal, you spit in his face. He really didn’t like that - which left you pushed to the ground and cuffed with no coverage from wind or impending rain. God fucking damnit.

Once Ward disappeared through the door again, you yelled for help. If it made any lick of difference, you had no idea. There was another building very close by, yelling distance at least. But it looked abandoned just the same. On the other side of the roof, it looked like an emergency staircase existed.

Not like you’d be able to escape. You seemed very stuck.

Were they going to leave you out there all night? Was this some scare tactic? What did they want from you - a detailed breakdown of everything you knew about Steve? You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. Despite the ricochet of emotions you had been through with Steve, you still felt.. something to him. Be it loyalty or kindness or whatever, you couldn’t throw him under the bus.

Steve was a good person. You saw that in him often. But these men? You weren’t so sure.

What if they left you until you had to meet with Hammond? Ten hours in the cold and rain. You could survive that, maybe. Maybe.

Thunder rumbled above you. Rain started to fall.

Fuck. Maybe not.

In an attempt to make yourself as small as possible, you sat against the side wall and wrapped your free arm around yourself. It didn’t do much to protect you from the rain, but it helped retain what little body heat you still had.

You weren’t sure how long you sat in the rain before you heard the access door burst open. You looked up and braced yourself, but felt almost relieved to see it wasn’t Ward again.

It was Castle.

He hesitated when he saw you, then quickly hurried in your direction.

You closed your eyes in a panic. “I’m sorry - I don’t have anything to share about Steve - I can’t remember if there was—”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m not here about that.” Castle crouched down in front of you. “I can’t let you go but let me help, alright?” He reached into his pocket and took out what looked like a Swiss Army knife. “I’ll get out of these cuffs at least.”

You braced yourself as he gently touched your wrist, using his tool to work through the lock mechanism. “Thank you.. uhm, Mr. Castle?”

He chuckled, barely. “Frank.”

You nodded, grateful as he freed your hand and left the cuffs dangling. “Thank you, Frank.”

“Over there,” Frank turned his head and pointed to the middle of the roof, where a small maintenance structure stood. It had a sloping roof that could provide more coverage. “Go. You’ll be covered at least.”

Frank got to his feet and offered you his hand. Once you were standing, he shrugged off his own heavy coat and handed it to you.

“Frank,” you clutched the coat and met his gaze, eyes blurring from the rain. “Can you just.. make sure my dog is okay? Hercules? He’s a lover, not a fighter. But he’s all I have and- and..”

Frank gave you a curt nod. “Go.” He motioned back to the small shed and you nodded too.

You had no idea why Frank was helping you. But you decided it had to be a good sign, right?

---

Steve had no idea what he was walking into. He had done this before – going in blind to certain situations was the nature of his entire job. It wasn’t always possible to anticipate who he would run into, if the person he trusted would deliver, if weapons were involved. But given his state of mind and the all-consuming worry he had about your wellbeing; he didn’t really care what he was faced with.

He just needed to figure out where you were and ensure you were safe.

The location that had been sent to Bucky was outside of Brooklyn, just barely. Along an industrial neighbourhood, where plenty of abandoned factories and distribution centers lived, the coordinates lead them to a nondescript building.

Steve and Bucky climbed out of the car, strapped with more than enough guns and ammunition to fight their way through whatever and whoever they were about to face. As they approached, Sam jogged into view, too.

“Thor couldn’t find Walker anywhere,” Sam provided as an update once they were waiting outside. “But Peter’s little tech friend managed to track a location for some recent postings to this general area..”

“Sounds like a likely place to look,” Bucky concluded, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Steve.

Steve took in a deep breath, eyebrows narrowed as he gazed at the doors ahead of him. Raising his hands, he tugged at the collar of his coat and smoothed it out before nodding. He was ready to deal with this.

“If she’s anywhere in here, her safety is priority, you understand?” Steve glanced from Bucky back to Sam, waiting for their own nod of understanding. “If anyone put her in danger, they’re going to pay. But not at her expense.”

Bucky pressed his knuckles into his metal palm, a coy smirk raising on his lips. “Here’s hoping I get to fuck up Walker’s face again.”

Sam took the lead and yanked the dilapidated entry door open, busting open the lock mechanism with little effort. The main level they entered on was mainly being used for vehicle parking and what looked like some storage. A staircase led up to the next level.

Steve carried on - striding to the top of the staircase and heading through the doors. The entire building was in bad shape but this wasn’t their first rodeo.

Someone was hiding out somewhere. And when he found them, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Sam - call everyone to be standby, including Thor and his brother. Get Barton to scope out next door, too. Lots of windows for coverage, the rooftop. Remind him about the Bullseye protocol.” Steve ran a hand through his hair then glanced to his right, motioning to the far door with Bucky. “You’re with me.”

In a few long strides, Steve reached the door and waited. Then, he raised a hand and knocked against it. Bucky stood behind his left shoulder.

Someone on the other side of the door was yelling, then eventually they heard heavy stomping as someone approached. When the door opened, Steve didn’t hesitate - he leaped forward and reached for the collar of whoever it was.

Steve growled. Grant Ward.

“Oh Jesus fucking–” Ward yelped out, trying to pull away from Steve’s grasp as Steve backed him into the room. “Take it fucking easy, Rogers. What the fuck are you–”

“Where is she?” Steve’s voice boomed, holding Ward in his grip as he glanced around the room. It was a fairly sparse leftover office, but sitting at the end of the large boardroom table was Billy Russo, Frank Castle and Brock Rumlow himself. A few other nameless thugs waited behind them, guns at the ready. “Where IS SHE?”

Steve threw Ward to the ground, reaching for his gun as the men at the table stood up and drew their own weapons, too. Bucky followed in behind Steve and kicked Ward down when he tried to get back on his feet.

“Stay down,” Bucky said to Ward.

Rumlow moved from his spot slowly, waving his gun around and placing it down on the table as he walked towards Steve. “Rogers.”

Steve didn’t respond, darting his eyes from Rumlow back to Russo and Castle at the table. Russo looked away, suddenly preoccupied with anything else but Steve. Castle, though, also put his gun away.

“Rumlow.” Steve growled out your name this time. “Where. Is. She?”

Brock smirked. “Who? Oh.. yes. Sure. We just met. As far as I know, you two aren’t together anymore. What’s the concern?”

“If you fucking touched her-” Steve raised his hand again, gun pointing directly at Rumlow as they stood apart. “Tell me where she is.”

“Me and Russo have been talking. I think the three of us could be working together better. If you haven’t been picking off my dealers one by one, the pot could be a lot sweeter.”

“You and your drugs aren’t worthy of Brooklyn.” Steve stepped forward. “Tell me.”

“You know, I didn’t want us to meet like this.” Rumlow brought his hands up, in a faux act of surrender then slowly moved one of them forward to encourage Steve to put his weapon down. “In fact, I went through a lot of trouble to keep your pretty face away from here.”

“Not much trouble, it seems. And it sounds like you have a mole,” Steve shot back, sparing a quick glance back around the room. Russo looked away again but Steve met Castle’s eyes for a beat, then turned back to Rumlow. “Loyalty is rare around these parts.”

“Speaking of loyalty - your girl.” Rumlow stepped back and let out a long breath.

Steve matched him and stepped forward, raising his gun up once more. “If you laid one fucking hand on her–”

“I’ll tell you where she is after we chat, alright? I need a promise from you - to share the territory.”

Steve huffed, lips pursed as he scanned Rumlow’s face. “Tell me where she is.” Steve could hear Bucky shuffling behind him, metal fist clenched, growing just as impatient as Steve was.

“Nah.” Rumlow shrugged, glancing around the room. “If you won’t negotiate, my lips are sealed. I still need her, gotta clear something up with the cops. Then, I don’t know. I guess she’s nice enough on the eyes, bit thicker than what I usually go for but maybe I’ll get her to warm my bed for a–”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. Rumlow was baiting him. And god fucking damnit it worked. Steve surged ahead, letting out another growl of rage as he attacked Rumlow with his fists.

On the other side of the room, Ward slid over to kick against Bucky’s knee - angering Bucky all the same. Sam rushed in to join them at the first sound of chaos. It wasn’t quite contained and really, it didn’t come as a surprise that everyone in the room was more than prepared for a fight. Rumlow’s extra lackeys seemed more than charged enough for the action. Bucky easily took care of Ward on his own, as Sam darted between helping Steve with Rumlow and the others as Russo tried to keep his distance.

“Where is she?” Steve had Rumlow on the ground, pummeling his fists into Rumlow’s jaw. He didn’t get a response, as the sound of gunshots sounded out, ending with shards of glass flying across the floor. In a brief moment of hesitation after, Steve took in the rest of the room.

Russo had slipped out. Castle too.

“Sam!” Steve stood quickly, keeping his foot against Rumlow’s neck.

Sam hurried over and tagged in as Steve rushed through the door to follow where the other two had gone. Running towards the staircase, he looked upwards and could hear the distinct sound of hurrying feet and the slamming of a metal door.

He bounded up the stairs towards the roof.

---

The rain continued to fall, although it had at least slowed down to a cool drizzle. It didn’t mean much since you were already soaking wet, though the coat from Castle had helped. It hadn’t really fit you but the extra layer kept you marginally more comfortable, despite the fatigue and hunger setting in. Was anyone else going to check on you? Would Castle come back to help?

Did.. did Steve know what was going on? Although - how would he even find out? Fuck, you kept going over everything again and again and again. The steps you took today, the conversation you had with Sarah a few weeks ago, Steve’s last words to you at your apartment…

You wish things had gone differently. Maybe in a different life or timeline, it might have all worked out.

Gunshots.

You could hear gunshots from somewhere nearby. Downstairs in the building, maybe. Truthfully, at least up on the roof, you were away from the reality of this situation - that these people had guns and clearly weren’t afraid to use them. Up there, in the rain, you could ignore all of that.

But no, here was the glaring reminder. A few more shots sounded out then it seemed to stop. You tried to keep ignoring it, laying your back flat against the wall of the structure until you heard the door open again. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look until you heard someone barking out your name. This time the voice belonged to Russo.

A set of footsteps tracked further onto the roof, but you held your safe position. Russo finally appeared ahead of you, a scowl etched on his face. “I thought Ward tied you up. Whatever, let’s go.” He grabbed your closest wrist, urging you away from your hiding space. You tried to yank yourself away.

“Please, I don’t want to-”

“Bill - come on, can’t we just drop all this?” Frank came into your eyeline next, looking you over quickly then back towards the door. “Rogers isn’t dumb, he’ll follow us up here anyway.”

Your heart jumped at Steve’s name. He was here, he was going to get you away from this.

Russo’s grip tightened on your wrist, though he turned to look at Frank. “The plan remains the same - we need her to talk to Hammond so Rogers can land some jail time. It’s the only way we can get ahead.”

Frank let out a noncommittal sigh. “Rumlow is a fuckin’ idiot. You don’t think his plan is to screw us over later too?”

“I don’t give a shit about that right now,” Russo growled, looking back towards you. “Let’s go.”

Frank hesitated again, but didn’t argue any further. You pleaded again as they took you to the far side of the roof, where the emergency fire escape stairs were. Russo let you go momentarily as he stalked over, peering down towards the stairs.

“They should hold up, I hope” he said with a shrug, motioning his head for you to go. “Ladies first.”

You shook your head, taking a step back and glancing towards the door instead. “No, I..” You turned on your heel.

A gunshot sounded out behind you, loud and piercing. You screamed, eyes wide as you turned back. Russo was scowling again, holding his gun high as he shot it upwards into the sky. He lowered it slowly, pointing it at you directly instead. If that wasn’t enough of a warning. “Down you go. Now.”

You glanced at Frank, who remained completely stoic as he looked between you and Russo.

Suddenly, the door flew open again. You all turned to look.

A wave of relief flooded through you - it was Steve. He called your name as he walked towards you, never breaking his eye contact with you. In an instant, all your worries and doubts and everything seemed to shatter as he looked at you with such gentleness and grace.

Russo let out a hard laugh, waving his gun for a brief moment before aiming it back at you. “No time for your cute reunion. Let us walk away, Rogers.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve didn’t even bother replying to Russo, though he did stop in his tracks when he realized Russo had a gun pointed at you. But, Steve carried on, repeating your name. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, jaw shaking as you nodded.

Steve softened, for a fraction of a second. You knew he could tell you weren’t being honest. But what were you supposed to do? You were a hostage, soaking wet on a roof, with a gun pointed in your direction - no, you were not okay.

You watched as Steve transformed again, soft eyes replaced by hard lines, a tight jaw. He finally broke your gaze and turned his attention to Russo and Castle. “Let her go and we’ll all walk away from this unscathed.”

A loud laugh escaped Russo. “Right. I don’t think so. We’re walking away from this with the leverage we need.”

You watched as Steve took in a deep breath, then reluctantly put his hands up. “What do you want, Russo? Money, territory, names? What? I’ll give you whatever you want - just put your gun down and let her go.”

“You think I’m an idiot?” Russo shook his head. “No, I’m not playing this game.”

“This isn’t a fucking game,” Steve continued, reaching his hand slowly for his gun. He raised it up then just as quickly tossed it behind himself. “Please, Bill. Just leave her out of this.”

“Billy..” Frank finally spoke up too. “Let’s call it, okay? Sounds like Rogers is willing to talk and–”

“No.” Russo took a step closer to you, gun firm in hand. “No, we’re going to–”

Before you realized what was happening, you weren’t even standing on your own two feet anymore. A flurry of noises rang out around you - screaming, gunshots, shouting. Someone had wrapped their arms around you – you fell towards the ground – you landed on.. Steve. It was Steve.

He had run towards you in the action, caging you in his arms as you both landed on the rooftop together. Safe. Alive. Steve shielded you with his own body from the noise and chaos happening around you. You didn’t know who had been shooting who, if anyone escaped or made it down the fire escape. All you knew is that you were safe, in Steve’s arms.

Steve was whispering out your name, again and again, like some sort of prayer on his lips. His words were wrapped in apologies, in cries for your safety, in hushed words that begged for reassurance. As everything else seemed to quiet down, he gently pushed himself up to peer down at you.

“Sweetheart, I’m so–”

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m okay.. I’m..c-cold.”

He shook his head and quickly shifted again, standing up and helping you back to your feet, too. He shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over you. Slowly, he raised his hand and slid it down the side of your face, wiping away stray droplets of water with his thumb. His palm was warm against your cheek, you could feel his whole heart pulsing as he held you.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m–”

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice broke you both from the spell. Steve reluctantly looked away from you, pivoting slightly as he looked towards Bucky running in their direction. Across the roof, both Frank and Russo were on their knees, hands wrapped behind their backs. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around one of Russo’s biceps.

Wait, had someone shot him? It couldn’t have been Steve, he had put his gun down. Would Frank have..

Bucky leaned in slightly and mumbled into Steve’s ear, then they both looked across the roof towards the adjacent building. Bucky waved in that direction and Steve nodded, then they both turned back to you.

Before Steve could say anything else, you reached for his shirt. “Steve - you..we need to find Hercules. They said.. They..” You closed your eyes tight, head shaking as you tried to form your words. “They were going to take him somewhere to fight. I don’t know if..”

Bucky stood up tall again. He said your name firm, like a promise. “I’ll find him.”

As Bucky left, Steve wrapped his arms around you again - tighter this time. With one hand, he secured your back and the other cradled your head against his chest. He didn’t say anything and you couldn’t find any words either.

---

You were back at Steve’s apartment. You thought you’d never see those big windows overlooking Brooklyn ever again and yet, there you were. Safe.

Safe and warm, following a long shower in Steve’s guest bathroom. Stripping away your damp clothes and stealing away into the stream for longer than probably necessary had been a nice escape. Especially given that Steve had driven you back to his place in silence - though it wasn’t as awkward as before. It just felt like maybe there were things you both needed to say but couldn’t bring yourself to mention yet.

Before you had left the building earlier, Steve hadn’t let you leave his sight. Well, except for about ten minutes where Bucky hovered over you instead.

Steve brought you inside, back downstairs to that same boardroom and office space. But this time, you weren’t faced with bad guys with guns. Well, the bad guys remained but the guns were gone.

All four of them were bound and seated at a chair. Ward’s head was lolled to the side, Brock had a bloody face, Russo and Castle were mostly left without much damage. But you had a feeling that wasn’t going to last.

Steve squeezed your hand, gently turning you away from looking at them.

“Hey,” he said quietly, tipping your chin up with his thumb. “Can you tell me what happened? What they did?”

You swallowed hard, eyes wide for a moment as you considered his question. What was he going to do?

“Don’t overthink it, okay? Just tell me what you think I should know.”

You let out a breath then recounted everything. Ward ambushing you on the sidewalk, Brock threatening you, Russo joining in…

“But Frank he..” You finally spared a glance over your shoulder. Frank sat up straight in his chair, resigned to whatever fate awaited him. “He helped me. Tried to protect me, gave me his coat..”

Steve nodded, looking in Frank’s direction the same way. Steve called for Sam, then gave him another nod and Sam went to untie Frank from his chair.

It was only a few moments later that Bucky showed up with Hercules, who - thank god - looked unharmed, if a little worked up. You couldn’t help but start to cry as you broke away from Steve and rushed to your son.

But, It wasn’t lost on you how quickly Bucky led you away from the room with your dog. Or how the door shut behind you, leaving Steve and Sam in there with the rest of the men, the overlapping sounds and sounds of distress…

When you finally decided you had wasted enough water and regained all the proper feeling in your body, you shut off the water and let out a long sigh. Outside on the counter, folded neatly beside your warm towel, was some clothes you had left at Steve’s ages ago. Soft and clean layers to keep your temperature steady as you got ready for bed.

You supposed it was a choice you made - agreeing to go home with Steve instead of back to your own apartment. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep there - not tonight. And you knew Steve would insist on staying and keeping guard outside your door anyway. So it made more sense this way.

After you changed, you found Hercules waiting for you in the hallway. You could hear Steve in the living room, speaking quite passionately on his end of a phone call.

“Jim, this is the only deal I’m making. Proof of your dirty cop aside, I’m handing you Rumlow alive on a silver platter, even though I should have let him bleed out. So you have to do this for me. I don’t give a fuck about protocol..” There was a heavy pause. “Every instance of her name on any police report - gone. I don’t want her attached to any of it, do you understand? No trace of her. I don’t care - redact it or burn it. Get that done and I’ll deliver Rumlow to you in the morning. Understood?”

You knew you probably shouldn’t be listening, but it was your name he was mentioning.

“As for Russo, I’m dealing with that myself. But keep him on your radar. If you need another arrest to clench your win, you can have him once I’m done.”

You quietly slipped into the guest bedroom once you realized his call had ended. Once Hercules followed you in, you shut the door. Fuck. What happened now? Maybe you and Steve needed to talk about all of this - you definitely needed to talk about it.

You heard footsteps coming down the hallway towards the bedrooms and Steve stopped outside your door. You held your breath, wondering if he would say your name or knock. But - nothing. His phone buzzed again and he disappeared into his bedroom.

With a heavy sigh, you leaned against the door.

---

Mentally, Steve was exhausted.

Physically, his energy peaked in the midst of the action and hadn’t seemed to peter off yet.

You were safe, you were safe, you were safe.

Why couldn’t he calm down? You were one wall away, falling asleep. Safe. He got to you before anything critical happened. Christ, nothing should have happened in the first place.

Following his long frustrating phone call with Rhodes, he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to say everything that was weighing down his heart - but your door was closed and he couldn’t even find it in himself to knock.

You were probably even angrier with him than before - given that this was all his fault. But that was fine with him. He could deal with your anger if that meant you had any feelings towards him left. Anger counted.

He rinsed off in the shower then pulled on a pair of pajama pants before falling into bed, not that he was tired. His brain was wired and maybe an allnighter was in his future.

Steve sent off a few last messages to Bucky and Sam, then discarded his phone on the nightstand. He leaned back against the headboard and–

There was a knock at his bedroom door. You were knocking. He swung his legs off the bed and hurried to open the door, just as you were about to push it open yourself.

“Hi,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes in the low light streaming in from his lamp.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, scanning you for any signs of distress.

You shrugged, drawing in a deep breath. Then Steve took a step back, waving his arm to invite you in. You released your lungs slowly, nodding and following him inside. Wordlessly, he climbed into the bed and offered the open blanket to you, arms wide. You just nodded again, crawling in and finding a spot - your spot - underneath his arms.

---

CHAPTER 07 - CHAPTER 09

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