#angsty central up in here

[iwozlegit]

Now that I've got the real meaning of the meme *lmao* here I come again for this!

 ✒ + Ultra Magnus!

Send ✒ + a character for a random headcanon I have about that character!

Answering ~

|| 🍍• Ultra Magnus struggles severely to ponder his way around negative emotions and thoughts surrounding loneliness and failure.

Ironically, his own authoritative stoicalness is to blame. Ultra Magnus’s flaw is that to him, Optimus Prime is the pinnacle of leadership. Another common trope in more recent years (RID2015 I’m looking at you), is that we’ve seen characters try to embody Optimus’s leadership and missing the whole point of “Optimus’s way worked because it was Optimus doing it.” Ultra Magnus is no different. And this is why he clashes with certain characters. When you take one aspect of Optimus and make it your personality, it’s not gonna be so sweet for you (I actually do like UM btw :’) )

Just as Ultra Magnus struggled initially to adapt to Team: Prime (“much has changed since the war for Cybertron”), Ultra Magnus also initially struggled to adapt to the unfortunate loss of his servo, appearing frustratingly disheartened when Ratchet refused to clear him for duty - he felt useless; lonely. In both of these situations, someone else aided him out of his funk - Optimus in the first instance, and Wheeljack in the latter.

Tldr : Ultra Magnus is the reason he’s lonely and struggles with failure, because he hasn’t worked out that���

A.) He doesn’t need to embody Optimus Prime to be a good leader.

B.) Because of this, when failure/upheaval occurs, he hasn’t learned the value of a family or close-knit team interactions, such as Team: Prime, or the value in asking for help.

[ellecdc]

Could you please write a poly! rosekiller based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by artic monkey? Preferably with reader being in an angsty will they won’t they situationship with the boys but somehow end at least semi positively. Thank you!

thanks for your request! I've been sooooooooooooo nervous and hesitant to write Evan as a central character and this is only my SECOND TIME doing so and I've made it from his fucking POV so I'm SORRY if I did terribly don't come for me I'm tryinggggggg

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who they only call when they're high [1.4k words]

CW: descriptions of drug use and being high, discussion of past drinking/drug use, discussions of sex but nothing explicit and no sex happens (sorry y'all lol), Evan's POV and I might've fucked it up I'm sorry, angst? with a hopeful/positive ending

The blunt felt heavy between Evan’s lithe fingers as he stared unseeingly at the door.

Barty had texted you an hour ago, and there was still no sign of you. While he didn’t pretend he had any real business keeping tabs on where you were or how long it usually took for you to get from your flat to theirs, he couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on the door and his ears on alert for your text tone from his phone.

“Is she here yet?” Barty asked from his current spot, which was laying on his back in the middle of the living room with the low coffee table across his torso and his elbows propped on top of it as he scrolled through his phone.

“Fuck off.” Evan grumbled around the blunt as he took another drag.

“She should - ow, fuck - be here by now.” Barty grumbled as he tried to extricate himself from underneath the table. 

“Then text her again, J, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” Evan muttered back as he stamped out the joint and stood.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was standing for, but no sooner was he at his full height did the handle to their door twist before opening and exposing you. 

“Fucking finally.” Barty sighed in relief as he finally stood - the coffee table now halfway across the room from its intended position - and made for you. “Took you long enough, Treasure!”

He pulled you in and began kissing you messily; movements slowed and languid due to his own joint now long gone, though the smoke still sat heavy near the ceiling. 

If Evan wasn’t such a perceptive person, he may have completely missed the pained furrow of your brows when you pulled away from Barty as you disposed of your purse and shedded your jacket. 

But he was a perceptive person, and he did notice the pained furrow of your brows, and he wanted it gone.

“No hello for me, sugar?” He drawled as he stood lazily in front of his chair.

Your eyes met his for barely half a second before flitting away hastily as you took off your shoes. “Hey Ev.” 

“Right to business tonight?” Barty asked you then, tilting his head at you as he began cluing into… something that had shifted tonight. 

You did this often; the three of you, that is. 

Sometimes Barty and Evan would invite you over for some drinks and/or a smoke or two before falling into bed together. Sometimes, Barty and Evan will have already been several drinks or blunts in before they messaged you, which you often quickly agreed to as well.

But it had never taken you this long to show up before, it had never been this awkward when you showed up before, and you had never been this detached before. 

“S’why you called, right?” You replied simply, moving towards the sofa in the middle of the room as you started unbuttoning your blouse.

Which, of course they did, but what the fuck?

“Stop.” Evan said as he grabbed your hand, bringing a stop to your movements as you continued avoiding his gaze. “Would you look at me? Please?”

You let out a small breath and met his eyes - again for but the briefest moment - before your gaze fell somewhere around his cheek. 

“Treasure…if you’re not up to this tonight, we don’t have to do anything. We could just-”

“Just what, exactly?” You asked harshly then, turning in the direction of Barty and pinning him with a severe gaze. “This is what we do, right? There’s usually drinks or drugs, a phone call, and sex.” 

And…while that was technically true…what the fuck?

“So?” You asked when no one had anything to say. “Is that why you called?” Your eyes shifted to the ashtray which had a still semi-lit blunt resting in it. “Got high, check. Called me, check. So, why are we still talking about this?”

“It’s not like that.” Evan tried to argue, causing you to scoff a laugh as you held eye contact with him far longer than you had all night, which Evan would have celebrated were you not using it to glare at him. 

“It’s exactly like that, Ev. Why-” You cut yourself off and pushed the heel of your hands to your eyes.

“Why what?” Barty asked in a soft tone Evan had never heard the likes of before. 

You pulled your hands away from your face to expose an achingly pained expression and tear-filled eyes. “Why do you only call me when you’re high?” 

And even though it came out in a whisper, Evan could hear the no doubt painful tension laced in your voice.

“Treasure…”

“It’s not fair.” You continued; tears falling as you turned to look at him. “All of this,” you said as you gestured between the three of you, “has always been your doing. I never instigated these…romps because you guys are the ones in a relationship. But fuck.” 

“We didn’t- …have you wanted more from us?”

A strangled sort of sob escaped your lips as you looked to the ceiling and grabbed at your hair. “You call and I’ve never once declined, Evan. You call and I come running - how fucking humiliating, by the way - and I take what I can get, obviously. If you invite me over and I get to drink and hang out with you guys for a bit and pretend that I’m not just a fucking booty-call, great. If not, well, at least you guys thought of me, right?” You spat sarcastically. 

“Y/N.” Barty called, looking to Evan like he was just as close to the level of tears as you were. “We- I…I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well,” you huffed a laugh and sat dejectedly on the sofa before placing your head in your hands and resting your elbows on your knees, “now you do.”

The room fell to silence as Barty stared at you in horror, you worked on catching your breath, and Evan wished he hadn’t rolled that second blunt so he could at least have a fighting chance at the absolute fucking shit show this evening had turned out to be. 

“This was a mistake.” You announced suddenly, standing up. “I shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry.” 

Barty made some half-yelp, half-cursing sound as he blocked the door with his body and stared at you defiantly. “You can’t fucking leave now! Not like this?”

“Barty…” Evan warned, not wanting you feeling any more uncomfortable than you clearly already were, though also not wanting you to leave when there was obviously a lot to discuss. 

“No!” Barty shouted back at him. “No. You don’t get to show up here and dump this all on us and not give us a fucking chance to respond.” 

“Dump this on you!?” You shot back. “You created this!”

“Okay, enough.” Evan proclaimed as he moved to open a window to get the rest of the sodding smoke out of this flat, hoping that clearer air and visibility would help him think straight. He turned on a few lights for good measure as well.

“She can’t leave, Ev.” Barty nearly begged.

“Well shouting at her isn’t going to help, is it?” Evan argued as he grabbed some bottles of water from the fridge. “Sit down.”

You and Barty exchanged a glance before looking back at Evan. “Both of you.” He amended as he pointed at the sofa, handing each of you a bottle of water once you were seated before taking his own seat and opening one for himself. 

“Can you give us, like, 45 minutes to sober up so we can talk about this, properly? Please?” He sighed after finishing half the bottle. 

You had your legs crossed and your raised foot was bouncing in the air in obvious nerves, but you graciously nodded in agreement. 

“And you’re staying here tonight.” Barty added, quickly rolling his eyes when you turned to argue with him. “Not for sex, for fuck’s sake. So that you can be here with us and we can fix what the hell is going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You stared at him with your mouth open for a few moments before he - rather aggressively, if you asked Evan - grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss before putting it back down on the sofa between each of your thighs, though never actually releasing it from his grasp. 

Yes, Evan silently agreed, let’s fix whatever is going on in that pretty head of yours.

[winterarmyy]

I Knew It Then

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Words: 4.8k++

Warnings: angsty, maybe a tad too angst. a bit fluffy, if you search for it, and everything in between. non-descriptive sex scene but definitely contain adult (18+) contents. so, reader discretion.

Inspiration: @buck-star asked in a community post, “The sentence is: 'And then we were standing in front of one another again…' How would you continue it?” and this is my answer.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Bucky adjusted the sleeves of his jacket; a dark leather, matching the gloves he was wearing. Underneath was a charcoal coloured shirt; his pants was dark-wash jeans, frayed slightly at the edges. It was an effort to blend into the festive sea of people. Despite the spring air of Central Park, his style remained a mixture of shadowed past and muted present, a mix that barely fit in with the brightness of the day. 

The launch of the Avengers statues was a grand event; a reminder of battles fought, lives saved, a place for the public to show their gratitude and admiration. Honestly, in Bucky’s opinion, all of this was a little bit over the top. In which, Steve agreed. They both think that they were undeserving to be sculptured and displayed like this. 

Even the Avengers are human, excluding Thor, they were mortals; unfit to be worshipped as they are now. Yet, after being coaxed with quite a diplomatic, exaggerating speech about how ‘the people need a hero to look up to’, Steve ended up convinced. Not that it matters, but Stark was the one who gave that speech.

Nonetheless, Bucky couldn’t really object to the decision, but he did stated that he will not participate in the event with the rest of the team. And they can’t really do much about that, forcing him to will be equivalent to kidnapping and Bucky had literally filed a police report for it before. So, they won’t take their chances. 

The cheers and thundering of applause rippled through the park, filling every space with a strange blend of solemnity and celebration. Bucky lingered on the edge, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tensed beneath the weight of too many eyes while his own focused on his team on the make-shift stage near the statues. 

He preferred it here. No red carpets. No standing in front of flashing cameras with a smile that would never sit quite right on his lips.

With less aliens around and Hydra in hiding, this should have been a familiar scene; the Avengers posing and the people cheering. But for Bucky, the novelty had long worn off. The noise washed over him like waves lapping against a shore he couldn’t care to meet.

Shifting on his feet, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of his gloves, as if the urge to retreat was creeping under his skin. The cheers, the bright flashes of cameras, all blended into a muffled hum that made him wonder how soon he could slip away unnoticed.

Until he saw her.

She stood beneath the shade of a blooming cherry tree, the soft pink petals floating down around her as if nature itself wanted to frame her as a living art. 

Y/N. 

Bucky's breath was caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling. Her mere presence had left him frozen. Then, the noise of the crowd slowly fading, the applause turning duller as his heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder, louder, until it drowned out the world around him. For a few painful moments, he felt as if his heart might force its way free from his ribcage, breaking him apart in the process.

She wore that sundress again. The light fabric swayed gently with each breeze, caressing her figure, the pastel colour that reminded him of the flowers he used to get for her. It was the same dress she’d worn that day; the day he realised falling for her wasn't a choice but a reality that had already happened. He swallowed hard, memories surging in torrents. Her laughter echoed in his ears, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about things that mattered to her. 

Now however, beneath the sweet sundress and that familiar grace, there was a darkness under her eyes. Shadows etched into her delicate skin, sadness lingering; still and silent, behind the gaze that once held nothing but warmth. Bucky's jaw tightened as he took it all in, every unspoken truth laid bare on her face. He knew why; he’d heard whispers through mutual acquaintances. About the heaviness she tried to mask, about the pain she tried to live through. 

Seeing it now, in the flesh, was so much worse.

It broke him. 

Again. His chest ached, a raw wound ripped within his chest; for every moment she suffered and every part of him that couldn’t fix it. Bucky wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was as if an invisible vine had him rooted on earth, willing him to witness the toll their separation had taken on her. How ironic, he thought bitterly. For someone once considered a ghost by the world, he was all too aware of how haunting it felt to see her pain in living colour.

The bar had been crowded that night when they met, laughter and music clashing together in a storm of contagious intoxication. Bucky found his usual spot in the corner, however unusually alone this time. His shoulders hunched beneath his leather jacket; his gloved hands nursed a drink he wasn’t truly interested in. He was simply another brooding man in a bar, trying to swallow his own bitterness, trying to forget. Elena’s words, his ex’s words, echoed in his mind; taunting and cold, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.

“Mind if I sit?”

Her voice cut through the noise. He’d looked up, barely masking his surprise. The woman standing before him was... a force of nature. She didn’t wait for his permission and slid into the seat beside him, a confident smile tugging at her lips. 

She was so bright, so unapologetically there. 

It almost felt disorienting. Her eyes sparkled like she’d already decided he was interesting and wasn’t about to change her mind. “You always brood like this, or is it a special occasion?” she teased, tilting her head.

“Special occasion,” he replied dryly, a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. “Guess I’m lucky, huh?”

She laughed, loud and unfiltered, drawing curious looks. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her glass to him as if they were old friends sharing a private joke.

Bucky fought to suppress the twitch of his lips. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. “What brings you to this fine establishment?” he asked, his voice flat but not harsh. “Looking to rescue sad souls like me?”

“Rescue?” She leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Please. I’m here for the entertainment value.”

“Brutal,” he said, but he couldn’t help it; the corner of his mouth lifted. A real smile was threatening to form.

Y/N, as she introduced herself a few moments later, was a whirlwind of honesty and charm. She spoke without hesitation, as if every thought had a right to be voiced. She teased him about the gloves he refused to take off, made a biting but hilarious comment about her friend’s taste in men as she watched her and the man grinding it on the dance floor, and then, out of nowhere, zeroed in on him.

She gestured to his drink. “Let me guess. Your ex. She, or he, I don’t judge…” A tiniest smile curved on the corner of his lips. “She.” he clarified which was replied with a glint of interest in Y/N’s eyes. She nodded, “Okay, she left you for someone who didn’t know how to brood so attractively.”

Bucky choked on his drink, laughter erupting before he could help himself. It was warm and a little bashful, completely genuine. He hadn’t laughed like that in... he couldn’t remember how long.

Y/N was not expecting much tonight. She was literally dragged by her friends to ’go out, meet people, get laid’. Truthfully, she wasn’t really expecting anything more than a few hours of banter and maybe some fleeting connection, just enough to make her smile. Witty remarks, a few drinks, teasing anyone interesting enough to engage; that was her aim. 

But when she saw him, brooding in his corner, a storm trapped beneath layers of leather and cold eyes, curiosity overtook reason. She wanted to know if he would entertain her. 

And he did.

Bucky or as he introduced himself, James, was sarcasm wrapped in shadows, his words carrying a sharpness that wasn’t meant to hurt, just to deflect. She found it oddly endearing, a defence mechanism she recognized all too well. She wanted to pull more from him, so she leaned in, laughed too loudly, pressed buttons she guessed would make him react. 

At first, it was just fun.

But then he smiled. God, when he smiled, her world tilted; much against her will too. It was like the first hint of sunlight breaking through a dense, dark cloud. His laughter was warm and unpracticed, spilling out of him as if it surprised him too. The moment stretched, just for a heartbeat, but it was enough. 

Her heart momentarily shuddered. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, blooming a soft pink she couldn’t hide. So, she covered it with more wit, more charm, desperate to keep that smile there a second longer.

“I’m kidding. Kind of,” she said, eyes softening as she studied him. “But seriously, imagine missing out on you. That’s just sad at this point.”

But underneath the humour, there was a flutter of something much profound. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Her heartbeat raced and she felt exposed. How ridiculous, she thought, to be undone by a smile; a real one, genuine and imperfect, just as raw as her own attempt to draw it out.

The concept of time blurred after that. Drinks flowed, words tumbled out like secrets they didn’t know they were sharing. Banter turned into stories, laughter into pauses that spoke louder than the music blaring around them. At some point, she reached for his hand, not caring that it was gloved or why. Her fingers lingered, hesitant for half a breath, before resting there as if they’d been doing so for years. 

The air thickened and inches shrink.

When he kissed her, she found herself kissing him back with a need she hadn’t recognized before. It wasn’t about filling the void; at least, not only that. It was about the way he leaned into her touch, how he kissed like it was the last act that could hold him together. It was raw and open and imperfect and she was high on it.

Despite the fleeting, breath-stealing kisses they shared prior, Bucky had only meant to see her safely to her home. That was the plan, the line he swore he wouldn’t cross. But when her lips met his again just outside her apartment, everything unravelled. Her kiss was insistent, needy in a way that mirrored the ache deep inside him. She pulled him in, the door closing behind them, shutting out the world and any remnants of restraint he had left.

They stumbled to the bed, still fully dressed, every touch and kiss growing more urgent. Her hands found the edges of his jacket, fingers seeking to peel it away. But when she tugged, he pulled back, his breaths ragged. “Wait,” he murmured, eyes cast down. His hesitation was a stark contrast to the flames between them moments before.

She paused immediately, her gaze softening. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was gentle, careful not to push too hard but unwilling to let him slip away either.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said, the words thick, heavy.

A crease formed between her brows. “What? Your name is not James?”

The question, so genuine and earnest, pulled a laugh from him; short, almost incredulous. “No. I am James, but…” He ran a gloved hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes.

“But…?” she prompted, leaning in, her attention unwavering.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, each syllable weighted.

For a moment, she was silent. He could see her piecing it together, searching for the meaning behind his words. Then understanding dawned, slow and certain. “You’re…” she began, just as he said, “The Winter Soldier.” But what came from her lips was, “The Avenger.”

They stared at each other, the tension snapping into something fragile, almost surreal. “What?” they both said in unison, the word a mix of disbelief and irony. 

The absurdity of it cracked something inside him, and he laughed; a real, deep laugh that felt like a release. She joined him, their laughter intertwining in a way that felt like a mutual understanding. At the moment, Bucky realised that she didn’t flinch or shrink back. She met him where he was, without hesitation. He felt a pull; unsettling but oddly comforting; and, for a split second, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be different.

The humour melted into something more intense as she leaned closer, her hands found his again. “I want this, James,” she whispered, peeling away his glove. She cupped his cool, metal hand, pressing his palm against her cheek. The contrast of warmth against vibranium made his chest tighten. “I want you.” she spoke almost breathlessly; her eyes gazed up at him with an endearing plea.

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something much softer, “I want you too,” he said, his voice low, unguarded.

They moved together, shedding barriers with every kiss and touch. When their clothes finally fell away, they explored each other with as much urgency and wonder. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, almost desperate. He wanted to memorise her reactions. He wanted to give as much as he could.

It was raw and consuming, a night spent discovering each other. There was nothing mechanical, nothing detached. For hours, it was just them, bodies moving in unison and their moans and groans of pleasure mingling in a symphony that can challenge a siren’s song.

He found himself lost in her, in the way her skin felt beneath his, in the way she moaned for him. He couldn’t hold back, not when she responded to him with such hunger, her body moving against his with a need that matched his own. 

Every touch felt like a revelation, a new discovery, and he was pulled deeper into her, into the warmth and the rawness of the moment. It was as if time itself had stopped, and all that mattered was the heat of their connection.

When morning came, the light creeping in through the blinds, they lay bashfully, tangled in the sheets. For a few moments, there was only silence, a comfortable quiet punctuated by the slow return of reality. He turned to her, the words were heavy, he knew it, but he continued, “I’m not ready for… anything serious,” he admitted, hating the way it sounded, but knowing he owed her the truth.

She met his gaze, her expression soft and understanding. “That’s okay,” she said. “We don’t need to label it. It can be what it is.”

“Casual?” he asked, a hint of humour back in his voice.

She smiled, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “Casual.”

They both laughed, the sound soft and real. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough.

The next few months, their ‘casual’ arrangement became something she thought about far too often and yet tried to pretend wasn’t pressing too deep. The sex was undeniably great, almost maddeningly so. It wasn’t just the way he touched her, though that alone was enough to steal her breath; the careful, deliberate caresses that made her feel cherished and desired all at once. 

It was the way he explored her as if every inch of her, the weight of his attention, the way he moved with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or devour her. And maybe that was why it was so intoxicating; because she was falling for him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

It wasn’t just the physical connection; it was everything in between. She fell for the way he could be painfully serious one moment and then crack the most unexpected joke, a hint of dry humour lighting up his eyes. She fell for the way he made sure her tea was always brewed just the way she liked, even though he claimed to be terrible at domestic things. 

She fell for his unspoken kindness; the way he would slip a blanket over her when she fell asleep on the couch, or his habit of standing protectively between her and crowded places without even thinking about it. It was all so subtle, so Bucky, and it deteriorated her defences bit by bit.

And Bucky on the other hand, tried not to let himself be too vulnerable around her. But Y/N had a warmth that made it hard for him to stay closed off. She didn’t push; she was just; a steady, comforting presence that felt like safety. Sometimes, without meaning to, he’d spill pieces of himself. 

Like the night he told her about Elena; the betrayal, the gaslighting on how she cheated on him because of him; it was his trauma and depression that had driven her away. As if she was trying to make it worse, as if she had a vendetta to isolate him from everyone else. 

And Y/N had listened without judgement, her eyes soft with compassion. “That’s not on you,” she had whispered, her hand covering his. “She was the problem, not you.” When the weight of his past grew too heavy, she was there.

And when she opened up about her own scars; the ex who wouldn’t leave her alone, the fear that lingered in the shadows; Bucky listened, fierce protectiveness hardening his features. That night, instead of touching each other’s body, they caressed each other’s innermost scars. They’d talk late into the night; their words heavy, but never too much for the other to bear.

And ever since their dynamic was a shifting dance, effortlessly dirty and playful one minute, his lips teasing at her neck, their words to each other were dripping with sin. The next, they’d be soft and tender, his forehead pressed to hers as they simply breathed together. And then there were the quiet, deep moments; when silence spoke more than words, and they found comfort just in being close, in the simple act of not being alone. 

It was everything, all tangled together, and it made it so easy, too damn easy, to fall in love with him. She knew she shouldn’t, but with Bucky, it felt inevitable.

Then, one in those blissful days, after another night of incredible sex, Bucky laid beside her, his chest still heavy with the aftermath of their intimacy. His eyes traced the soft curves of her form as she rested, her skin glowing in the dim light. 

She looked almost ethereal; untouchable, like something too perfect for him. The weight of her presence next to him was both comforting and painful, tightening his chest with a longing he couldn’t name. Shifting slightly, he cleared his throat, his voice rough when he finally spoke, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I’m going back to Elena,” he confessed, the statement hanging heavily in the air. 

For a moment, there was something in his eyes; a flicker of hesitation, of conflict, as if he desperately wanted to hold onto what they had, as if saying the words was a battle he was losing with every breath. 

But whatever war raged within him never fully translated in the way she saw him. To Y/N, his words felt resolute, laced with a kind of tenderness that made it hurt even more. He seemed sorry; deeply, genuinely. But the weight of his decision pressed down between them, undeniable.

She went still for a moment and he could feel the tension radiating from her. The way her body seemed to freeze, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t respond at first, her gaze distant, focusing somewhere far away as though she needed a moment to process. Bucky’s chest felt heavy with the weight of his own words, the urge to take them back gnawing at him. 

Yet he kept his expression neutral, as if none of this hurt him. He needed to see this through, even if every second felt like he was tearing himself apart. “This…being here with you, touching you like this… this will be the last time,” he added, the sound of his voice was low but remained adamant.

Y/N had always known, somewhere deep down, that this day would come. They had both agreed that what they had was casual, temporary, nothing more than a passing thing. They had agreed their connection was fleeting; simply a series of borrowed moments. But even as she tried to convince herself it was fine, she knew better. 

Nothing about what they shared was truly casual. They’d been there for each other in ways no one else had. When the world had been cruel to him, scrutinising him for his past as the Winter Soldier, she’d been his quiet strength, the one who never judged him, never flinched. And when her own demons resurfaced, casting shadows over her life; he’d been the one there, standing between her and her doom. He had been her rock, just as she had been his. 

They were each other's strength, each other's solace.

'Has it ever really been casual?' But she couldn’t voice those thoughts. She wouldn’t burden him with her feelings when he already carried so much of his own. She wouldn’t beg for more than he could offer. 

With a soft breath, she forced herself to smile, her fingers brushing over his cheek, committing every moment to memory before it slipped away. “Will this make you happy?” she asked, her voice steady, though pain lingered beneath the surface.

Bucky’s heart twisted, but he nodded, the lie coming too easily. “Yes,” he said, his voice lacking conviction even as he tried to seem sure. He averted his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see past the facade.

Her smile wavered, but she fought to hold it in place. She wanted to show him that she was fine, that she wasn’t falling apart. But as she pressed her smile into place, a single tear slipped from her eye, tracing a quiet path down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, but it was already there; a silent confession of the pain he couldn’t see.

“Then, I guess this is goodbye,” she whispered, barely audible.

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm against his lips. And then she kissed him; softly, deeply, as if it would be their last.

Because, in this moment, it felt like it was.

The days blurred into weeks, and then months, each one dragging by with a dull ache that Y/N couldn’t shake. She buried herself in work, refusing to let her mind linger on what she’d lost. When that wasn't enough, she picked up freelance gigs; anything that kept her mind too occupied even thought about pain and the aching emptiness Bucky’s absence had left behind. 

It was easier that way; easier to drown in deadlines and endless to-do lists than to confront the hollowness. And through all this time, there were not a single call, or texts from Bucky. Just silence. Rationally, she knew it was for the best. He was a hero, after all; his life pulled him in a thousand different directions. And she told herself she was fine.

But late at night, when the world grew quiet, she could still feel it; the loss that crept into her bones and refused to let go. Most of the time, she'd catch herself staring at the ceiling, replaying the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at her as if she were his whole world, even if just for a moment. She tried to shake it off, to convince herself that it was all just an illusion, but the hole in her chest ached too deeply to ignore.

Time passed. The headlines told of his deeds; how he saved countless lives, how the public finally began to accept him, to see him not just as a relic of violence and pain, but as a hero. She should’ve felt proud. Maybe, on some level, she did. But every article, every broadcast, every mention of him only twisted the knife deeper. 

At times, she’d pause whatever she was doing when his name flashed across the screen. It was a reflex, a sudden, uncontrollable urge to reach for something she could never have. She’d feel her chest tighten, her emotions were a blend of pride and pain. Why did she feel like this, like she wasn’t needed, like she was somehow unwanted by the man who had once looked at her like she was everything?

Even then, she couldn’t help but feel proud. No matter how much it hurts, she was happy for him. She remembered the sleepless nights when his past came alive in nightmares; when he’d thrash and murmur apologies with a voice cracked by guilt. She could still feel the weight of him in her arms as he clung to her in the dark, his breath shuddering against her neck, whispering, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” The memory of it made her chest ache; the rawness of his pain had always cut her deep, but it had also made her want to be his safe place, his haven.

She thought of those nights often. The way he’d hold her as if she were a shield against the ghosts that hunted him, how he’d bury his face in her shoulder to block out the world’s judgement. She’d whispered reassurances, stroked his hair, and wished she could take away every ounce of his pain. Seeing him now, standing tall, saving lives, and slowly being accepted by the world; it filled her with a bittersweet pride. 

He deserved every bit of recognition, every chance to rebuild himself.

But the cost of that pride was the deep loneliness that came with it; the reminder that he was out there saving the world while she was left to save herself from missing him. She wanted to be enough, to be the one he leaned on, but it was clear now that his path led somewhere she couldn’t follow. So she pushed forward, forced herself to be strong, and told herself that being happy for him was enough.

When the crowd at the Central Park continued to roar with excitement, time seemed like it stopped for Bucky and Y/N. And then they were standing in front of one another again, the air between them held a weight, as if every word left unspoken all those nights was pressing against the space between them. Bucky’s eyes flickered; momentarily shocked, yet he didn’t falter. 

Even then, Y/N saw it. She saw the look in his eyes that she knew too well, the look he had when it was just them, wrapped up in stolen hours that no one knew about. She forced a smile, warm and soft, the very same that she used to give him in those silent times, when their skins were pressed against each other, and everything else didn't matter. 

His heart ached with a need he thought he’d buried. He thought he had let her go. He kept telling himself he was not in love, that she was just someone to keep his bed warm, to fill the empty space his past had left behind. At least, that was what he told himself, over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the edges of the truth.

But deep down, he knew it was a lie; a desperate deception crafted to shield him from the vulnerability clawing at his walls. He was not fooling anyone, not himself at least. Each night he spent denying the way his pulse quickened at the thought of her touch, each time he claimed he felt nothing, the thin layer of defence cracked beneath the weight of untold longing. It was easier to lie, to pretend he didn’t care, than to face the reality that she had carved her place inside him, far deeper than he wanted to admit.

Now, seeing her again, smiling at him as if it didn't shatter her heart when he left, it was like he’d been hollowed out. 

And the time that seemingly stopped, abruptly resumed to its pace when they walked past each other. No words crossed their lips, but their eyes spoke a language that was theirs alone; a language that carried echoes of every touch, every laugh, every shared moment.

‘I miss you,’ their gazes whispered, even as the distance between them widened with each step.

They kept walking.

That night, Bucky found himself in front of her apartment. When she opened the door, it was as if she was expecting someone. Not him, but someone. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him standing there, broad shoulders taut and expression unreadable. 

For a second, neither of them spoke. The sight of her; dressed in a fitted dress that draped elegantly over her figure, accentuating every line and curve, stole the air from his lungs. It was the kind of dress she used to wear when they’d go out on a date, the kind that never failed to send his thoughts swirling in the gutter. No thoughts, just lust. 

She looked stunning. Ethereal even. But, painfully out of reach.

Y/N blinked. Shock, confusion, and hurt flashing in her eyes, as if the memories of what they’d had; and how it ended, came crashing back all at once. “Hey… James. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tight and Bucky was never used to it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting to her lips and lingering there longer than he intended. “Out for a date?” he murmured, evading her question, the words tasting like lead.

“Yeah…Kind of.” she replied, guarded. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Finally, he spoke again, his voice a low rasp. “Can I come in?”

She studied him warily, the hurt in her eyes morphing into something sharper. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, James.”

“Please,” he said, and the desperation in his tone softened her resolve just enough. She stepped aside reluctantly. “You gotta be quick,” she said, almost dismissively. “Josh is on the way.”

The mention of another man’s name was like a knife twisting in his chest. Bucky forced himself to stay still, to not let his expression betray him, but inside, he felt raw, the bitterness coiling deep.

Once inside, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier between them. “Talk,” she said flatly.

He paced, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t real,” he started, voice thick. “Me and Elena getting back together; it was a mission. She was suspected of being a mole.” he paused as he studied her reaction, ” We couldn’t risk telling you. We had to make it look real. ”

She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, as if trying to grasp the whirlwind of his sudden appearance. “You’re here for that? To explain yourself?” There was incredulity in her voice, mingled with raw, exhausted pain that came from reopening old wounds.

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice was firm but edged with something close to desperation. “We managed to capture her.” He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. “We had to keep the mission under wraps, Y/N. We couldn’t risk word getting out… not after what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. We couldn’t have another Hydra situation, or anything that even looked like it.”

He paused, the tension in his jaw tightening. “It turns out her plan was to isolate me. To make me even more vulnerable than I already am, before they…” His words faltered, heavy and incomplete, as if finishing the sentence would make it all too real. 

But he didn’t need to say more. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, the realisation clear in her expression. She was smart; too smart not to piece it together. She knew what Bucky feared most. He’d be dragged back into Hydra’s grasp, or worse, used as a pawn by some other twisted organisation. 

It was a fate too cruel to name, and he could see in her eyes that she already understood.

Her brow furrowed, processing everything Bucky had explained thus far. A mixture of confusion and anger flitting across her features. “So that was it?” she demanded. “I was just collateral damage?”

“No,” he said quickly, the word breaking from him like a plea. “No. It wasn’t like that. I wanted to protect you. We all did.” He hesitated, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I did.”

She scoffed, a bitter edge cutting through her words. “Unbelievable. I smiled at you one time, James—one time—and you think you can just come back into my life like you own it?”

The accusation hung between them, and the depth of her frustration was like a dam bursting. He recoiled slightly, horrified by the thought that he’d hurt her so deeply. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is. I didn’t want to just—”

She cut him off with a sharp, biting word. “Bullshit!” The accusation hit him like a physical blow, but he pressed on, desperation bleeding into his tone. “I just wanted to tell you the truth,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “That it was all fake.”

“Fake?” She echoed the word with a harsh, bitter laugh that rang with disbelief. It stung him, sharp as a slap across the face. “It looked pretty damn real to me, James. You don’t think I saw the pictures? The headlines? How you were with her?”

“It was a cover, Y/N. I didn’t have a choice.”

Her eyes flashed, anger and betrayal burning bright. She took a step toward him, as if the weight of her hurt couldn’t be contained. “You didn’t have a choice? You had a choice when you came to me, when you told me it was over. When you ripped my heart out, did you have a choice then?”

Bucky flinched, the impact of her words like a physical blow, but he held his ground. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By hurting me?” Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. “By tearing me apart?”

Silence crashed over them, heavy and suffocating. Her chest heaved, each breath ragged. “By leaving me behind?” she whispered, her words dripping with the weight of every unspoken wound. “By pretending like what we had meant nothing?”

He stepped closer, the space between them suffocating and electric. “It wasn’t nothing,” he said, his voice quivering. “It was everything. You were everything.”

She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “I don’t believe you.”

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached for her face, cupping her cheeks as though she were something fragile. His thumb brushed away her tears, his touch reverent, aching. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed, the confession breaking through the dam of his restraint. “From the start, when we laughed about that ridiculous introduction; me, calling myself the Winter Soldier and you insisting I was an Avenger—I knew it then.”

He swallowed hard, blinking through tears. “But it wasn’t just that. It was how you saw me; not the killer, not the broken man, but me. The way you’d smile at me, like I was worth something. The nights you stayed awake, holding me when I couldn’t breathe, when the nightmares felt too real. The way you’d whisper that I wasn’t alone. No one ever did that for me. No one.”

He paused, the rawness in his expression deepening. “I knew it was too late when I realized I’d been in love with you for a while. It hit me that day at Sally’s, remember?” His voice grew softer, distant with memory. “It was spring. You wore that sundress you bragged about getting for next to nothing at a thrift store. The sunlight made your hair glow, and you laughed at something ridiculous; a dog chasing bubbles, I think. I couldn’t stop looking at you. It wasn’t just the dress or the moment. It was the way you made everything feel… lighter. Like I could breathe again. Like the past didn’t own me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb tracing along her jawline. “I realized then that I was in deep. That it was more than just a moment. And it terrified me, because I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin you.” His voice cracked, weighted with a mix of love and regret.

His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, the tears spilling over. “It’s the way you laugh, the way you fight for everyone you care about. How you make me feel like I’m more than my past… God, I tried so hard to keep you safe. Even if it meant pushing you away. But it killed me, Y/N. Every day.”

She stared at him, stunned and raw, her own tears falling. His hands cradled her face gently, his touch trembling. “I love you,” he said again, more desperately. “I love you for every moment you gave me hope when I thought I couldn’t be saved. I love you for being there, even when I didn’t deserve it. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

He leaned in, their faces inches apart, his tears mixing with hers as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, feeling the sincerity in every broken syllable. For a heartbeat, it seemed she would turn away. But then, her voice cracked, trembling with everything she’d buried. “I love you too,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I never stopped.”

His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling, raw and vulnerable. Slowly, their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, a kiss that spoke of everything they had denied and everything they still longed for. In each other’s touch, everything else faded, leaving only the truth between them.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: i was planning to do a descriptive smut scene at first, but after piecing everything from my draft and re-reading the overall flow, i don't think it's suitable to include it in this. perhaps another time, a side/extra story maybe. i hope y'all okay with that and enjoy your reading 🥺

[bunnliix]

When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Seven

This was quite the angsty chapter to write, honestly, but it was fun after yesterday's cliffhanger.

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader  Summary: We see the aftermath of the photos, and y/n has an interesting day, though the day isn't quite over yet. wc: 2.6k AU: a/b/o  Genre: Fluff/Angst  warnings: angst, sudden wake up calls, references to twitter not being nice, Dispatch (yes Dispatch is a warning), San being worried, violence, injuries, head injuries, though not described in lots of detail, medical attention, hospitals, talking about injuries being treated though not in great detail, Wooyoung feeling guilty, fighting, derogatory language (fucktoy, being called a toy, whore), slapping, lots of cursing, rude and sexist-ish questions being asked of y/n, this chapter is just angst central with a decent amount of violence, y/n is being slutshamed as an omega, mentions to omegas going through slutshaming, and Seonghwa and Wooyoung in particular, I think this is everything? Yes I know there's a lotta warnings this chapter. masterlist

San was sleeping peacefully, having a nice dream of his pack before he was shaken awake. 

“San-ah, wake up!” Seonghwa said, shaking the younger man awake.

“Hmm? Seonghwa-hyung, what’s going on? Did I sleep in?” He said, voice still full of sleep.

A phone was shoved into his face, and he blinked blearily, eyes still barely open. It took him a couple moments before he could see anything on his hyung’s phone, but once he was able to, his eyes were wide with shock.

“What? How did Dispatch get these photos?” He asked Seonghwa, concerned.

“An anonymous source. Who somehow had access to KQ and took these photos yesterday. Twitter is going wild over it, so don’t check it. Or any Instagram comments either. Pack Alpha’s orders.” Seonghwa informed him.

San became concerned once his Luna told him about Hongjoong’s orders. Hongjoong never usually forbade them from visiting social media, so for him to do so was very worrying.

“What’s going on with the company? What are we doing now?” He questioned.

“They’re bringing in the auditionees for a talk. They’re not sure who it is, but the concern it’s one of the cut auditionees who are unhappy over how attached some of us have gotten with y/n.” He explained to San.

“How do they still have access to the building?” San asked, concerned for their safety now if potentially scorned people have access to them because of the company’s negligence.

“They’re figuring it out. They’ll be restricting access to our areas of the company until they find out who exactly it was. No one that doesn’t need to be in or out of our studios, and our regular dance studio will be locked when we’re not in it.” Seonghwa said, taking this breach of privacy very seriously as it affected his pack members.

Wooyoung burst into the room, having heard most of it from outside of the room, and was frustrated that this was happening.

“What the fuck? They’re ripping her apart on twitter. This isn’t fucking fair to her, nor to us. She shouldn’t have to deal with this because someone took pictures of her while they rested during a dance practice!” Wooyoung yelled, which definitely woke San up if he hadn’t been awake before that.

“Wooyoung, calm down. There’s nothing we can do right now. We’ve been told to stay here at our dorms. We won’t be needed at the company today. “ Seonghwa tried to calm the younger omega, letting out a calming scent to try and soothe the omega’s anger.

It didn’t work. “Don’t you try and calm me down!” He yelled at the elder, “You should be pissed off too, they’re slut shaming her and going after her subgender, and you know that that’s like. Fuck, we both know what’s that’s like, we’ve lived through it!” Wooyoung screamed at Seonghwa, before darting out of the room, ready to risk the company and Hongjoong’s anger just to find a way to get to y/n and comfort her. She didn’t deserve this treatment, no one did. And he doubted any of the others had gone through anything remotely similar to this, and so she needed someone who’s been through this before. And if Hwa-hyung wouldn’t do it, he would.

“Where are you going?” Mingi asked him, having just entered the dorm.

“Going to see y/nnie, she needs someone by her side right now.” Wooyoung said, not looking at Mingi while he put on his jacket and shoes.

“Yeah, you’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.” Mingi decided, knowing that letting the youngest go alone would be a stupid idea.

“I’m fine to go alone! I don’t need you to come.” Wooyoung grumbled, until a hand came to rest on the back of his neck.

“I am going with you, or I’ll scruff you and make sure you don’t leave the dorm. Got it?” Mingi told him in a no-nonsense tone of voice which made Wooyoung shiver.

“Got it, alpha.” Wooyoung said, calming down a bit because he knew if he didn’t, he would be relegated back to the pack den and not allowed to leave unless supervised. Then he’d never get to y/n.

“Let’s go then.” Mingi said, having not taken his shoes off yet, so he was ready to go immediately.

Time Skip back to earlier this morning in the auditionee dorms…

Y/n slept peacefully, until shouts from somewhere else in the apartment woke her up. She stumbled out of bed, throwing on a sweatshirt as she walked to find the source of the noise. It didn’t take long until she found it, a group of the others crowded around a phone. They heard her come in, and before she could process it, she was suddenly looking away from the group. One of the female betas had slapped her. 

“You’re a fucking whore. I bet you’re letting them use you, just so you can become their ninth member. You really think they’ll want you around for more than just a fucktoy? You’re delusional if you think you’re anything more than a toy for them to play around with, and throw away when they get bored of it.”

Y/n felt tears in her eyes but blinked them away, because showing any form of weakness right now, could end with more violence.

“That is your opinion. Though I wouldn’t advise telling that to the members of the group we all have the chance to join. Now I believe we should be getting ready to head to the company, yes? Not standing around reading tabloid news.” She said, before turning around and leaving. But not before she felt something hit the back of her head, feeling the pain bloom from the spot she was hit. But she didn’t want to give them the win by turning around and getting angry at them, so she just continued walking away. 

She ignored any other noises in the dorm as she got ready, waiting for the staff to pick them up. It wasn’t long before a staff member came to their door, directing them to the cars, and Aaron hopped into the seat next to y/n.

“What’s with the images? Like what was going on?” He asked her, curious.

“I was simply taking a break after running choreo and they sat down with me to keep me company, that’s all. There was another staff member in the corner keeping an eye on us, I wasn’t alone with them.” She explained herself honestly but kept it to the point.

“So like you weren’t seconds away from doing anything with them? Even though you’re an omega?” Aaron rudely asked, which made y/n turn to him with a pissed off look.

“No, and I better not hear you ask me things like that again. It’s stereotypical, and you should know that’s fucking offensive. Do I ask you if you do stereotypical beta things? No. So don’t ask me shit like that again.” She told him off, before looking away from him and down at her phone, which was filled with notifications as people found her social media profiles. She quickly moved to turn them private, and tried her best to hide them, while posting for her close friends and family to not believe anything they see online. She spent the rest of the ride ignoring anything happening in the rest of the van.

Once they pulled up to the company, she was one of the first out of the vehicle, though today they weren’t guided to either the practice room, or a studio. Instead they were guided further into the company and into a conference room, where she was kept outside and pulled aside by who she recognized as one of Ateez’s managers.

“First. You don’t need to worry about any accusations from the company about any inappropriate actions, as a staff member was there the entire time. So please know that none of this is your fault, nor the fault of Ateez. We’re deviating from a normal plan today, to try and figure out if any of the others are the cause of this. There’s also suspicion it could be any of those who have been cut, as we have not been as strict on barring them from the company, to which we apologize.” He apologized to her, bowing.

“No no, you didn’t know this would happen, so I don’t blame you. I understand that it’s not an easy job, and the situation you’ve now been placed in doesn’t help.” She replied, being way too understanding, despite the fact that their negligence has resulted in violence against her by her fellow auditionees.

“Is there anyone that you suspect could have done this? Anyone that’s been unfriendly to you?”

“Everyone except Aaron has been unfriendly to me since Seonghwa pulled me away from the group that first day. They believe I’m getting unfair treatment by being able to spend time with the boys one-on-one. So it could be any one of them. I’m sorry I’m not much help.” She said, carefully hiding the fact of what happened that morning.

“Okay, well thank you for letting us know, regardless.” The manager thanked her, “If you want, you can go ahead and head to the practice room if you would like to get some extra practice in. Though the boys won’t be joining you, they’ve been told to stay away from the company for today while we sort things out.” He informed her as she nodded.

“That makes sense, and yes, I’ll head there and practice for a while.” She told him, and he waved her on as the staff that had stayed outside, entered alongside him into the conference room.

She made her way down to the practice room, finding it unlocked. She entered, putting her bag down next to the mirror before starting to stretch and warm up for another rigorous practice. She intended to practice the two choreographies from yesterday, wanting to perfect them so she could show them off to Yunho and San next time. She got into the zone, almost unaware of everything else going on around her. Once warmed up, she ran through the two dances back to back, until she couldn't do anything further, out of energy. She plopped down onto the floor, trying to regulate her breathing as she reached out for her water bottle. She was drinking water to rehydrate, when the door behind her slammed open.

“Baby omega!” Was all she heard before she was tackled onto the ground, hitting her head once again, and she groaned at the impact.

“Wooyoung, we don’t tackle people.” Mingi scolded the hyperactive omega, before pulling him off of y/n so she could sit up again.

She held a hand to the back of her head, and when she pulled it away, there were traces of blood on her palm. She looked down at it, processing the injury on her head, until her hand was harshly pulled out of her view as she heard a whine.

“Baby, did I hurt you? Oh gosh I’m so so sorry!” Wooyoung apologized, worry in his voice before he pulled her into his hold. “Mingi, we need to get her to a doctor!”

“I’m fine, it’s just a tiny wound. I’ll be okay if I wash it out.”

That was before she felt a hand examining her wound. “You need to see a doctor. This isn’t a minor cut.” Mingi said, with a very matter of fact-like tone.

“What?! Oh gosh we need to see a doctor now! Mingi, pick her up and let’s go!” Wooyoung panicked, as Mingi decided it was easier to follow the younger member’s instructions. He picked her up, resulting in a shocked squeak from her as Wooyoung marched the three of them out of the dance room, and out of the company as a whole. As Wooyoung walked over to the alpha’s car and opened the door, the taller man placed y/n gently into the back seat, the other omega having moved to sit in the back next to her. Mingi shut the door, rounding the car and getting in the driver’s seat, before driving to the hospital.

Wooyoung was glad that his fellow pack mate hurried to the nearest hospital. Once they arrived, the same situation happened as y/n was picked up and hurried into the ER, where due to it being an open head injury, she was quickly taken to the back after being registered. To the worried omega’s relief, it wasn’t as serious as it could have been, as the nurses cleaned out the wound before closing the cut and covering it with a bandaid.

“Thankfully, it wasn’t more serious, but be careful washing your hair until the wound is fully closed up, we don’t need it getting infected.” The nurse informed her after she finished. “You are so lucky to have such a nice alpha and fellow omega to bring you here so quickly. Another nurse will be in with papers, and then you’ll be able to leave.” She smiled at all of them before leaving, as y/n tried and failed to correct her in time.

Wooyoung pulled the girl close. “I’m so glad that it wasn’t anything really serious. How long have you had that wound?”

“This morning.” She said quietly. She didn’t need the other omega to go on a warpath against the others.

“This morning!? Who did that to you? Tell me their name. Now.” Wooyoung demanded, moving to stand in front of her.

“It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. It will be dealt with.” She told them, not wanting them to butt into this.

“Wooyoung is right. If it’s one of the others, or anyone else from the company, we can help you with this.” Mingi told her, moving to kneel in front of her. “We may have met not long ago, but we would feel guilty if we weren’t able to help resolve something that may have stemmed from something we’ve done.” He said, trying to get her to see that they just wanted to help.

“It was one of the female betas. She got upset this morning and slapped me. And I assume she’s also the one who threw whatever caused the wound.” She gave in, telling them.

“How fucking dare she. You get slutshamed all over the internet and she does that? Nah she’s fucking out of here right now. I don’t want anyone who will assault others.” Wooyoung said, pulling out his phone to call their manager, moving away from her.

“Has anything else happened because of what was released this morning?” Mingi asked her gently.

“Nothing I haven’t already handled.” She assured him.

Wooyoung quickly returned. “She’s been handled. Turns out she very quickly devolved into insulting you, for a variety of reasons and admitted to hurting you this morning. She’s already been kicked out, and will shortly be headed back to the airport for a flight back to wherever she came from, I didn’t care to listen.”

Thankfully, it was only a couple minutes more until the other nurse arrived with her paperwork, and after a few signatures, she was cleared to leave. This time, Wooyoung carried her, refusing to let her walk despite it not being a leg or foot injury.

“We’re going back to the den.” Wooyoung said, with no room for arguing. Mingi sighed, before driving the three of them back to the pack dorm, or well the largest of the three dorms, so the de-facto pack dorm. This was going to be interesting. Wooyoung had never liked another person, let alone another omega so much that he would bring them back to the pack den. Mingi was sure that this would result in some very surprised pack members.

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Taglist is: open!

[theprenderelliepalace]

Not Her

☆•Five x Reader•☆

TAU S4 AU

Summary: Imagine you're the version of Dolores that kept Five sane when he got stuck in the future for 45 years, but you died before Five could save you. So what will he do when your face is the first he sees on the infamous train of time?

Warnings: Grammatical errors, s4 spoilers(!), mentions of character death, no use of y/n, cannon divergence (thank gosh), mentions of self-h*rm, enemies to you know what, angsty central, fighting, swearing etc.

Words: 2.1k (enjoyed writing this a little too much)

•☆•

You could barely remember why you landed up in this neverending subway station anymore. Time after time, arriving at the same moment, it became numbing. The rattling of the train on the tracks an aching lull that pulled you into the darkest corners of your mind. Your dreams were fitful and strange, swirling shapes howled around you, calling you, shaming you.

You woke with a start. The train was at a standstill again, you could make out the debris of another apocalyptic timeline beyond the hazy glass of the cabin. The doors opened, you sighed, your head falling against your knees. You considered the end then. The blissful hum of death beckoned you more than you'd ever known before. The same moment over and over, you couldn't go on like that... It only took a moment, you thought, for it to be done.

Suddenly you heard a noise. A voice. You looked up, startled. It was a man's voice, calling out into the station. Your first instinct is to reach for the knife strapped to your boot. Your hand quivers over the handle, you duck under the benches, inching towards the door. You hide beside the door, waiting for intruder to take his first steps into the cabin. You'll surprise him, it'll be quick and painless.

You itch for the conflict, it's something new, something different from the mundane station to station. It's almost exciting. Being trapped down here for so long, you've forgotten the horror you used to feel for the art of killing. You almost laugh, but steal yourself. Your favorite person in the world used to say that. Like it was a sport. You used to hate him for that, the very notion disgusted you.

Except now, you weren't any different from the Five Hargreeves you'd come to love and hate in the tumbling pattern of a toxic relationship you'd run away from.

The doors slid open. You readied yourself, shifting on your haunches. He stepped fully onto the train, the doors sliding closed behind him, sealing his fate. You artfully stepped out from your hiding place. Your breath hitched, your footsteps dead-silent. You lunged.

Your opponent was too slow. His surprise would be your advantage. You slammed him against the opposite bench. Pressing your knife to his throat. You used your weight to leverage him, ensuring he was ensnared I'm your trap. You made to swipe your wrist, ending his life, but you faltered.

"Fi-Five?" You croak. Your eyes widened, your breath shook. He pushed you off him, sending you hurtling into the doors of the train. You slammed into them with a force that took your breath. You crumpled to the floor. The shock of the blow rendering you dumbstruck.

"Who the hell are you?!" He yelled. His eyes were the eyes you dreamed of so many nights, those loving eyes, those terrifying eyes. They looked at you with so much contempt now. "Talk. Now. Or you die." You hadn't registered him pulling out a small caliber 45 from the holster at his waist. He pointed it straight at your head, unwavering.

"Five..." You sounded desperate, you hated yourself for it, but the need to have him close to you, to be your Five, it was all consuming.

His eyes flickered. His hands shook. "Why do you look like her?" He whispered. You were sure the question wasn't meant for you, but in that moment all yours were answered.

You carefully raised your hands over your head, getting shakily to your feet. "I'm not your version of her." You lowered your head, the false hope that this man had been your Five was shattered, your heart became heavier than before, almost like you lost him all over again. "And you're not him..." You whispered.

"Dolores?" He sounded so confused, so hurt.

You glanced up at him. "I don't go by that anymore. It- it was too painful." You shouldn't be telling this Five anything about yourself, but you can't help it, he's that sick son of a bitch any way you look at him and he's also the man you'd die for twice on Sundays. You can't help the way your heart pulses uncomfortably in your chest as his gaze bores into your soul.

Your new name roles off his tongue like bile. He spits at you like he's angry you made him say it. His gun is quivering in his hands. You can tell his resolve is crumbling. His eyes are wild but still searching yours, willing you to be telling the truth.

You take a daring step towards him, suddenly feeling slightly braver. You shouldn't get involved, you should kill him and forget this ever happened. You should make him hold you again. You're so conflicted it's making your head spin. You reach his outstretched hands, he's watching you so closely it's making you squirm, but he's motionless save for his hands.

You place a gentle palm over the gun, lowering it. He watches you with overflowing sadness. You suddenly think that he must wish you were the right version of you just as badly. He must long for your touch in the same way, dream of your absence the same way you do. He's breathing heavily as your bodies touch, only for a moment but moments feel like lifetimes to you now.

"What is this place?" He chokes, eyes still boring into yours.

"It's a kind of waypoint. The same moment in time across an infinity of timelines." You pause, your hand still gently resting over his. "You need to get off the train Five." You say it like you don't really register the words leaving your mouth and then suddenly it clicks. You grip his hands hard, he pulls back. "You need to get off this train. NOW."

You grab his forearm and begin to pull him towards the doors, they open as you get closer when suddenly he pulls away from you again. You turn to watch him shake his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "What about you?"

"I don't matter! Five, if you don't blink out of here now... you'll... you'll be stuck here forever." He's standing there as stubbornly as stone, brows furrowed. "Please Five. Please do this for me!" You gasp as you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks.

"But you-"

"I'm not her! Don't make that mistake. Please, if you ever cared about your version of me, you'll go back to honor her." You interrupt.

"What's honor without a little daring?" He smiles, like he's letting you in on a joke you don't understand.

The train begins to rattle beneath your feet. The strange echos of the voice over the loud speaker begins to boom overhead. You look at him pleadingly, begging him to listen to you. "Dammit Five!" And before you can tell him off, he's pulling you out of the train. You scream as you tumble to the ground but you can barely blink before a mass of energy sucks you into it. You're pulled and prodded and stretched and suddenly you're in the Umbrella mansion, panting.

"I'm gonna be sick." You keel over, Five catches you, pulling you into him.

"Shh. Shh." You almost laugh, to the untrained eye, Five seems to be helping you through your queasy spell, you however, know that he's telling you to shut your mouth.

"Five?" Someone calls from the upper levels of the house. Now that you're looking at it, it's a complete hazard. Floor boards are sticking out of the floor, dust coats the little art work that's still left, the windows are cracked and glazed over. No one's lived in this house for a very long time.

"We have to hide you." He panicks, shoving you out the front door and into the street. He leads you around the house and into a nearby alley.

You groan, your stomach giving a painful lurch. You stop in your tracks, leaning against the closest thing you can find, which happens to be a dumpster. "Two things. First, never, EVER, blink me again. Ever."

"I-"

"SECONDLY, why the hell do I have to hide if you're the one that brought me back to your timeline?!" You'd be angrier, but your queasy stomach and aching brain aren't making it happen.

He sighs, like you've just given him news that he can't wear his favorite suit. "Look, I saved your ass. A thanks Five would be great."

Arrogant little prick. "No thank you. I was fine where I was." You lie. "And you're changing the subject!" He averts his eyes from yours.

"I couldn't leave you, but we have history and well, my family can be rough around the edges when it comes to history." You feel your anger slowly ebb. You remember your Fives family, suddenly hiding behind a dumpster doesn't seem so bad.

"'Kay fine. Fine. Im here now and for what? Because you couldnt let go! God, all you Fives are the same!" He recoils as though you slapped him, you might as well have but what right does he have to bring you here against your will, to control you and pester you like he always does, to save you from suicide. You sigh, deflating. "I'm sorry. That was tactless. I'm angry."

"Thanks, I figured that out. Look, if you want to get back on that train be my guest, but I think I need your help. So, help me?" His voice cracks and you can't help the tug it has on your heart. "If your Five was anything like me, you know it's not easy for us to ask for anything." He gives you a look. "Come on, don't make me say it again..."

You stand up straight, giggling. "Okay Five. I'll help you. But then you help me. Deal?" You square each other up, measuring, testing, it's almost familiar to you.

"Deal."

•☆•

The next few days were, in your humble opinion, absolutely insane. You tried to do things off the books with Five, you really did, to hunt down this Jennifer girl, to help Five get on top of his reawakened powers and then it all went to shit, in other words his family found out.

Now you're driving in a busted up van full of people who hate you for reasons you dont understand all the way to some mystery town to find some guys missing daughter. It's uncomfortable to say the least.

Now that you've been puked on, you've about had enough. "Hey, uh, Diego, can we stop for a second..."

"Don't talk to my brother." Alison barks. You glance at her.

"Should I write him a letter instead?" You seethe. Klaus laughs from beside you which causes the others the groan bitterly.

Diego pulls the van off to the side of the road, allowing for a mass exodus of the Hargreeves family onto the snowy highway. There's bickering and moaning, but you're not really listening to them because Five is staring at you, burning holes into your head.

You sigh. "Something on my face?"

"Yeah. The bitch that almost got us all killed in the last apocalypse we stopped." Viktor answers, glaring, as if trying to make his words stab into you. If anything, he's just making you tired.

"Why you people can't listen, I don't know." You huffed exasperatedly. "I. Am. A. Different. Person. I don't know you people, I don't have your beef, I'm just helping because Five saved my life. End of discussion."

"Like hell you are! That's exactly what a Dolores would say." Alison shouts. Obviously their version of you pissed her off the most. You groan.

"I mean, Five hasn't exactly told us why he brought you here. And the name change? That's pretty suspicious..." Luther adds.

"Guys please. Hating each other is not going to save our behinds. This little lady here, new persona and all is probably going to keep us alive in the long run. If I know a her at all." Klaus chimes in, almost frantic. He reaches to pat your shoulder with a gloved hand, but stops himself midway, with an embarrassed little smile.

The siblings look about as confused as you but before any of them can chip in again, Five clears his throat matter of factly. "The reason she is here is because I trust her. Her powers are how we found this stupid girl in the first place."

"You heard Five. Stop whinging." Lila smiles, coming up behind you and wrapping and arm around your shoulder. "Water under the bridge sweetheart." She smiles sort of creepily at you, but you suppose she's trying to be genuine.

"Okay people. Pack it up, back in the van, if we want to make it on time we've gotta move it." Diego orders. Everyone files back to their seats, but you stare apprehensively at the puke infested floor.

Ben smiles evily at you as he passes, groaning as he flops into his seat. "Want to sit shotgun?" Five asks, smirking his stupid smirk.

"Desperately. But I don't take handouts." With that you climb over Ben and Klaus and plop down into your seat. Wishing you were anywhere else.

You watch Five shrug and clamber into his spot. Diego starts the engine and veers back onto the highway. You're not even on the road for 10 seconds before Ben shouts beside you. You turn suddenly to watch a car ram into the side your truck.

The screaming is unbearable, all you can think of are the flashes of your terrible life. Death and loss and heartbreak. You can remember calling out to Five as the van rolls, slamming into something hard. Your head throbs, your breath catches in your throat. Someone reaches out and grabs your hand and everything goes black...

•☆•

A/n Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger!

Here's my masterlist if you like my stuffs

[buckgasms]

I realise that this might not be soemthing your interested in writing (and that's ok ily). Just wanted to tell you that after finishing the Dark mafia bucky (not bunny and clyde) I cannot stop thinking about how angsty it could get after the last main part.

Like i, myself, would not be able to handle that shit mentally. Like Reader staying in the bedroom all day because she's so worried and paranoid about soemone seeing her and laughing or soemthing after her... time... with bucky at work. Everytime bucky comes home minory upset or angry she goes into defence mode because she's worried he thinks she has betrayed him again. She can't sleep without him hugging her because all she can imagine is that somehow Rumlow survived and is gonan come kill the both of them.

I'm sorry I love in angst central sometimes <3

Thank you nonnie ilyt 😍 You are so spot on with this 👌🏼

Here is the link to the very dark fic if you are interested

Yeah I think his little bird is going to be so nervous from now on, but I think Bucky would be ok with it you know?

Like he doesn't mind if you don't wanna leave the house because it means he knows where you are and he can watch you on his cameras like a crazy man.

And imagine if his little bird is in his office you always dash under the desk when anyone comes in so you don't have to face them. He chuckles and strokes your hair as you cling to his leg. You sometimes watch as he pulls his cock out of his trousers under the desk and take it in your hand to give you something to focus on.

When you do have to face them you can't work out if they are thinking about it or not. Thinking about how you looked that day, how they applauded and jeered at you, now smiling and being somewhat respectful. It makes you cling to Bucky closer and press your face into his arm or chest for comfort. Your face burns when they chuckle at you, but at least Bucky holds your tighter.

🐦

I think any time he's angry you go very defensive and jumpy. Normally when he's angry he gets it out at work or the gym, so he only comes home really angry very rarely.

You shuffle around the house as you hear him shouting down the phone, slamming doors and all sorts. You plant yourself on the floor where he sits on the sofa, having left your dress on the floor and you shiver in your underwear.

Finally he appears and finds you waiting then for him and be flops down on the sofa and smiles. "Ah there's my little bird, waiting just for me huh?"

You nod and rest your arms on his thighs, smiling up at him, letting him stroke your face and run his fingers through your hair. "Thought you might have had a bad day?" You say softly and gently massage his legs, hands drifting higher, making him sigh.

"You worrying about me birdie? Did I make you nervous?" He smiles and pinches your chin pulling you forwards until you are straddling his lap, his hands squeezing at your waist.

"Hmm, tell me baby, you feeling nervous again?"

You nod and nibble at your finger, sitting down more comfortably on his lap, eyes stinging a little bit. "Don't want you to be mad..." You whisper, as he grips your face between his big hands.

"I'm not mad anymore baby, remember. It's all fixed. All fine now..." He smiles gently, stroking your cheeks and leaning upwards to press little kisses to your nose and cheeks.

You let out a shaky sigh and smile at him, but your heart still hums quickly in your chest.

🐦

You do often wake in the night, screaming, reliving that night where you pulled the trigger. Your body covered in sweat and hands shaking as you struggle to see anything in the darkness.

"Ssshh baby it's ok" you hear Bucky murmur as he pulls you in close to him, letting your sobs wrack through your body. "I gotcha."

"What if he comes back?" You sob as your fingers cling to the thick muscles of Bucky's back, fingers tracing along old scars.

"Ain't gonna happen pretty girl, I promise..."

He rolls over until he's on top, your eyes finally adjusting to the dark see his serious blue eyes staring at you. "He's never gonna come back, and you are safe with me, ok?"

You nod and let him press kisses to your forehead and you cling to him tighter still. You feel his hand wrap around your thigh and lift it higher. His cock is guided into your heat and you gasp as he slides himself slowly into you.

You still feel sensitive from the evenings escapades but that's what helps him glide into you, your body so responsive. "Good girl, always ready for me hmm? You feel that? Feel how easily you take me?"

Your body feels on fire as he gently rocks into you. He presses kisses to your face, licking away tears as you groan.

"My baby, you got nothing to worry about anymore. Just relax, just let me make it all better ok?"

🐦

Ooof yes very angsty but I'm a sucker for a happy ending so I feel like they'll work it out 🤭

[wiltedflowerpetals]

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At first, you, Mrs. Price, thought that you had to go on a normal but dangerous mission. You only had to get some intel. Get in and out. Easy… right?

But getting captured was not on your to-do-list for this mission…

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Words: 2038

Warning: Blood, death, angsty, fluff

Part 1: Wife Meets Friend | Part 2: Wife On A Mission | Part 3: Wife In Danger | Part 4: (you are reading it) | Part 5: Husband And Wife

141 moved with precision, each man knowing his role in the rescue mission. John led the way, his mind singularly focused on getting to his wife and bringing her back safely. Each step closer to Mikhailov's hideout increased the tension, but John was still determined. He wasn’t going to lose you, not to this man, not to anyone.

They cleared room after room, encountering resistance but dispatching it swiftly. John’s heart dropped with each empty room, the fear gnawing at him. Finally, they reached the central part of the compound - a large, reinforced door that led to what they assumed was a holding area.

Ghost and Gaz took up positions at the door, while Soap rigged the explosives. John waited, every muscle in his body tense. The moment the door blew open, they moved as one, weapons ready.

Inside, the scene that greeted them was one of chaos. Bodies lay across the floor, blood pooling beneath them. John’s eyes darted around the room, his heart in his throat, searching desperately for you.

Until his eyes met yours.

You were huddled in a corner, your clothes stained with blood, your face pale but fierce. The ropes that had bound your hands were on the floor beside you, and in your hands, you held bloodied knife and a piece of glass. Probably from a nearby window or a bottle that was lying on the ground.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. John’s blue eyes stared at you - alive, but bloodied. Relief, his lips turned up, smiling at you. He had found his wife. You were alive.

“(Y/N)!” John shouted, his voice rough with emotion as he rushed to you.

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and the weapons fell from your hands as you rose to your feet. The moment you saw him, you felt a tear escape your eye, as you stumbled forward, throwing yourself into his arms.

John wrapped you in a tight embrace, holding you close as if he could protect you from everything that had happened. You were finally in his arms.

“John…” You whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “I thought… I didn’t think…”

“Shh…” He soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

You two stayed like that for a few moments. But eventually, John pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“What happened?” He asked. “How did you manage to-” He gestured to the dead men around them. “How did you fight them off?”

You swallowed hard, your eyes locking with his. You could see the concern, the confusion in his gaze, and you knew you couldn’t keep the truth from him any longer.

“John.” You began, your voice trembling, not knowing how he will react. “… There’s something I need to tell you.”

He frowned, concern deepening. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m not who you think I am…” Your gaze moved to the ground, scared to see his reaction. “I’ve been lying to you… about my job, about who I am. I’m not just a secretary, John. I’m… I’m a hitman.”

John stared at you, shocked. He couldn’t believe what you were saying. It didn’t make sense - how could his wife, the woman he loved, be a hitman?

“A hitman?” He repeated slowly. “What… What are you talking about?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded. “It’s true. I’ve been doing this for years, long before I met you. It’s how I know Kate, how I’ve been able to protect you during some missions without you knowing. I didn’t want to tell you… I was afraid that if you knew, it would put you in more danger and… I… I was scared that you might leave me…”

John took a step back, his mind razing through so many thoughts. The woman he had thought he knew, the woman he had married, was a professional killer. It was almost too much for him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, his voice filled with a mix of hurt and confusion. “All this time… Why didn’t you trust me?”

“It wasn’t about trust.” You said quickly. “It was about keeping you safe. If you knew… if anyone knew… it would have put a target on your back. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

John’s mind raced. You were a murderer…? Someone who got paid just to kill people. Sure, he did it as well, but he was a soldier, while you were a hitman.

He looked around the room again, at the bodies, the blood, and then back at her. The strength it must have taken for you to survive, to fight your way out - he couldn’t deny that you had done what you needed to do to stay alive.

But the betrayal he felt was deep. It felt like a knife stabbing and cutting him. “You should have told me.” He said, his voice breaking slightly. “We could have faced this together.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook your head. “I’m so sorry, John. I thought I was protecting you, but I see now that I was just lying to both of us. I never wanted to hurt you.”

John was silent for a long moment. He was angry, hurt, and yet… he was also relieved. You were alive, you were here with him, and that was what mattered most.

He reached out, taking your hand in his. “We’ll get through this.” He said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “But no more secrets. We will tell each other everything, from now on. Understand?”

You nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. “No more secrets. I promise.”

John pulled you into his arms again, holding you as tightly as he could. No more lies, no more hiding.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. “We need to get out of here.” He said, his voice firm but gentle. “We’ll talk more later, but right now, we have to move.”

You nodded. John motioned for Ghost, Gaz, and Soap to move in, their weapons still drawn as they cleared the area, making sure there were no more threats.

“Clear.” Ghost muttered, his voice low and professional as always.

“Let’s get her out of here.” Soap added, casting a concerned glance at you. He, like the others, didn’t fully understand what had happened, but they all knew the mission wasn’t over until you were safe.

John kept you close as they made their way out of the compound, the team covering them as they moved swiftly and silently. Once outside, the team regrouped at their extraction point. The silence got interrupted by the sound of the helicopter blades cut, ready to take them to safety.

As they boarded, John kept his arm around you, not letting you go for a second. You leaned into him, exhausted. He held you closer, whispering reassurances that you were safe now, that he was there.

The helicopter lifted off, and the team remained silent, each lost in their thoughts. John couldn’t help but think of the man responsible for all this - Mikhailov. He was still out there, a threat looming over them like a dark cloud. John had faced him once before and thought he’d ended it. Now he realized how wrong he’d been.

But he also knew that Mikhailov wasn’t the only threat. The secrets his wife had kept, the life she had lived in, were now a part of his world. They couldn’t go back to the way things were before. Everything had changed.

When they finally touched down at the base, John helped you out of the helicopter, his arm still around you. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign of what he was thinking. He could see the fear in your eyes - not fear of him, but fear of what might happen next, of how he would react now that he knew the truth.

He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “We’ll figure this out.” He said, his voice soft but firm. “I don’t know how, but we will. You’re my wife, and I love you. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time, they were tears of relief. You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I love you too, John. I’m so sorry for everything.”

As they headed into the base, the team following behind, John knew that Mikhailov was still out there, and as long as that man was alive, they would never be truly safe. This was far from over. The battle lines were drawn, and this time, John wasn’t just fighting for himself - he was fighting for the woman he loved.

And he wouldn’t stop until Mikhailov was nothing more than a ghost of the past.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

His arm remained around your shoulders, a silent promise that he would keep you safe. The rest of Task Force 141 followed closely behind; their expressions unreadable.

They reached a secured briefing room, each of them taking their places around the table. John led you to a chair, his hand lingering on your shoulder before he took his place at the head of the table. His mind was racing. So much as happened today.

“We have a problem. Mikhailov. He’s still out there, and he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants. He’s a ghost from my past, someone I thought I’d taken care of years ago, but he’s come back for revenge. And now, he’s targeting (Y/N) because of me.” John said firmly, arms crossed over his chest, as he glanced at every person at the table.

Gaz frowned. “If Mikhailov is involved, it means this is bigger than just a personal vendetta.”

“That’s why we can’t let our guard down.” John agreed. “He’s already shown he’s willing to go to any lengths to hurt us, and I won’t let him get another chance.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Soap asked, his tone serious. “We can’t just sit around waiting for him to make his next move.”

John nodded, grateful for the support. “We go on the offensive. We track him down, find out where he’s hiding, and take him out before he can do any more damage.”

“And what about Mrs. Price?” Ghost asked, his gaze shifting to you. “She’s been through a lot. Is she ready for what’s coming?”

You straightened in your chair. “I’m ready. I want to help take him down.”

John’s heart swelled with pride at her determination. “We’re going to do this together.”

You looked at him. “I know. But I also know that I’m the one who got us into this mess. I need to be a part of getting us out of it.”

“Then it’s settled.” John said, his voice firm. “We go after Mikhailov, and we end this once and for all.”

They spent the next several hours going over intelligence, strategizing, and preparing for what would be one of the most dangerous missions they had ever undertaken. They knew Mikhailov wouldn’t go down easily, but they will try their best.

“Don’t worry, we got this.” You said on the phone, talking to Kate as she gave more information that might help you all out during the mission. “Good. Be careful. All of you.”

You said your goodbyes, as you walked through the base, gaze moving towards the balcony to see your husband smoking a cigar on there.

You walked to him and leaned against the railing.

Your husband turned to you, his expression softening as he reached out to take your hand. “I meant what I said earlier.” He murmured. “No more secrets, no more hiding.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything...”

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “We all make mistakes.”

You nodded, leaning into him as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

Together, they would face whatever came next. And together, they would overcome it.

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[obriengf]

A Gracious Gift || Mitch Rapp x Reader

Summary: Mitch had almost forgotten what it was like to be shown love until you gave him a small token to change his mind. Words: 1.4k Warnings: swearing bc it's mitch... he also has trust issues okay, pretty angsty oops Notes: the first addition to my 2023 xmas fics!

hope he's bringing me love this christmas cause i deserve you here ✩

His nose scrunched, details of exasperation etching themselves deep in the wrinkle between his brows and the frown of his lips. It was a cross between amusement and simple irritation that devoured the man as he stood resistant to the brightly coloured lights that reflected across the warm brown of his irises, arms crossed over his chest and a huff pushing past his lips. Mitch Rapp didn't do Christmas, not anymore. Neither did his ears enjoy the pretentious tunes that flooded the small living room of your safehouse or the irony they held as he stared at the decorated tree beside the small television.

"Is this a joke?" He huffed, once more, head barely turning as his voice carried to the small frame to his left. You didn't reply, his question dripping in all things rhetorical, and instead allowed a smile to curl upward into the shadow of a smirk. His pessimism is something that you're used to by now - starting beyond the tantrum he threw when you were first assigned as his partner. The Assassin grew to like you, however, after many arguments and a handful of times proving yourself. He saw honour within you and a driving force to do right by all, no matter what it took. In turn, you saw a man that hurt where his heart lay, but he used his head as a guard and determination to build up near impenetrable walls. It didn't stop you though, from trying... from showing him that there is much more to this world than Good versus Bad. And eventually, Mitch Rapp became oxygen - you breathed in his presence every single day without fault, but a part of you also desperately needed him to survive. 

"Don't be such a killjoy." You eventually said, proud that you pulled together something so makeshift in such little time allowed. You chuckled at his negative outlook, avoiding the side eye he threw your way as you tentatively reached out to drag a finger across a bright blue bauble. It was hope, a much-needed light in the midst of the cruel world that you face every day. And it just so happened to appear in the form of cheap gas station decorations and an overwhelming scent of pine needles from one of the small trees next to the cabin. You drew a breath as you turned to the man, the whisky tone of his eyes already peering down at you. He was swimming in hesitation, near drowning from it if it meant that he kept himself closed off. "I just wanted to give you a reason to be happy."

Your voice was quiet, and Mitch nearly would have missed it if he wasn't pouring so much of his focus into you. He last celebrated this stupid Holiday with Katrina - when he had a reason to smile, to have hope, to bathe in that happiness that would usually come from such a joyous time. And since then, you had made him smile and he had an inkling of hope, and he had a reason to be happy once again but the pain was still so incredibly present that it continued to devour every single cell in his body until he was just a shell. And Mitch hurt. He always hurt.

You always knew when he was starting to shut down. Mitch's emotions would turn off, like a simple flick of a switch, and the robot persona that the Central Intelligence Agency craved would soon embody the man that you've grown so accustomed to. You would lose him for hours, as if he was asleep and he needed to wake. Mitch Rapp had lost hope for so long and it killed you to see how much it affected him.

Even if it took every single second you owned, you were going to help him. To show the man the love that he deserved. To finally wake him up.

Mitch scoffed and turned away from you, his large hand dragging down his cheek. Words were mumbled against the palm of his hand, "Well, you wasted your time."

"You're never a waste of time, Mitch." You replied, remaining beside the tree as you watched his head hang low. It was expected for him to walk away, but he didn't, his back still to you but his ears listening for the soft coo of your voice. A small smile tugged eagerly at your lips, "You're a lot of things, mostly a pain in my ass, but you're not a waste of time. Especially mine. I'd do anything for you, you know that."

The man exhaled, his head shaking, "You can't fix a broken man, Y/N. Not one whose as fucked as I am."

Your chest tightened. Mitch's exhaustion was wearing him down, his walls cracking, crumbling, and not in the way you thought they would. His sadness tugged at your heart and you were already beginning to second guess if your plan was the right path to take. Gently, you reached to the base of the tree, the lights flickering against the side of your face as you grasped at a small box.

"You're not broken. You're not a waste of time. And if you're fucked up Mitch, then I must be as fucked up as you because we've come from the same place. We've had the same feelings hurt. But we're here, and we're alive and okay. And I'm never letting you go, no matter how much you push me away."

Mitch turned to catch the shimmer in your eyes. He could see the emotion building up and gathering along your waterline, and he had such an overwhelming desire to catch the tears before they fell. He moved forward with large strides before he captured your cheeks within his palms, thumbs rubbing with such tenderness under the tips of your lashes. You always managed to bring him back from the edge of despair, but seeing you with such sentiment was enough to shake some sense into him. He shushed under his breath, any evidence of an Assassin disappearing, and instead a simple man was left behind.

"Please don't cry." He hummed, not daring to look away from your eyes until he felt something hard press to his abdomen. His focus broke, an eyebrow raising in question at a small white box clutched strongly within your hands. Mitch's head tilted to the side, "What's this?"

An unwanted sniffle escaped you before your gaze followed his, the box in question now lifted toward him, "I meant it when I said I'm never letting you go. You mean a lot to me, Mitch, and this is how I was going to show you... instead of crying like a child." An incredulous chuckle ended your response as you ushered the box at Mitch, shaking the small object until he took it from you.

The man was nervous, but curious, pulling lightly at the bow that adorned the top until the fabric fluttered gently to the hardwood floors. The top of the box was removed next and he froze before he picked up the item inside. Mitch's finger ran over it delicately as he peered in disbelief.

"This is for me?" He asked, voice whispered as he held his new pocket knife so gently between you both. All you could do was nod and smile as he looked at you, his own smile perking in happiness.

"Turn it over."

He did as he was told before his lips slightly parted, irises of deep brown flicking over the engraving you left on the hilt -

Always with you.

A clang was heard as he placed the knife on the table beside him, a movement so quick that you almost didn't see it happen as you were gathered in his arms. Arms of your own slid over his shoulders as the man secured your waist, his hold tight and he savoured being so close to you. It was his kick, his wake-up call. It was what he needed to know that hope was not lost. It was his future and the piece that could fill the hole in his heart.

Mitch pressed a kiss tenderly to the crown of your head, his lips then falling to your temple before they pressed again. He was sure that you could feel the thumping in his chest, but he didn't care. Not when he had you wrapped up so perfectly against his frame.

You could feel the warmth of his breath dance against your skin, "I am always with you, too."

[lewkwoodnco]

june gloom - anthony lockwood x reader

“Look,” he bites out, “if you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave.”

“No.” She looks positively alarmed and places a hand on his elbow. “Please. Don’t go. I like having you here.” Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile, but the dead look in her eyes only makes Lockwood even more uneasy. “I like seeing you like this. Thinner. Paler. I like watching you watch me.” She tips her head, considering him. “I like watching you look at me like you can never get your fill of me.”

june gloom, tule fog, I might as well say meet me in Montauk

a/n - help I can’t rmb how I used to format these I hope this is (mostly) correct 😭😭 uni is rlly steamrolling me frfr like I have so many WIPs which I planned to finish up first but inspiration struck for this one instead, for some reason?? And I imagine this to pick up where we left off from chapter 3 (the ntwdt fic) so this would be Ch 3.5 but could also be read as a stand alone I think? anyways enjoy a very autumn coded gloomy kind of angsty fic hehe (also do NOT smoke i am not promoting smoking ❌❌)

tropes/warnings - angst, estranged friends, veryyy very mild allusions to cheating (arguably. personally i didn’t write it that way but i guess I could see some ppl interpreting it that way)

word count - 1.6k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 3.75 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

Finding an apartment to rent in central London was a bleak affair any time of the year, but something about late October seemed to make it even worse. While she looked for a place of her own, her parents had very kindly agreed to put her up for a couple of days. It was at their kitchen table that she had been pouring over apartment listings one barren, gloomy morning, when she peered out to see a familiar car pulled up outside.

Lockwood didn’t know what he was doing. He had just pulled up to her house five minutes ago, of which he spent four of them sitting in silence with the engine turned off. He dragged his palms across his jeans. He isn’t sure how he ended up here, or why. Lockwood & Co. had been handed the privilege of one miraculously empty weekend without any cases. Its employees had decided to indulge themselves, be it through a long bubble bath or a little tinkering on some model train set. A certain special someone’s birthday was coming up. If Lockwood had half the sense he ought to, he’d be spending the weekend with her. Instead, he got in his car and started driving aimlessly, meandering through slick roads that took him to the outskirts of the city.

Maybe it had been some subconscious desire to see her again that led him here. He hadn’t stopped thinking about their brief crossing of paths from a week ago. He had spent months convincing himself that he thought of her less and less as the days went by, enough to delude himself into thinking there was nothing to regret. After all, how could a guy hung up on an old friend find love like he did? But all it took was one glimpse of her again, and it was like they had spent no time apart at all. It was like he was still the sulky, stubborn boy from that last night months ago, smarting from the words unsaid and the pain in his shin. Sleepless and sick with the want to hear her slip back in, for them to make up by the morning, for them to act like it never happened.

He could pretend to have moved on all he wanted, but the sorrow buried deep into his chest and never quite left. He could feel it now, sitting motionless in his car under a dull, overcast sky.

He should’ve asked her to stay.

He jumps when he hears a tapping on the passenger window. The kind, weathered face of Mrs. L/N peers through, clad in gardening gloves and a wide-brim hat. Lockwood instantly becomes aware of how intrusive his visit must be. He hurriedly unbuckles his seat belt and steps out.

“I’m really sorry Mrs. L/N, I meant to call ahead -“

But she was already waving away his effusively apologetic words. She turns towards the house. “Oh, Y/N, it’s been ages since you’ve seen each other. Wouldn’t it be nice for you to catch up?”

He looks over her shoulder and follows her gaze to the house. There, he sees the hazy image of Y/N standing a few steps down from the front door. The slight fog obscures her expression, but there’s something rigid in the way she has her arms wrapped around herself.

“What Mum said. We’d lo-ove to have you.”

She stretches the word out in an exaggerated London drawl. It almost feels like she’s mocking him. But she’s too far for him to get a close enough look at her face, and by the time he makes his way up the winding driveway, she’s disappeared inside.

It helps that Mrs. L/N joins them. Once she’s set out some tea and scones, she prattles on comfortingly like she doesn’t notice the tension weighing in the air. Save for the occasional nod or one-word answer, they stay mostly silent, occasionally sneaking glances at each other. A part of him likes that they’re in the same house again, with her sitting across from him, fiddling with her mug, laughing a little too loud in a not entirely unpleasant way. But he doesn’t recognise her sweater, and her hair’s different, and her pinched face matches her raw, bitten nails.

Occasionally, she makes some seemingly innocuous remark which sounds a little too much like a jab at Lockwood. He hesitates, like he isn’t sure what to say, but then her lips painfully stretch into what is a sardonic smile at best, and the conversation changes. Still, every few seconds his eyes flick back to her face, of which she takes no notice.

But there’s still only so much Mrs. L/N can fill the silence with, and she eventually excuses herself to return to her gardening. The two of them make it for a grand total of 30 seconds of painful silence before she stands up and murmurs something about stepping out for fresh air.

After a minute, Lockwood leaves the kitchen table himself and goes looking for her. He finds her smoking in the backyard, standing at the fence, staring blankly at the treeline a short distance away.

“It’s a filthy habit.” She pauses, dropping the cigarette from her lips, but refuses to turn around. He walks down to the fence. “I thought you got rid of it.”

“How’d you find me?” How’d you know where I’d be?

Lockwood shook his head slowly, eyes unfocused, staring vacantly at the sparse trees reaching for the blank sky. “I didn’t…I wasn’t looking for you.”

She gives him a curious look. If she finds him unconvincing, she doesn’t comment on it. She takes a long drag from her cigarette. The silence starts to become a little more bearable.

“How’s Luce?”

He gives a stiff sort of half-nod. “Alright. Still more violent than she ought to be.”

“George?”

“He’s good.”

“Head still in the books?”

He frowns. “It’s only been three months. He’s not a different person.”

She shrugs. He can’t stop staring at the grimy cigarette in her hand. Her fingers tremble ever so slightly, finally giving the impression that she wasn’t nearly half as calm as she was trying to seem. “He could’ve…taken up water polo, or something. I wouldn’t know.”

The resentment in her voice was apparent - this was definitely a dig at him. For the first time since she’s left, it crosses his mind that she’s left behind a family. Still, it wasn’t like he had kicked her out.

“You chose to leave.”

“You didn’t give me much reason to stay, either.”

“Because - “

“No.” Her subdued, nonchalant attitude dissolved now that he had gotten a rise out of her. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me for leaving when I was miserable and you did fuck all about it. You’ve been this…this fog in my head since June.“ Her clipped voice burns through the cool air harshly. “You have no right to come running back now that it’s finally starting to clear up.”

Lockwood wonders whether the cigarette might be easier to reason with. His gaze wanders over to his car rusting in their driveway. Coming here was a mistake.

“Look,” he bites out, “if you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave.”

“No.” She looks positively alarmed and places a hand on his elbow. “Please. Don’t go. I like having you here.” Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile, but the dead look in her eyes only makes Lockwood even more uneasy. “I like seeing you like this. Thinner. Paler. I like watching you watch me.” She tips her head, considering him. “I like watching you look at me like you can never get your fill of me.”

Lockwood flinches, pulling himself out of her grasp as he reels back, suddenly overcome with a surge of revulsion. There’s something malicious, corrupted, unrecognisable about her. He scoffs as he turns back to the house.

“If she’s so amazing, why are you on this side of town?”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Her voice cuts through the air, jagged and bitter. He turns and sees her grinding the cigarette with the heel of her shoe. She straightens and pushes her hair back with a steady, measured hand, a far cry from the klutz whose stumbling around and whispered shrieks guaranteed to drag a smile on Lockwood’s face. Even now, she doesn’t acknowledge how he hasn’t taken his eyes off of her for more than half a minute all day.

“Happy couples,” he starts, a little half-heartedly, “don’t need to be joined at the hip.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that.” She walks up to the house too, and when she pauses by him, he punches down the urge to step back.  

“What are you trying to find out?”

She looks at him dismissively, like she already knows the answer and finds it unimpressive. Then she’s disappeared back into the house, the cold is stinging his face, and his heart’s thumping hard enough to break free of his chest.

He exhales shakily and feels his heart shutter itself away from the rest of the world. He still doesn’t know what he came looking for, but maybe it was to remember what he has clearly forgotten.

Always a problem. They’d always be a problem.

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @midnight--raine @ahead-fullofdreams @how-to-stuff-and-things @cielooci @mohinithoughts @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @houseoftwistedspirits @mischivana @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

[an-actual-attack-helicopter]

Book 6, Episode 1: Startouched Analysis/Commentary

Gotta love how it opens with Ripples in the water reflecting the stars. Go read the short stories if you don't know what I'm talking about.

Aaravos hesitates before crumbling Viren which is the funniest shit to me. This hurts more though, having seen the whole season.

Gotta love how Terry basically said Viren just ran away to go die like an angsty teen.

He got a new son to orphan les goooo

I find the framing of this pretty interesting. Viren is still in the dark while Claudia is standing in the light. You'd think it'd be the other way around. Perhaps it symbolizes how he has come to terms with his dark side, and is going to face it. While he leaves Claudia who, hopefully, can still be redeemed. Because ultimately this isn't her fault, it's his. He's the dark one.

At first I thought it was cruel for Viren to leave Claudia, but I've come to a realization. Claudia is better off without him. He is the reason she's done all this, and nothing will change if she keeps having to save him. She needs to let go. I'm not sure if this was intentional on Viren's part, but he made the right choice nonetheless.

Man, what is it with this show and blindfolds? So far they have showed up in Harrow's little flashback speech, on the Celestial elves, and here. Is this anything??

I was expecting to be annoyed by the baitlings' presence in this season, but they didn't actually get in the way much. Glad the writers read the room. They were mostly just used to fill the comic relief void that soren has left.

Also, I love how Jason Simpson still managed to weasel his way into the High Council through Barius, since Viren isn't exactly, yk, in that position.

DESTROY IT? CALLUM, HAVE YOU EVEN LISTENED TO THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES?

THE TABLE, CALLUM. THE TABLE!!!! Bro really be like "it's remarkably easy to buy a Novablade in central Starscraper."

Also, the way Rayla says "pearl" sounds like "peril."

They play Aaravos's little motif-melody-thingy throughout this scene. Yk, from I See You and Follow my Lead. Glad to cross that off my bingo card.

You can't see it here but the eye-movements in this scene are great. I think the animation and lighting really shine in this season. Pun intended.

Barius doing some casual baking at like 1 AM or something. Bro got insomnia /j. I mean, who are these for? They don't have fridges so they can't save em for long. Maybe Callum got him some sorta magical fridge. Or- wait- maybe they do have, like, a primitive fridge. Was that a thing? Oh actually, maybe Callum and Rayla just go to bed early. Lmfao

And there we have it, the first Viren-Callum parallel of the season. Just like episode 1 of season 1, he barges into the King's bedroom.

Alright, so. Other than this line being hilarious, I'm thinking the frustrating switcharoo that turns the latter half of the season into a bloodbath happened here. Was pretty foolish of Callum to think the pearl would be safe with him on his way out.

Ezran is saddened by everyone's departure. I'm not sure why, but it's worth noting.

They pretty much have her say "my dad is gone" just so that using this clip as a trailer wouldn't spoil anything lmao. I've been waiting to say that since Wondercon.

And now Claudia is the one leaving, as she steps out of the purifying light of the setting sun. Everyone, please give Terry a round of applause for continuing to love her despite this.

And now for the credits:

These are similar. Opeli is from the credits of this episode, and Harrow, from the credits of one from Season 2.

We need this to be a shirt.

Ahhh so Aaravos isn't the only Startouch elf with a star on their chest. I might be a little late to noticing that. Idk.

WHY THE HELL IS TERRY THE ONLY ONE CRYING FOR SIR SPARKLEPUFF? WHAT THE FUCK?

One last thing. Is it just me or is the outro song a little different? Music people, help me. I must know.

But yeah, banger episode, banger season, banger show. Imma be doin' these for all the season 6 episodes. At this rate, they will all have more words than Fallout Equestria. /j

Alright, time to take my meds. 💀

[wkemeup]

I Am Not My Own

summary: Following the Battle of New York, Steve begins to lose himself to the mantle of Captain America. Torn with guilt over the loss of his friend and struggling in a time that does not belong to him, Steve takes comfort in his only solace. 

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, sad boy angsty steve 

a/n: This takes place between Avengers 1 and TWS. Based on an anon request from ages ago along the lines of exploring “the impact of traumas like seeing Bucky falling from the train and the guilt over Bucky's capture, the feeling of displacement which he kept quiet while carrying the mantle of Captain America.” Title inspired by a lyric in Party of One by Brandi Carlile. 

Steve Rogers looks upon the crowd gathered below the podium – a sea of star-spangled commercialized t-shirts and homemade costumes. Adoring fans scream as they hold posters raised above their heads professing their love and allegiance. Even as he stands in the back corner of the stage attempting to fade into the shadow cast by the American flag beside him, it does not sway the attention of the crowd.  

He can still feel them watching him. Waiting for him. Bouncing on the balls of their feet in anticipation of his slightest movement.  

The mayor nears the end of her well-rehearsed speech, and the crowd begins to grow antsier with every second. They’re not here for the mayor’s latest initiative to rebuild the subway following yet another otherworldly attack defended by the Avengers. No – they're here for him.  

He almost misses his cue when the mayor steps back from the podium and gestures for him to come forward. The crowd alights with excitement; applause echoing through the treetops of Central Park and casting birds from their homes on the branches.  

Steve settles the racing tempo in his chest and presses a tight smile onto his face before he steps from the shadow. It’s what he was trained to do, after all. He shakes the mayor’s hand as he’s done for the last four mayoral projects – none of which have held up to their promises to help the people of this city, but they’ve increased the mayor’s polling averages and the eased public tension toward SHEILD, and he supposes that was all it was ever meant for anyway. 

So, Steve waves a hand to the crowd and throws on the charming grin he practiced in the mirror earlier that morning. He poses for pictures in the stance shown to him by the rather uptight woman in PR and he pretends for a moment that this is all there is.  

No nightmares that chase him through the cold dark of his dreams until he wakes in blinding terror. No aliens slipping through a hole in space above New York. No memories of a hand he was inches from reaching; of the cold, blistering wind through the snowcapped mountains. No echoing of a scream he’ll never be able to erase as his best friend falls to the ravine.  

It’s only the flashing lights. The tight grip of the mayor’s hand in his. The endless chanting of his name through the crowd. 

A strange feeling comes over him as the sea of voices begins to fade, as he listens to a chorus of strangers call his name – praising a hero he does not recognize in the mirror. He hears his name and realizes it does not belong to him anymore.  

Steve Rogers. Captain America. His name, his title, stripped from his grasp and given to a podium he never asked for. The mantle of the hero Steve can hardly live up to – painted only in light acceptable to the public relations department on level seven.  

They erased the dark lingering under his bones and pretended like there is little more to their prized trophy than the glory of red, white, and blue. Because what use is he to them if they discover he is just as broken and battered as the rest of the soldiers left to rot on their own after they’re returned to US soil? What good is Captain America if he can hardly sleep through the night? If he’s constantly looking over his shoulder for the next threat? If he’s got a boulder on his back crippling his spine, burdened with such guilt and shame, he’s certain he’ll drown under the weight of it? 

Pieces of him were torn away in the wreckage of the Atlantic, shredded remains left behind in the forties, lost to the battlefields in the city he grew up in. Fragments ripped from his clutches under bleeding nails and given to the people chanting his name, to the lawmakers in their ivory towers, to the only sense of purpose he could find within the walls of the Avengers Tower. 

He realizes it then. Steve Rogers is not his own.  

*** 

“Captain Rogers!” a shrill voice calls behind him as he trudges through the main lobby of the tower. Heels click behind his PR agent, Linda, as she struggles to keep up with his long strides. She means well. He knows she does. But he also knows she’s more of a babysitter than anything else – hired to make sure Steve doesn’t stray too far from the picture-perfect image they have set up for him.  

His escape plan is thwarted by the elevator when it refuses to open its door before she catches up.  

“You’re a fast one, aren’t you?” Linda huffs, trying to catch her breath. She's laughing as if she’s in on the joke, but Steve can barely muster a smile.  

All he wants is to get this damn uniform off – to rid himself of the mockery it’s become and the outright lie of heroism attached to it. He feels like he might suffocate under it, like the fabric might burst into flame and devour him whole if he doesn’t peal it from his skin in time. He can already feel the singing burn against his forearms, against his chest, against his back. It’s boiling hot. It’s agonizing. It’s– 

“Don’t forget about the auction this Saturday! You’re our top earner!” Linda chimes, scribbling something down in her notebook just as the elevator doors open. Steve exhales a sigh of relief when she does not follow him inside. She doesn’t even look up at him as she rattles off the rest of his upcoming schedule. He lets the doors close before she finishes. He wonders if she will even notice.  

The sudden silence in the elevator might have been a relief if not for the constant ringing in his ears. Steve lifts a shaking hand to the strap of his helmet and unlatches it. Slowly, as the elevator begins to climb, he pulls it off. Weight slips from his body but it’s not enough. It’s like removing a stone from the back of a boulder – insufficient and pathetic.  

He doesn’t have to look at his reflection in the silver doors to know there are red marks lining his face around where the mask meets his skin. They’ll fade in a few minutes, but they’re deep now. They look like mutilations upon the bone itself. He had asked once to adjust the framing of the helmet to avoid the painful marks, but he was told the alterative designs didn’t poll well in focus groups.  

Though he tries to avoid it, Steve catches a glimpse of his reflection in the dull shimmer of the sliver doors. His hair is unkept, messy from the helmet and a rough night of sleep. The bright reflection of red, white, and blue stares back as if to mock him. But what startles him the most is the weight in his own eyes. He looks tired, he realizes. Dark circles under his eyes that never learned to fade after he took his first sip of bourbon alone in an empty bar the night he lost his best friend.  

And that crowd dared to call him a hero.  

Steve can’t help the shiver that sweeps up his spine. It isn’t a pleasant one. No – it's dark and cold and leaves his fingertips shaking enough that only the sharp curl of his fist is all that eases him. And even then, it’s not enough. The tremors retreat up his arms, past his shoulders, and burrow into his chest around his heart where he’s certain the muscle will twist in on itself until it gives out entirely. 

He doesn’t notice the elevator doors have parted until they begin to close again. Steve quickly slips through the small opening before they can trap him inside. 

He’s sweating by the time he reaches his room, though he knows the air conditioning is blowing full blast. It’s not the heat of the tower, but his own heart pulsing into overdrive. It’s the kind of panic he endured as a scrawny kid in Brooklyn, so he recognizes the feeling as it settles in.  

He might have thought the serum would have taken care of the panic attacks for him, but as it turns out, even superheroes aren’t immune to the consequences of guilt and shame.  

Steve digs a hand under the collar of his suit, trying to peel away the fabric from his chest but there are too many zippers. Too many straps and hooks. His hands fumble desperately with the latches but it’s taking too long to rid himself of the material. It's as if the walls are closing in on him – suffocating him, burying him.  

He can’t stand the uniform. It doesn't matter how many focus groups the design has undergone or how much cutting-edge technology they sew into the fabric. It’s still the same lie. The same goddamn lie.  

He’s not a hero.  

He's a propaganda poster.  

He watched his best friend fall to death. He laid waste to his own city in an attempt to save it. He aligned himself with politicians and intelligence agencies that puppet him around like he’s little more than a poster boy. He’s not saving anyone. He can’t save anyone.  

He’s nothing.  

He’s weak. He’s pathetic. He’s — 

“Steve?” 

He freezes at the sound of your voice. The top of his suit is half hanging off his chest, still stuck to his left arm from all the damn sweat. He keeps his back to the door where he knows you’re standing, where he knows you’re looking at him with devastating pity in your eyes. He can hear the confusion in your voice, the concern. He knows what you must think of him.  

Your footsteps carry you into the room though he refuses to turn around. He can feel your gaze trailing over him, observing every ounce of the high, rapid rising of his chest, of the flush on his skin, and the sweat beading into his hair. You set your hand against his forearm as you step in front of him and slowly, Steve dares to meet your eyes.  

Whatever pity he was preparing for is absent. Instead, he finds only a kind understanding that nearly knocks him off his feet. It’s too much. It’s more than he deserves. And yet, there you are.  

Without saying a word, your hand slides up along his arms to begin working the suit from his tired body. He barely moves a muscle as he allows you to peel away the fabric, gentle hands coaxing over his tense muscle. Your lip tugs between your teeth in the effort and Steve can’t help but watch the sharp indent you make, how red it is when you finally release it from your bite.  

A chill sweeps over him as you remove the jacket and set it carefully on the bed. He takes in as much of a breath as his lungs will allow – finally able to breathe now that the suit is no longer suffocating him.  

You glance at him cautiously before your eyes dip to his belt. 

“I’ve got it,” he tells you then, his voice a little rough at its edges, but at least he’s not gasping for air anymore.  

You nod and step back, though you do not leave his room. Steve picks up a pair of sweatpants he discarded the evening before and takes them to the bathroom with him. He doesn’t dare a glance at the mirror, doesn’t want to know how flushed his skin has become under the rapid mixture of shame and panic. He doesn’t want to know what you must see when you look at him – this pathetic, hollow shell of the patriotic symbol plastered upon t-shirts and billboards and recruitment posters.  

He steps out of his boots, discards the navy-blue pants to the corner tiles, and pulls on the soft fabric of old, familiar sweats. It’s soft against his skin. Loose. Discolored with age with fraying drawstrings and a rip at the hem under his heel. It’s everything the suit isn’t and Steve can finally breathe again.  

By the time he gathers himself, he expects you to have left his room. You were dressed in your gym clothes as if you were on your way to the weekly sparring match with Natasha the rookies couldn’t stop gossiping about. You have places to be, clearly. You don’t need to be wasting your time tending to... whatever just happened with him. You’re not his babysitter.  

Hell – Steve isn’t sure what you are to him, but he knows he doesn’t want you to see him like this and he’s grateful all the same. Conflict wars within him; this urge to push you away so you never witness his failings again and his desperation to sink into your arms until he finally believes the gentle encouragements you whisper.  

But, of course, Steve finds you sitting patiently on his bed when he emerges from the bathroom. You stand as soon as you hear the door open, hands fidgeting in your lap. Your gaze drags over him, noticing every bare inch of his chest and the discarded remains of his suit on the floor behind him.  

Your lips part, but Steve is the first to speak.  

“You don’t have to be here.” 

You furrow your brow, confused. “If you're about to tell me you're fine, don’t.” 

Steve doesn’t look at you because he knows you’ll be able to read right through him. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. I can manage.” 

Something akin to anger flashes over your features, which surprises him. “You’ve been managing for years, Steve. You can’t keep going on like this.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Steve hisses back, surprising himself.  

You don’t flinch at his bite, but he notices the sharp intake of your breath, the surprise that alters your balance just a fraction. Subtle expressions and movements he should not be able to recognize. Another gift of the serum he has come to resent. 

You swallow, but you do not cower from him. “I know you’re hurting. I know the weight of the world is sitting on your shoulders. Let me help you. Let me carry some of that weight, Steve. Please.” 

He hears the ache in your voice, the desperation, and it nearly brings him to his knees. But he locks the joints and refuses to give in. He can’t show weakness now. He can’t. Because he knows he’ll crumble under it. And you’ve been too good to him – too kind, too generous with your time, too willing to offer him warm smiles he didn’t deserve.  

The air conditioner hums over his head as a tunnel of cold air pushes into the room. It’s not enough to quell the sweat on his hair line, and still, he starts to shiver. For a moment, he feels ice under his palms. He feels the wind whipping against his face as he clings to the cold metal of a moving train. He feels Bucky’s fingertips slipping out of reach. He hears— He hears the rusted screws give out under his friend’s weight. The short, sharp snap.  

He braces himself for what he knows comes next. The frightened look in Bucky’s eyes as a weightlessness takes him for a fraction of a second. The air suddenly ripped from his own lungs as the realization sets in. And then – the scream.  

It follows him to his dreams. It haunts every waking silence. Bucky’s scream as he fell into the ravine. 

It happened so quickly and still, Steve remembers every second if he’d drawn each frame himself. Every line upon Bucky’s face. The feel of the ice under his palms. The sting of the wind against his cheeks. The shame burning holes into his chest as he watched Bucky fall until he couldn’t stomach it anymore and he turned away.  

“They keep telling me I’m a hero,” Steve says, though his voice is little more than a whimper. “But I’m not. I’m... I’m nothing. I’m no one. I’m an experiment designed to be the perfect soldier and I... I still couldn’t save him.” 

He risks a glance at you to find your eyes are wet with tears. He knows then that he doesn’t need to specify. You were with him at the Smithsonian when he first saw the exhibit dedicated to Captain America and the Howling Commandos. You saw Bucky’s face carved into glass and the footage of his youth. You held his hand when he felt like he might collapse under the weight of those memories. 

So perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised by how easily you move towards him, how effortlessly you take his hand in yours and gently guide him towards the bed. His legs feel weak, his body aching and tired, so he does as you silently ask and sits on the edge of the bed. You crawl up beside him, kicking off your sneakers, and you tug him until he lays his full body across the mattress with you beside him.  

You don’t say a word as you maneuver his arm to lay across your waist and guide his head to lay over your chest. It’s no small task given his size, but he uses what is left of his strength to follow your lead. When you're finished and his right leg is hooked between yours, his right arm curled around you, his ear resting over your heartbeat, Steve feels the weight ease a little from his back. The dizziness begins to fade, the fog over his mind dissipating. He concentrates on the steady thump of your heart until it drowns out the memories threatening to pull him under.  

“You’re a good man, Steve,” you tell him softly. He feels the vibration of it in your chest and clings to it. Your hand slips into his hair, fingertips running gently against his scalp, and he sighs at the sensation. “The world sees you as Captain America. To them, you will always be a hero.”  

He tenses at the word, but you don’t back down.  

“Don’t mistake me,” you continue, “you are, but you are so much more than what they expect you to be.” 

Steve shifts against you, but your hold on him doesn’t relent. You don’t shy away from his discomfort or his shame. You don’t wipe your hands of his fears. Instead – you hold him through it.  

“You are the man who makes a fresh pot of coffee every morning after the team downs the first batch because you know it takes me longer to drag myself out of bed.” You only smile as surprise jolts in Steve’s chest. He doesn’t lift his head to look at you, but he can feel the soft brush of your fingers trail from his scalp down along his neck, brushing against his jawline in ginger strokes as if to soothe away his worries.  

“I know you think I haven’t noticed, but it’s kind of hard to miss how wonderful you are.” There’s a breath of laughter in your voice – as if relief hangs on the end of every syllable. “You are the man who volunteered to teach basic combat after hours to the rookies who are falling below their benchmarks. You entertain all of Sam’s ridiculous attempts to outrace you and you have this uncanny ability to make Natasha laugh even when she’s veering on the edge of darkness. You are kind and sweet and thoughtful and a good, decent man.” 

Steve wonders then if you can feel how frantic his heart is beating. Not from adrenaline, not from panic or fear, but born of something else entirely. Something that had to do with the way your hands soothed over his tense muscles, how you touched him so easily and so gently it was if you drew new strength back to his bones.  

“And I know,” you begin, taking in a long breath, “I know you would have given your life in a second if it meant saving Bucky’s.” 

Steve anticipates his stomach to bottom out, to feel the floor collapse under him. He’s certain the walls will cave around him and suffocate the last ounce of air from his lungs, but he only feels you. He feels every stroke of your touch, every steady pulse of your heart under his ear. He feels you against him and around him and holding him and somehow – that paralyzing dread he expects never comes. Instead, all that remains is a hollow, painful ache – a memory, a grief.  

“I see you,” your voice comes as a gentle murmur against the tension surrounding his heart. “I see the man behind the uniform. I see you, Steve Rogers.” 

Something breaks in him at the sound of his name on your lips. He has spent too many years giving himself over to the mantle of Captain America; erasing any trace of the vulnerable, grieving man under the surface. He allowed himself to be made into a symbol, a puppet, a caricature for SHIED, that he’d begun to drown under the weight of it.  

But you –  

You saw him gasping for air. You saw him struggling to stay afloat as salt water spilled into his lungs. You saw him and dragged his broken, aching body to shore.  

Steve curls his arm a little tighter around you and he feels you sigh relief against his crown. Pieces of himself mend together by glue and tape the longer he spends in your embrace, with every reminder you offer of the man behind the mask.  

“It’s easy to lose myself sometimes,” he murmurs against your chest.  

You sigh, your chest lifting his resting head with a long inhale. “I know, darling. And I will always be here to guide you back.” 

It doesn’t matter then what you are to him, he realizes, because he knows he loves you regardless. He must, because nothing has ever calmed him as easily as you do. He’s never found a safer solace than when he caves into the security of your arms. You are his anchor, his grounding upon uneven waters.  

And you gave him back his name.  

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[amsgrey]

I judt found this draft/idea thing in my drafts from over two years ago (written before Little Sister Hugs) and i genuinely cracked up so much rereading it bc it would be really funny.

would anyone be interested in this?

Jay and hailey are busy with a case involving drug trafficking with military dudes or smth

you and will go out for dinner bc you get like n A+ in science or some shit and Will is all proud older brother

you get a call from Jay that the case is ramping up so he wont be home tonight and then ur like lit ill stay at wills i just gotta grab some stuff

you and will walk in and the house is like a mess and your like uh wtf

and will is like ok let me call jay or the cops or whatever

before he can he gets like smacked from behind like all those stupid movies

ur like o shit what the actual fuck

these big old dudes are in all black and holding like riffles bc intimidating and ur like :o

and ur standing in the kitchen so you do that really funny grab for the closest weapon and its like a pan that was waiting to dry or something entirely useless

theyre like yeah ok sure put it down u dimwit

u like stand over will being like feck off my brothers a cop

theyre like ha lol yeah we know we tryna find him where he at

ur like ha what i dont know? wouldn't have a clue

and theyre like ok then u come with us and ur like uh no sir

omg what if they chloroformed them that would be the funniest trope ever

jay is like workin the case being all undercover n shit and then he gets a call and its wills phone and hes like oh what did y/n do

will is like silent

jay is like yo whats up u alg

OR WHAT IF ITS LIKE WHAT THEY DID TO SAY WHERE THEY JUST SEND LIKE A SUPER FUCKING ANGSTY SHIT QUALITY VIDEO OF THEM LIKE BEATING WILL WHICH IS SUPER FUCKING NOT FUNNY BUT IS FUNNY TO IMAGINE THE UNO REVERSE FOR JAY

Jay immediately looses his mind and tries calling u like wheres will tf

obvi u dont answer and hes like this aint right

the team go to jays house and its all like torn apart but nothign like bad?

they call in the lab and the labs were like oh hey there's blood but they cleaned it? or smth

jay is spiralling and then they get anoter video of u? idk something else angsty

theyre like release our dude and give us back all the idk like guns and shit and voight is like ok well no way they let us do that

jay almost going cowboy cop

everyones like well this is great

you are like locked up by zipties bc criminals are stupid and you manage to like breakfree like a real mvp

u like find a gun or smth bc thats fun and free will

your all like well theres enough warehouses n creepy buildings in chicago for u to be anywhere so tf where we at

wills all leave me bc thats a funny trope and ur like shut the fuck up u dumbass

some military dude comes round the corner with his gun and sees u tryna walk with dead weight will and hes like? what are-

you shoot him bc badass bitch

he like fall down is all bloody and ur like o shit i just killed a man

will is like ya we gotta go ok like this shit serious fam

you walk around a corner and they all be sitting around in the big room and u and will are like oh hi guys

they all like point guns and ur like ah man we dead

but then!! intellegence is all out ur guns on the ground now! police things!

one of them like aims his gun but someone shoots his gUN bc i think thats the badassest thing ever and then he like has a bleeding hand and grabs u and knife to the throat thing bc trope central over here

no one has a clean shot so they all like omg dude let her go

do u get like seriously hurt? lowkey imagine like them dying and jay and will being like a mess ok thats way too dark but i like?

you either

die

get seriously maimed like idk loose a limb or smth idk

or ur unharmed and are like omg how am i not even bruised tf is this

depends on the level of angst idk

if anyone wants to ready this lmk i might actually write it

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Okay guys, you've convinced me lol, here's the gist of the Kim/Porsche idea!

The Kittisawats are a rival mafia family led by Porsche

When Kim is ~18, instead of running away to college, he sells himself to Porsche to be his sex slave. It's surprisingly wholesome.

This happens bc Kim discovers Tawan's being sketchy. Kinn doesn't believe him, so Kim tries to find more evidence, only to learn Korn is also involved (not directly, but he makes it very easy for Tawan to find secrets to sell, and be the snake he is). Kinn doesn't believe Kim about this either, but now he's angry bc Kim is trying to tear down Tawan and their father, while he's blinded by love and respect for both.

So Kim runs straight to Porsche

The conditions for his deal: Porsche gets Kim and everything he knows, as long as Porsche protects him from his father, swears not to hurt Kinn, and takes care of Tawan. Kim just wants to keep his family safe. But he knows he's just become a traitor, and his father won't let that stand. So. He's stuck with the Kittisawats. (It's not a hardship. He's honestly treated so much better by Porsche, feels more free as his slave than his father's son, and isn't that fucked up.)

At this point, Porsche isn't sleeping with men yet. There's some interest but no follow through. But Kim is offering himself up, so like. That's what he's supposed to do, right?? That seems like the thing to do. Because Kim's his sex slave now. So they should have sex.

Neither of them have any idea what they're doing. Kim's being heavily influenced by Vegas' psychotic stories of his sex pets, so that's what he expects from Porsche, and that's the role he's trying to fill. Porsche is just going along for the ride.

(It ends up angsty later bc neither of them actually want this. Or, they don't want it like this.)

Porsche does think Kim is very pretty, which leads to some... interesting situations. Some dubcon gender. Kim is going to play the part of his beautiful demure mistress because he feels like he has to. And it's easier this way, separating himself from the situation by playing this role, changing every aspect of himself down to his voice. (Until he has an identity crisis and a breakdown about it.)

This actually becomes a central part of the fic, but I don't want to spoil the surprise.

After Kim's break down, they start over, establish some boundaries and expectations. Once Kim gets comfortable enough to feel safe with Porsche, and his place under Porsche's power, he becomes an absolute gremlin. Porsche loves it, he's so fun, he's such a little shit.

Another central part of this fic is that Kim has OCD and slight agoraphobia. The agoraphobia comes after he betrays his father, it's a gradual onset. First he's just in hiding, but then Porsche starts trying to make him go out more. He's heard stories about Kim's eldest brother who never leaves the tower, he doesn't want Kim to end up like that. But Kim resists him at every turn, until it's just. Natural for him not to leave. (Chay will later get him outside, but not for a while.)

The OCD has always been there. But Korn isn't exactly a beacon of mental healthy support, so Kim has no idea what it is. All he knows is that he's Odd, that there are certain rituals he has to perform or else he feels like he's going to die, or someone else is, and he's usually punished for it. I don't want to get into all of them here but !!! I've spent the past few days coming up with self-soothing rituals for Kim and they are so good. It's not the usual generic habits like ~clean freak~ or ~counting things~, they're connected to his specific traumas, and they are so. excellent. they make me so happy.

So yeah! There you go! It starts out almost like an arranged marriage trope, Kim sells himself to Porsche, they eventually relax around each other, and they become excellent friends (who fuck, but don't fall in love). Kim uses family secrets to help Porsche get a leg up on his father. Porsche eventually helps mend Kim's broken relationship with Kinn (DubCon brother bonding).

Oh! And while Porsche isn't particularly kinky in this story, Kim is, so Porsche has to learn how to be a good dom for him. Once again the way that happens is very angsty, but it turns out great for them! Kim just needs someone to put him in subspace and leave him there for a while, get him out of his head. It's as close to therapy as he's likely to get.

[buzzyb33]

hiii it me..can i get angsty smut of josh if you're comfortable please...also loved your last fic so cute xoxo

Prompt: Y/n going out with one of her childhood friends and it instantly getting photographed and sent to josh- though he knew she wouldn’t cheat on him- though, he hadn’t told his friends you and him were even together, he was already having a bad day and this just pissed him off more- ending in sloppy forgivings.

Warnings: swearing, SMUT, dirty talk, angsty.

I wait on the side of the busy streets of London after meeting up with Keegan, a friend from my secondary school I haven’t seen in years.

I had a small smile on my face as I wait for my Taxi, I’d already let josh know I was on my way back but I hadn’t got a response.

I see my uber and climb in, I arrange my schedule as I get ready to tell josh about my day.

As I get home I pull my converses off and clear my throat.

“Josh?”

I call as I walk into the living room.

He isn’t in their so I assume he was in his office or our room.

“Josh! I’m back!”

I shout as I go to wash my hands.

“Where were you?” He says as I jump slightly and turn to him.

“I was out with a friend from my secondary school.”

I look at his face and I can tell he’s pissed off, he has a small frown etched into his features and his stance is more firm.

“Yeah- right, Y/n-“ he exhales.

“Don’t do this- you’re clearly pissed off at something don’t try to use me to get more annoyed.” I say and he rolls his eyes.

“I don’t do that- I didn’t ask who you was with- though it was my next question, where were you?” He says again and I narrow my eyes.

“Central London, a coffee shop.” My voice is firm as I look up at him.

“Who were you with?” He asks as his eyes narrow into mine.

“Keegan Cooper- a friend of mine when I was younger.” I challenge him.

“So- just a friend?” He questions and I loose my guard for a second.

“Josh are you taking the piss- you think-“

He cuts me off “I don’t think anything y/n, I just asked you a question.”

“Yes, he’s just a friend.”

He hums and turns around, going to his office.

I scoff and go to our room.

-

“Y/n! Come here please..” I hear josh and I go downstairs, I was still in my black pencil skirt and grey jumper.

“What? Do you want another argument?” I hold back an eye roll and he sighs.

“No- come here.” He replies with a soft sigh and I narrow my eyes.

“I’m close enough.”

“Please?” I exhale and he taps his thigh, I sit down on his lap hesitantly and he kisses my cheek.

I sit to face him, my legs on either side of his thighs.

I tuck myself closer to him and he groans lightly, I kiss his bearded cheek.

His calloused hands find my hips and he breathes in the scent of my hair.

I get his motives and move my hips lightly on his, his breathes getting deeper as his fingers dig into the flesh in my thighs.

I breath as he pulls back and looks into my eyes for permission I kiss his lips briefly and nod.

He pulls down his tracksuit bottoms and leaves himself in his boxers, his cold hands traveling up my jumper giving me goosebumps, I shiver as no words are exchanged between us, his hands go to my jumper and I lift my arms up as he pulls it off, my hips still moving lightly, his mouth going to my breast bone.

Soft whimpers leave my mouth as I speed up my pace, feeling his hard-on getting more intense.

He grunts lowly as his lips travel further down, his right sliding up and down my waist.

I could tell from his movements he was still pissed off so this was going to be rough.

Meh pulls his mouth off of me and brings me onto my back underneath him, my skirt rolled at my hips, my black panties already damp.

He mumbled something under his breath as his lips went to my jaw, his hands on his waistband.

“You ready?” He said with almost a dark tone to his normally energetic voice.

I meet his eyes and nod.

He pulls his boxers down, his cock springing free as I bite my lip, my cheeks flushing.

He pulls down my panties, leaving my bottom half bare except my socks.

He grips my hips, sure to leave marks for tomorrow as he eases himself inside of me, my ankles meeting at his tail bone.

He gives my little to no time to adjust before he starts thrusting, low grunts leaving him as his mouth goes to my breasts which were still covered by my bra, he pulls it down with his mouth and sucks my breasts as my head goes back, his hips snapping into me.

He grumbles and speaks: “this is- all me- yeah? ‘s all mine… ain’t it n/n?” He says in between pants.

I nod as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Y-ye- fuck josh-! Yeah.. all yours..”

He grins as his hips somehow snap into mine harder.

“Yeah- t-that’s what I fucking thought.. just me..” he groans out as he brings his calloused hands to my waist as he keeps on thrusting.

I breath out moans of pleasure, my eyes pricking with tears at his sheer size.

“My body- yeah- yeah..” he mumbles to himself as I feel myself clench around him, his grunts getting deeper and his thrusts harder.

My moans getting more high pitched as I grip the back of his neck, my arms around him.

“Josh- I- I’m close-“ I grown out as he opens his eyes.

“You can go more than one- can’t ya? Cum on my cock.. yeah..” he groans as he slows down a bit.

I tremble as I hit my first climax- and definitely not last- of the night.

“Good girl…” he breaths, and I swear to god, I could cum again from that alone.

Through out the night, we switched positions and I rode him, kissed him and sucked his neck.

After all the sex, he pulled out of me, some fun dripping of his semi-erection- a mix of both of ours.

He pulls his boxers back up as I sit on his thighs, exhausted.

He pulls my panties back up for me and picks me up, taking us into the master bedroom.

He tells me not to fall asleep as he runs a nice hot bubble Bath.

We had had sex before and after care was something he did, but it had never really crossed my mind how much effort he put into it, how much effort he put into us.

He comes back in as his sleeves are pulled up and his hands are wet.

He gives me a smile and leans down to pick me up again.

I smile at him.

“Josh-“

He cuts me off.

“No, you don’t need to.”

He instructs me to undress which I oblige, feeling a little more self conscious.

He undressed himself as we climb into the bath together, my back to his chest as he massaged my scalp with shampoo and silence.

“You okay?” He asks, a gentle touch of concern in his voice.

Although he was rough, it was very fucking pleasurable.

“Yeah, I’m okay- are you?” He hummed in response.

“You sure I didn-“ I cut him off.

“I’m sure.”

He smiles as the bathroom sets into comfortable silence.

As we get out the bath he kisses my lips the second I’m in my pretty little thing pyjamas and pulls on a vest and some bottoms.

As he climbs in bed with me he looks into my eyes and I look back, before they wonder and see the mark I left on his neck that he was more than aware about.

“I’ve got a recording in the morning so I might not be here when you wake up, Kay?” He asks as I nuzzle into his chest.

I nod as his arms wrap around me, and I think at that moment I realised this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

The following morning, josh had forgot to mention or even bother hiding the hickey on his neck.

The problem was, y/n was another content creator in his circle, she made comedy skits with other YouTubers and had a podcast with Becky bambino.

He was recording ”sidemen who wants to be a millionaire 2” and took off his hoodie where his neck was very clearly on show, though he didn’t think about it nor attract much attention.

“I’d like to phone a friend, please.” Ethan says as he looks At Harry.

“Okay! And is this friend in the studio or call them?” Harry asks as he crosses his arms.

“I’d like to ask Zerkaa please-“ everyone looked at josh and Tobis jaw actually dropped.

“What?” He said as their faces mirrored shock.

“Josh, you’ve been busy!” Harry laughs as josh frowns.

“What do you me- oh.” His face instantly turns a bright shade of red.

“Well-“ he utters as he covers his face.

“Who josh?! Do we know them?” Tobi asks as JJ laughs loudly.

“…”

“Yeah, you know her..”

Quite well, too.

A/n:

FIRST SMUT?? I don’t mind this one ibr.

By the way, should be a new fic every 3-5 days!

Requests are open!

Masterlist!

[fizzyxcustard]

Just My Imagination.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x Original Female Character (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Undercover agents, angst, insecurity, anxiety.

Word count: 5725

Summary: From the imagine: "Imagine that you are on an operation with Lucas North, where you have to use a cover story that you’re in a relationship. Only Lucas plays the part a little too well."

Comments/Notes: Requested by anon. Requested as Lucas x Amy. THANK YOU. You know how much I love writing about Lucas and Amy. This piece was requested to be a romantic comedy, but I’m so sorry to say that it wound up just being angsty again. 

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Operation Greenacre. 

Amy looked back over the folder in front of her, memorising all the information inside. Her name while on this operation was Amanda Reynolds, an office assistant in central London at a family law firm. Recently engaged to boyfriend of two years, Ben Waverley, aka Lucas North, her current operation partner. 

Amy and Lucas had been given keys to a one-bedroom flat where they would act out their pretend lives, hoping to gather more inside information from their next door neighbours, a couple who were potentially funding terrorists through their charity. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Lucas asked, hovering at her desk. “If you don’t feel comfortable then tell Harry and we can stand you down.”  

“I don’t want to let anyone down,” Amy sighed, giving him an anxious and embarrassed smile. Next to Jo Portman, Amy was the closest in age to Lucas, so could easily pass off as his fiancée. However, Jo was on another operation. 

Lucas pulled a chair across from the desk opposite and sat down next to Amy. “Look, you’ve never done this before, and it’s kind of going against procedure here and taking a risk. You don’t have to say yes just to please Harry or to impress anyone. Your safety and wellbeing comes first.” 

“But the only other person is Ros.” 

“So?” Lucas asked, raising his eyebrows. “Ros and I have had cover stories before where we’ve been in a relationship. We can easily make it work.” 

Amy looked at Lucas and felt the butterflies flap more viciously in her stomach. The man was gorgeous, and in Amy’s mind her being seen as his fiancée was even more inconceivable than Ros taking the place. Ros Myers had the confidence and grace that Amy didn’t. Amy was of short stature, more curvaceous, with short dark hair and what she considered more ‘plain’ features. While Amy had proven herself as a damn good analyst and office based intel officer, her confidence waned when venturing into new situations, or when in the company of Lucas. 

*

Near the end of Lucas’ shift, he tapped on Harry’s door. 

Harry Pearce, government renowned intelligence officer and senior lead of Section D, raised his head. “Yes, Lucas. Come in.” 

Lucas closed the door behind himself and sat down opposite the middle aged man. “I want to talk to you about Operation Greenacre. I don’t think Amy is ready, Harry. I’ve got a feeling that she’s accepted this to try and prove herself to you.” 

“Is this because you’re concerned about having to watch out for her, or a genuine interest in her safety?” 

“I can’t believe you’d ask me that question,” Lucas scoffed. “I’m worried for her, not me. She’s not ready for field work. Can we just ask Ros to do it?” 

“Lucas, Amy has already agreed to this and your documentation is being processed. I can’t stop this from going ahead, and Ros has, as of this afternoon, been put onto Op Hickory. I trust that you’ll be able to help her; the two of you seem to work well together and there’s something about the way she interacts with you. There’s an ease and a trust I sense.”

“I’m not questioning how we work together. I’ve always got on very well with her.” 

Harry saw a very faint blush hit Lucas’ cheeks, which was quite rare for him. Not much seemed to faze him, but this conversation appeared to be bringing out the very first signs that Lucas may have been holding a secret close to his heart. 

**

Amy woke early the next morning and rolled over to see that it was quarter to five. She had only gotten a couple of hours sleep, sporadic through the night. Her mind was ablaze with all the details of her new life she was about to live. 

Amanda Reynolds. Thirty one years of age. Born in Manchester. Older brother named Thomas. Fiancee of Ben Waverley. A gorgeous man like him wouldn’t ever be interested in someone like me….

The thoughts had trailed off many times, departing from the facts she had to memorise. All she could think about was how appearing engaged to Lucas would seem so far-fetched. She had even looked upon the engagement ring many times, wishing that it was all for real. What an absolutely stupid dream. This woman that she was pretending to be, Amanda Reynolds, had a better life than she had ever had. 

**

At around half seven, after showering, pacing her flat with podcasts playing in her ears, Amy heard her front door buzzer sound. It couldn’t have been the postman, as he normally left all mail in the boxes in the lobby. Deliveries weren’t usually this early. 

Amy clicked the intercom. “Hello?” 

“It’s Lucas.” 

Just his voice was like a wave of pleasurable electricity. It ran down her spine and made her smile. “I’ll let you in.” 

As Amy opened her door, she saw Lucas walking up the hallway. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt, with the top two buttons opened. He held something in his hands. 

“I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet, Aim,” he said softly. 

“I thought we were meeting at nine, at the flat,” Amy said stupidly. 

“I just thought you might like to have a bit of food first and relax a bit.” 

Amy let Lucas into her flat, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves begin to descend. 

“Malcolm has organised the moving van this morning, so a lot of the stuff should be there when we arrive later,” Amy told Lucas, stepping into the kitchen, with him just behind. 

“Come and sit down for a bit and don’t think about the op. Relax and take your mind off it.”

Amy looked down at the brown paper bag on the counter and then back up at Lucas, feeling something in her chest, an ache that she had never quite felt before. Not only was he gorgeous, but kind. He actually saw her, and made her feel like she mattered. Or was this purely to try and help her feel more confident to better the outcome of the op? A method of getting the best out of her. 

“Did you manage to get that sketch completed?” Lucas asked, taking a large bite out of a croissant. 

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Amy said. Only a few days earlier and Amy had been sketching a photo of her nephew at her desk in work. It was a gift that she wanted to give to her sister for her birthday. 

**

By the time that Amy and Lucas had made it to the flat where they would be spending at least the next couple of weeks, Amy felt a little more at ease. The two of them greeted the moving men. 

Every now and again, Amy would catch a glimpse of a shimmer of rainbow colours from the corner of her eye, as the sun caught the diamond on her left hand. 

It all felt natural as Amy and Lucas began putting items away after unpacking boxes. However, it all changed, when a tall red-headed woman came to their open door. She tapped on it and stepped over the threshold and into the living room. “Hello?” 

“It’s okay,” Lucas whispered to Amy as they remained together in the bedroom, still opening boxes. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Then he winked at her, watching as her startled face disappeared out of view. 

“Morning,” Amy said, her face beaming at the sight of the redhead. “I’m guessing you’re a neighbour?” 

“I am. I’m Pamela from next door, at number five. I heard we were getting new neighbours. It’s been so long since anyone has lived here, and I was starting to wonder if they’d ever find tenants.” 

Amy chuckled nervously. “I’m Amanda. My fiancée Ben is still in the bedroom trying to put the bed back together, so he should be out in a bit.”

On cue, just as Amy spoke those last words, Lucas appeared and approached. He curled his arm around Amy’s waist and drew her in against him. “Hi, I’m Ben. I hate moving. It makes me do some DIY which is one of my pet hates.” 

As Lucas spoke, Amy was sure that she could feel Lucas’ fingers moving in an almost circular motion against her waist. She could feel heat rising up her body at the sensation of being in such close proximity of him. 

“Is that a diamond I see?” Pamela asked, her dark eyes growing bright. 

Amy raised her hand to show her new neighbour. “We’ve been engaged about two months now.” 

Lucas pulled Amy that tad closer as she spoke, feeling a deep warmth rise upward and fill him. Without even thinking, he placed a kiss on her temple. Her skin was so soft under his lips and he could smell strawberries, no doubt from her shampoo. 

“You’ll have to come over for dinner tomorrow,” Pamela offered. “We always enjoy hosting dinners for our neighbours. Ted is ever the showman.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Amy said, her voice ever so slightly teetering on the edge of nervousness. She could feel the change in her voice now that Lucas was touching her. 

“I’ll let you both get back to it. I’ll see you around no doubt.” 

As Pamela disappeared into her front door, Amy immediately pulled from Lucas. She turned away from him and dashed away into the kitchen, where she flicked on the kettle for a drink. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel her legs shaking. For a few seconds, she watched out of the window, focusing on the clouds and took a deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” Lucas asked. “You did well, Aim.” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little flustered, that’s all.” 

**

The rest of the day was fairly lowkey, with Amy and Lucas putting the belongings away, which hopefully wouldn’t be needed for too long. At the briefing, Harry and Lucas had explained that they hoped that the undercover part of the op wouldn’t be any more than two or three weeks. Most of it hinged on Lucas being able to wind his way into Ted Delaney’s trust and gain any hints as to his reasoning and motives for working alongside terrorists. 

At around six there was a sharp knock at the door. 

Lucas opened the door, only to see Ted Delaney in front of him. Positive ID made from all the documentation that had been gathered prior to the undercover portion of the op going live. 

“I’m Ted from next door. Pam told me you’d moved in and that she’d invited you to dinner tomorrow. Thought I’d come over and extend my welcomes to you both.” 

Ted Delany was a man who was easily in his mid-fifties. His greying hair was swept back and oiled, and his grey eyes were piercing. His clothing showed that he had money and position: a well-tailored navy suit and shined shoes. 

“Would you like a drink with us?” Lucas asked. 

“Sure,” Ted said, flashing a broad smile. 

Lucas immediately approached the whiskey and vodka bottles that were neatly placed out on a small table next to a large bookcase. 

Amy could hear faint chatter as she remained in the bedroom. For a second, she stood with her back to the wall, took a deep breath and then exited. 

“Hey, babe,” Lucas said, seeing Amy. ‘Babe’ somehow felt wrong in his mouth, and he hoped that to Delaney the word didn’t come across too alien. “This is Ted from next door.” 

“Ted, this is Amanda. The love of my life and wife-to-be.” 

I think that may be a bit too much, Lucas. Amy mused. 

Amy sat down on the black leather sofa which was opposite a matching armchair, where Ted had perched himself. 

Lucas handed the glass of whiskey to Ted and then placed himself down next to Amy. His hand rested on her thigh, again doing that circular motion with his fingers. He looked at Amy, passing her a glance. “Do you want me to get you anything from the kitchen?” 

“You’re missing out on the good stuff, love,” Ted said with a hearty chuckle and raised his glass in the air. 

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Amy replied. “I’ve never been able to hand alcohol particularly well. It just doesn’t sit well with me.” 

“I remember when we first met, and she tried to impress me by drinking a couple of pints,” Lucas said. “She’s always tried to impress me when there’s no need to. She’s perfect the way she is.” Lucas, on instinct, squeezed her leg. 

Amy felt a rod of red hot head swarm in her head, as if angry wasps were buzzing there. “I always felt I was out of your league, Ben, you know that.” 

“Pam was always like that with me, too. Some women might seem like they have confidence, but deep down they don’t, and feel they need to be something they’re not. In fact, they’ve always been the apple of your eye from the very beginning.” 

Lucas chuckled. “That’s definitely always been the way with her. She doesn’t see how amazing she is.” 

**

Ted only stayed for approximately twenty minutes, before leaving Amy and Lucas for the night. There was a silence that had grown between them both now, and as Lucas remained in the living room, Amy sat in the kitchen with a mug of tea between her arms, which were resting on the table. 

“Aim, what’s wrong?” Lucas asked, finally following her into the kitchen. “You’ve been quiet since Delaney left. Is it making you uncomfortable?” 

Lucas looked down at the table to see the engagement ring. It was in the centre of the table, not on Amy’s hand where it should have been for the op. 

“I can’t wear it, Lucas,” Amy said softly. “Not when it’s not real. I can’t close the door and still have it on my hand. It’s bad enough having to have you touch me.” 

“Amy…” 

“It doesn’t matter what I think. We see this op through and then go back to the grid and get on with things.” 

**

Lucas lay on the sofa, while Amy had the bed, and thought on her words. It’s bad enough having you touch me. Was she disgusted by him? That very thought made his jaw clench and an ache rise in his chest. That was why she had dashed from him when Pamela had been at their door; Amy found him disgusting and couldn’t stand him touching her. And that touch had been real, so real in Lucas’ mind. To hold Amy next to him had felt like everything was perfect, and nothing was an act. The kiss on her temple...that was all from Lucas’ heart. 

Amy tossed in bed, replaying the events. The way Lucas had touched her, and those words. They seemed to be somehow as though he was telling her, behind a mask of someone else, that…. Of course he wasn’t! 

Lucas is good at his job. He’s done this so many times before and played the part well to get what’s needed for the case and then move on. Nothing is different about this operation whatsoever. It’s just my imagination. 

Being in a different bed meant that Amy couldn’t quite get comfortable in the bed, and would keep peering out of one eye at the clock on the bedside table. The bed was big, enough space for her to roll around, but it reminded her of how isolated she felt. Cut off. Unwanted. 

It was just after four ‘o’ clock and Amy knew she wouldn’t sleep any more that night. It was like the night before, just a couple of hours made up of half hour dozing phases. A dull thump was already starting up behind her eyes. As Amy pulled herself out of bed, she heard the whishing of blood in her ears. 

She staggered out of the room and across the living room, heading for the kitchen. There, on the sofa, sprawled out was Lucas. He was on his back, mouth wide open. The patchwork quilt had fallen off him, so Amy tottered over to him, and placed the quilt back over his sleeping form. He twitched as the quilt touched him, let out a loud snore, and then rolled over. 

Amy made a cup of herbal tea and sat in the kitchen, her eyes stinging and head thumping. It seemed as if Lucas slept easily, not worrying about the operation and certainly not about the tension that had risen between them. Was it only Amy that sensed any kind of tension? She was starting to assume it was. 

By the time it had turned half six, Amy got dressed into a fresh strip of clothing, choosing jeans and a frilled white blouse: the attire of Amanda Reynolds. Amy Holland, MI5 analyst, would have opted for jeans and a rock band T-shirt with a waistcoat, or a bright coloured hoodie. Sophistication wasn’t something that Amy felt she had. 

The streets were fairly quiet and Amy slipped into a café, ordering two bagels and two Americano coffees. Then she walked back to the flat, feeling that she could finally find a sense of peace out in the chilled mid-March air. 

By the time Amy got back to the flat, she walked in to find that Lucas had vacated the sofa. She could hear the splashing of bathwater and an offkey singing voice coming from the bathroom. 

Amy giggled and placed the breakfasts down on the coffee table in the living room, waiting for Lucas to re-appear. 

When he finally made an appearance, Lucas sauntered over to the sofa and sat down, leaving a gap between Amy and himself. 

“I hope you like bagels,” Amy said, giving a smile. “You brought breakfast yesterday so it’s only fair I do so today.” 

***

Amy ventured out the flat after breakfast, deciding to get out of Lucas’ way for a few hours. The cover story was that Amanda and Ben were on annual leave for a week while they moved into their new property. Ben, being the owner of his own accountancy firm, had left the company in the capable hands of his best friend, and co-director, Patrick Lange. If any kind of phone call was needed to or from Patrick, Tariq had been asked to step in and lend his vocal skills. 

First off, Amy sat down in a coffee shop and watched people wander past the window; tourists, residents. Some of them she could tell immediately as residents of London, carrying briefcases or dressed sharp for an upcoming meetings. Tourists tended to walk slower, some with cameras around their necks, and gazed around in excitement and wonder. 

Her phone chimed. Well, Amanda’s phone. It was one of the many iPhones that were kept on the Grid specifically for operations, with disposable SIM cards. 

Ben: Are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t seem yourself this morning. Love you. Xxx

Of course all text messages had be sent in character, in case the devices were ever compromised. No personal devices were allowed. One very basic Nokia 3310 model was kept in order to report back to Harry in case any challenges occurred, and that was in Lucas’ possession. 

Amanda: Yes, I’m fine, sweetie. I’ll be back later.  xx

Sweetie. Acting out this whole made-up scenario was angering Amy. 

Amy continued on walking, disappearing in and out of shops. All of the money she had was in physical cash. No personal credit and debit cards were to be used while on operation. Every aspect of who she really was had been erased. For the next two or three weeks, Amy Holland didn’t exist. When she looked into a mirror, Amanda Reynolds looked back. Amy could imagine the reflection smirking at her, the diamond sparkling so brightly on her left hand, with Ben’s arm wrapped around her. Ben’s steel blue eyes looking back, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the mere sight of Amy. 

Like I’d ever look at you twice.

Back at the flat, Lucas put more items away, concentrating on the kitchenware. However, his mind couldn’t stop spiralling into thoughts of Amy. She was confusing him and it was twisting his gut so tight. Suddenly he got up from the tiled floor, where he had been putting pots and pans into the cupboards, and called her. 

“Amanda?” he asked. 

“Ben,” she replied matter-of-factly. 

“Are you alone?” he asked. 

“No one is directly around me.”

“We need to talk on neutral ground.” 

“Please, no. We can talk when I get back.”

“We have to be careful as we can be compromised, you know that.” 

“I’m on my way back now. We’ll talk more after the dinner. I’ll be back in about half hour.” 

The line then went quiet as Amy terminated the call. 

Lucas sighed in frustration. In all the months that he had known Amy, which was almost a year, he had never known her be so aloof. She was naturally a shier person, but he had never known her react like this. 

Amy got back to the flat within the half hour that she had promised. She stepped into the living room to see Lucas sat on the sofa. The gorgeous bastard looked up at her and smiled sadly. 

“After the dinner, we’ll go for a walk,” she proposed. 

***

Amy and Lucas prepared themselves for the dinner with their new neighbours at around six. 

Lucas was dressed in a black suit jacket and white shirt, with the top two buttons popped open. It was complimented nicely with a pair of dark jeans, giving a casual edge. 

Amy stepped out of the bedroom, her short pixie cut freshly washed and neatly brushed. She wore a black dress with frills on the wrist, and paired with black dolly shoes. Her whole look was sophistication mixed with a sense of comfort. 

As Lucas looked at her, he swallowed hard. She was wearing a dark eyeshadow and mascara which accented her deep green eyes perfectly. He could sense her discomfort at the get-up, knowing that this wasn’t her usual style, but he couldn’t help feel it suited her so well. 

Amy tried to avoid eye contact and made her way to the door in silence. 

Lucas followed on behind, feeling his stomach twist yet again at her distance from him. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the table by the door, and then closed it behind them. 

Pam was the one to answer the door. She grinned at her new neighbours and let them in. “Take a seat. Dinner won’t be too long now. I’m preparing smoked salmon, topped in my special sauce. Chef’s secret as to the recipe. Everyone who has ever tried it has raved over it.” 

“Good man!” Ted exclaimed, taking the bottle of red wine from Lucas. “Priorities.” 

Amy glanced around the living room, noticing that there was far less in it than hers and Lucas’ temporary abode. The flooring was wooden, and the lights bright. Everything felt too clean and sterile for Amy’s liking. She sat down on a black leather sofa, and then tensed as Lucas perched beside her. He took her hand and rested it on his knee, then caught her gaze and smiled, giving her a very slight nod. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Pam asked, preparing glasses as Ted popped open the wine bottle. 

“Do you want a coffee? You said last night you don’t drink,” Ted asked Amy, interjecting himself into the conversation before anyone else could speak. 

“Oh, yes, please. That would be perfect,” she replied with a grateful smile. 

Lucas began to talk, still holding Amy’s hand. He rolled out the spiel that he and Amy had been given as part of their briefing pack. Amanda and Ben had met through mutual friends at a Christmas party. 

The words rolled effortlessly off Lucas’ tongue, Amy mused. And how she wished all of it was true. To be loved, wanted, proposed to, lived with. She desperately wanted it all. Life was cruel. Rather than be dealt such a lucky hand, she instead had to act it all out, pretend, and live behind a happy mask, where her heart beneath was breaking. 

“You definitely struck lucky, love,” Pam told Amy with a wink. 

The conversation between Lucas and Ted seemed to flow without much thought. However, Lucas’ hand moving up Amy’s thigh, curling further into the inside of her leg. 

Shivers began to race up Amy’s spine as she felt his fingers caress her skin through her thin tights. 

Most of the conversation seemed to merge into a mindless chatter as Amy concentrated on Lucas’ hand on her leg. She studied the veins in the back of his hand, which then caused images of him touching her in more intimate places to flicker through her mind. 

By the time that dinner was ready and the group had moved into the dining room, which again was a sterile looking room, Lucas had finally got onto the topic of conversation that he needed: Ted’s work. 

The table was only small, considering that the flat was large. It gave way for more kitchen space and cabinets. This meant that Amy was sat directly next to Lucas again, with Pam and Ted opposite them. 

“How long have you owned the charity, Ted?” Lucas asked, slipping into his seat. 

Ted began to answer while Pam laid out all the dishes in the centre of the table, her hands covered in oven gloves. “The charity was actually started by my father, who died five years ago, so it was handed down to me. He always spent his life helping disadvantaged children; it was all he cared about.” Something flickered across Ted’s face. Resentment, anger? Lucas couldn’t quite tell. But maybe that was where he could probe further. 

“Are you alright, love?” Pam asked, sitting down directly opposite Amy. “You look a bit pale.” 

“It’s probably the new foundation I’m using. I decided to try a lighter colour as the one before, by Clinique was too dark.” Where had that response come from? Maybe Amy wasn’t quite as bad at this acting while undercover thing as she had originally thought. Suddenly she felt something on her leg and jumped. Thankfully, Pam had started talking to Lucas and Ted again, so none of them noticed her jump. Why was Lucas touching her leg? Their lower halves were concealed beneath the table, which meant he didn’t have to touch her in order for anyone to believe they were lovers. 

While Amy eat her meal, she couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas’ hand coming back to her leg. 

“So, how did you choose to propose?” Pam asked, grinning. “I always adore love stories.”

Lucas blushed and then looked at Amy, catching her gaze. Then, he touched her leg again. Only this time, Amy didn’t flinch. In fact, upon instinct, she leaned her leg into his touch. “I just knew that I couldn’t live without her in my life. I wanted to wake up next to her, have kids with her. Cliché, I know. So I took her away for Christmas, to New York where she’d always wanted to go, and proposed in front of the Statue of Liberty.” His eyes were still locked on hers as he spoke. 

A sudden wave of nausea hit Amy and she leaned to the side, away from Lucas. 

“Are you okay, babe?” Lucas asked. “She’s been like this on and off the last couple of days.” 

Pam’s bright blue eyes lit up in excitement. “Maybe it’s the pitter patter of tiny feet.” 

“I’m going to have to head back to the flat. I’m so sorry to both of you,” Amy said, bolting up from her seat. 

Lucas got up beside her and wound his arm around her waist. “Sorry to leave so abruptly, but she comes first.” 

“Of course,” Ted chuckled. “We’ll have to re-schedule for a better time.” 

Amy and Lucas bid their farewells to their guests and head back to the flat. Amy dashed inside and raced to the bathroom, slamming the door. Rather than vomiting, she got to her knees on the floor and felt the tears of sadness roll down her cheeks. 

The door opened and Lucas stepped inside. He looked down as she sobbed and fell to his knees beside her. “Aim, what’s wrong?” he whispered. “You’re scaring me.” 

“You don’t have to keep the act going, Lucas,” she snapped, glaring at him. “Pam and Ted aren’t here.” 

“Get dressed into something more comfortable and warmer. We’ll go for a walk,” Lucas said, his voice becoming authoritative. 

“I don’t want…”

“While we’re on this operation, I’m the senior officer. Please get changed and we’ll go for a walk.” Lucas felt a stab of shame as he spoke those words, knowing he was using his own position for gain, but he needed to know what was happening. Her behaviour was becoming more erratic. Not only was she worrying him for her wellbeing, but if she continued to act like this then the op would be compromised. 

Fuck the operation! I care more about her. 

Fifteen minutes later and Amy walked beside Lucas, the darkness and cold evening air wrapping tight around them. Once they were a few streets away from the flat, Amy and Lucas sat down on a bench in a small park. 

“You really are scaring me, Amy. What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. “This is me asking because I care for your wellbeing. It’s not an act.” The word ‘act’ dripped with anger. He noticed that, yet again, she’d taken the engagement ring off. 

Amy noticed him look at her hand. “I can’t wear that ring, Lucas. Please don’t make me wear it when I don’t have to.” 

“We’re on surveillance and undercover twenty-four seven with this operation. You shouldn’t take it on and off when you please like this. This goes deeper than that, Aim. I know you hate me touching you, and I’m sorry I have to do it.” 

“I know it’s all an act for the op, Lucas. Don’t apologise.” 

“Is it all an act?” he asked. His gaze locked on Amy’s. “I know I shouldn’t have touched you under the table. There was no need for that. The truth is, none of this has been an act for me.” 

Amy’s eyes were wide in shock and sadness as she stared at him. “It’s not just my imagination?” she whispered. 

“No,” Lucas replied with a smile. “And when you said about not wanting me to touch you…”

“I didn’t mean that I didn’t want you to touch me. It’s I…I’ve liked you for a while Lucas, and it was getting too much. Playing it all like a game when deep down it’s something I want. I’m living another woman’s life that I want.” 

Lucas slipped closer to Amy and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Is it me or Ben Waverley that you want?” 

“Of course it’s you I want.” Amy replied, her face broad with a huge smile. 

Lucas moved even closer to her still, until their lips touched. The kiss started as a simple peck, a moment of uncertainty, but Amy’s hand tugging Lucas’ jacket spurred him on. The kiss grew deeper, their tongues meeting and warmth rising. 

As they both parted, Lucas smiled upon the slight of Amy’s beautiful flushed cheeks. She looked so innocent and angelic in those moments; her eyes sparkling in happiness, her cheeks flushed and her lips plump. 

“Does this mean that if you want Amanda’s life that you’re planning on leaving MI5?” Lucas chuckled. “Pack up and go work as a solicitor’s secretary. We’d miss you.” 

“Maybe I don’t want that part of her life.”  

“If we do this, Aim, and have a relationship, we won’t be put together undercover again, you know that, don’t you?” Lucas asked. “Harry can’t risk any compromise. We’d be a weakness to each other.” 

“Maybe on this op we can draw strength from each other. It’ll definitely make the act easier to keep up.” 

Lucas and Amy walked back to the flat hand in hand. The whole time and Amy was beaming, unable to hide the happiness she was feeling in those moments. Her gaze would drift down to their joined hands every few minutes. 

Back at the flat, Lucas let Amy in ahead of himself, his hand brushing against her lower back. He followed on behind her and closed the door. The way she turned to face him and looked up smiling, her cheeks still flushed, made his heart skip and his stomach flutter. She was so beautiful, with innocence shining brightly in her eyes and love curling her lips upwards. 

Lucas stepped forward and wound his arm around her waist, drawing her in and then leaned down to kiss her again. 

Their kiss grew hot very quickly, with their bodies entwining. 

Amy opened her eyes slowly, looking up into the silver blue depths of Lucas’ gaze. That all too familiar smirk began to form in the corner of his mouth. 

Amy slipped out of his hold and walked slowly into the kitchen, looking down at the table. The engagement ring was still in the centre where she had left it. 

Lucas moved around her and picked up the ring. Then he gently lifted her left hand. “I know you don’t want to wear it, Aim, but please do this for me.” 

With a sigh, Amy watched as Lucas slid the diamond solitaire ring onto her hand. It felt as though the ring had been sized perfectly and belonged there. “Maybe one day I’ll have someone doing it for real.” 

Lucas smiled sadly, feeling a lump form in his throat. Words swarmed in Lucas’ mind. Just one sentence to respond to Amy’s sad comment. But the right one would not come. Instead, he remained quiet. Perhaps one day it might have been him putting a ring on her hand, and meaning it. However, for now, he would have to wait and see, and hope for that future to come. 

***

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[bitbybitwrites]

WIP ASK ME GAME

I was tagged by @wordsofhoneydew and @itsmaybitheway. Thank you so much for thinking of me! Sorry for the delay - it took me longer than usual to think of descriptions of all the WIP I've got in the works 😂

So here are some Klaine and RWRB fics I'm working on that anyone can feel free to ask me about if you'd like:)

A long WIP list can be found under the break!

Partially published WIP:

(Klaine) If I Can Make Your Heart My Home - (Klaine Reverse Bang 2023) Life in New York City and working in the restaurant industry wasn’t exactly what Kurt Hummel had expected it would be. He’s lonely, stressed out and miserable. He’s almost ready to throw in the towel and return home to Ohio when a chance meeting with a musician in Central Park changes everything. (Warning: an angsty rollercoaster of a ride. Soooo many cameos from Glee characters! 😉)

(Klaine) Falling For You -(Klaine Secret Santa 2023 - NOW COMPLETE AS OF 4/16/24) - Successful doctor, Blaine Anderson has his hands full heading up the pediatric wing of Sloan Kettering Memorial Hospital in NY City. Life with that job and his precocious 6 year old daughter certainly keeps him on his toes - so much so that he thinks he can avoid dealing with the hole left in his life from the death of his husband. Little does he know that falling in love is on the horizon, quite literally, when he meets a florist by the name of Kurt Hummel. (Kid!fic with a bit of angst but a happy ending)

(RWRB) Puppy Love - (RWRB NYE gift exchange 2023) The cold snowy day that Henry Fox discovers an abandoned beagle puppy in an alley brings handsome, flirty veterinarian, Alex Claremont-Diaz into his life. Alex is a single dad, recently moved to NY with his young son who Henry hasn't met yet - or so Alex thought. (Fluffy kid!fic)

(Klaine) Sanctuary - (Klaine Word Scramble 2023) Crown Prince Blaine has stumbled into a secluded glade, trying to escape the horrors of the bloody war his father had brought upon their kingdom. Mourning his beloved older brother and faced with the burden of taking his place in the kingdom, Blaine yearns for a place to hid from the world to deal with the issues weighing on his heavy heart. He encounters a mysterious elf, the guardian of the magical spring that Blaine has mistakenly defiled, whose growing connection to his life the young prince can't ignore. (Inspired by an idea/ artwork by @datshitrandom and @justgleekout)

Not published yet WIP :

(these are in various states of readiness: some outlined, some partially written, some still in the brainstorming/research phase)

(RWRB) I approach, and I withdraw (tentative title) - Historical fic - Alejandro Diaz was still a boy when he followed his father into the thick of the fight for Mexico's independence. A series of unfortunate events, however, led him and his family to flee his home and to adopt new identities for their own safety. Years later, after he finds himself well ensconced in his new life as an attaché to the office of the new American ambassador to England, Alexander Claremont soon finds his past catching up to him. (Inspired by these historical paintings by @stormtrooperjeff17004 as well as artwork from @artofobsession seen here and here.)

(RWRB) Shaken, Not Stirred (Spy!AU) - CIA Officer Alex Claremont Diaz is not new to working on joint operations with other foreign agencies. He does it often and he does it well, which is why his superior, Zahra Bankston, never hesitates to assign them to him. What he wasn't expecting that morning was to be put on a new assignment with his least favorite MI6 operative, Henry Fox - and that they had to use being a newly married couple as their cover to get the job done. (Inspired by this drawing by @noodles-and-tea )

(Klaine) Cuffed (a D/s and soulmate story and prequel to my first ever fic, Trick or Treat) - - Musician Blaine Anderson has always been lonely sub, yearning for a place to belong and someone to belong to. Kurt Hummel is the an overworked and high in demand designer - a Dom with no time to sit and relax and focus on what his needs are. When an old friend hires Kurt to revamp his new club, Kurt's life becomes intertwined with Blaine's in a way neither of them could ignore.

(Klaine) Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie (Day 2 /Bikini - Klaine Advent 2023/ PWP) - A casual little fashion critique while the boys are on a well needed vacation, leads to a little outdoor fun. (Set in my Trick or Treat AU)

(RWRB) how ardently i admire and love you (online auction!AU) - Alex is desperate to find the perfect birthday gift for Henry, and eventually finds himself in an online bidding war for the one unique item that he knows his boyfriend would just adore.

(Klaine) I Know You Wanna Take Me Home (tentative title) (Klaine Valentines Challenge 2024/Pretty Woman!AU) Well established business man, Kurt Hummel never thought he could find anyone of substance among the escorts at Dalton House. But after being convinced to visit the upscale club by his friend, Kurt's mind is quickly changed once he sets his eyes on a beautiful boy in a gilded cage who was up for auction that night.

(Klaine) Untitled Klaine fic (Klaine Advent 2022) - Set in my Klaine superhero AU - Under The Cover of Darkness) Blaine decides to go home with Kurt for the holidays and doesn't make the best first impression with Kurt's parents.

(Klaine) Untitled Klaine fic (Feudal Japan!AU) - based off of novel The Tokaido Road - On a personal mission to avenge the murder of his father, Kurt travels the Tokaido , braving its dangers and interesting characters on the way. As the son of a nobleman, Kurt travels in disguise, unaware that the person who sanctioned his father's murderer has also sent Blaine, a talented and deadly ronin, to find and kill Kurt as well.

(RWRB)- the phantom touch of your hand (tentative title) - (Fantasy/cursed tattoo fic!AU) Two young swordsmen are determined to vanquish a sorcerer who has laid a tragic curse on them both. The problem is, the curse keeps them from being together at the same time, doomed to travel alone, one by day, the other by night - the only reminder of the other being the cursed tattoo burned into their skin.

(Klaine) - Untitled Klaine fic (While You were Sleeping!AU) - Kurt Hummel always wanted to live in NYC - his dreams were to be on Broadway. Being on the Broadway stage that is. Not working on the corner of Broadway and 44th in one of those coffee/food carts parked out on the street. Things for him change the day that Cooper Anderson, Kurt's gorgeous repeat customer whom he secretly fantasizes about, nearly gets hit by a bus. After following him to the hospital, Kurt gets mistaken for being his crush's fiancee which should have been his dream come true - until he meets Cooper's sweet down to earth brother, Blaine.

(Sebklaine) Let you put your hands on me (PWP College threesome) - heavily influenced by "one of those movies" - wink, wink . . - Kurt's frustrated ( in more ways than one) and his good friends Blaine and Sebastian find a way to help him out.

(Klaine/RWRB) - Untitled fic (Scheherazade/ 1001 Arabian Nights !AU) - A lone traveler gets captured by a band of sex slavers in the desert. After being subjected to the horrors of slavery, the young man gets rescued by a desert prince in disguise, chosen to be his sole consort. Every evening, the consort tells his prince a story for him amusement. - planning a series of probably shorts all in the same style. Maybe it'll be a collection to do with other writers? Not sure yet. Might alternate with either Henry/Alex being the Prince and Consort and Blaine/Kurt being the characters in the bedtime tales or vice versa. Or maybe create 2 OC to be the Prince/Consort and have the other four boys be the characters in the shorter stories. I'm assuming it would be alot of mature/explicit shorts - but wouldn't mind a mix of other ratings in between as well.

Tagging ( only if they want to play): @myheartalivewrites, @clottedcreamfudge, @hkvoyage, @kirakiwiwrites, @gleefulpoppet,

@gleefuldarrencrissfan, @onthewaytosomewhere, @sarkyblueeyes, @madas-ahatters-world @rougedraconteur,

@yadivagirl @lilinas, @forabeatofadrum, @kiwiana-writes, @spaceorphan18,

@special-bc-ur-part-of-it, @fallevs @daisyishedwig @annepi-blog @wowbright

@backslashdelta @kurtsascot @coffeegleek @14carrotghoul @rockitmans

@teilo @iboatedhere, @orchidscript @welcometololaland

. . oh hell and anyone else who sees this and wants to share their WIP - go for it!