#he could make your blood boil you alive from the inside

[deathbind]

Serot's own arsenal of spells and generally how he applies necrotic magic differs from modern day Anactaci. You can clearly see the foundation he laid, but it has been over a thousand years. The order has evolved considerably in that time. There's also the fact that he was reborn at level one and has structured his skills to suit his present needs, but [hand waves]

There are different sects and roles within the Anactaci who call on the Plane of Death in different ways, but certain generalities can be relied upon. Their magic is largely geared toward what would be considered divination. They are the bridge between this life and the next, the messengers of eternity. They commune both with the souls of the dead and with spirits — chiefly spirits / entities on the Plane of Death but spirits of all types, including those like Refhremmit. Indeed, every City of Eternity has one Anactaci dedicated to communing with their patron. It is a sacred office.

Beyond that, their magic is deeply focused on the soul and the threshold between life and death. They are adept at identifying and countering curses or maladies of the soul. They are adept at identifying and addressing possessions or spiritual attachments. The skilled can manipulate the ravages of time on a body or object (a skill shared with the Manthu). The most skilled of all can leave their bodies behind to inhabit ritually prepared objects; these become the teachers of the Anactaci and keepers of the deepest mysteries.

Yes of course, they animate and preserve corpses, either directly or by calling a spirit to inhabit it. This is part of Meketi funerary rites. But, simply making dead things move is only part of their skillset. Indeed, it's the most basic part.

Anactaci are bound by sacred oaths to turn their magic to holy purpose and with a thought for balance always. However, a truly irate or unscrupulous Anactaci could do serious damage. Particularly if they are skilled. Insidious curses and nigh-undetectable possessions (i.e. slowly driving a person to madness with ill luck or nightmares; far worse curses are possible). Yanking a person's soul directly from their body, either holding it captive or causing it to become lost. Learning secrets from spirits or from souls that can utterly destroy a person. Causing them to rapidly age, turning to sun-bleached bone before their eyes, one limb at a time. Or causing them to wither, then return to their correct age, then wither, then return to their correct age — over and over until they don't know whether they're alive or dead. If capable of severing their soul from their body, they can possess others directly, influencing or totally overriding their will. They might not touch a person at all; they might sap all life from their home instead.

Fortunately, such corrupt Anactaci are rare — and swiftly dealt with.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Could you do Dom! Yan teacher and Yan Bully fighting over a himbo reader?

Yan teacher vs Yan bully x male reader imagines~! ໒꒰ྀི˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ꒱ྀི১

Taglist: @yyuinaa @kimisbunny @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives

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Jus imaginin you bein a star football player- bein all handsome N’ fit but a total dummy— as oblivious to your surroundings as ever and boy if the captain of your team didn’t let you know jus how stupid he thinks you are!…oh he’s plain O’l cruel, makin you stay after practice slapping you for your mistakes grabbing your ass N’ groping you secretly on tha field like he owns you- he loves havin you to himself N’ making jokes bout you infront of everyone else but boy if he isn’t totally smitten by you…he’s full blown infatuated to the point where it’s insane? I mean he beats you bloody jus to see you look at him all pathetic

Jus imaginin bein a total pet for your college professor, I mean all tha extra tutorin has you close with him is all? That’s just it right!..? But oh no he’s dead set you’re his pretty boy- his pretty baby N’ all you can do is sit wide eyed like a pursed puppy before him, gosh he’d eat you alive if he could- he’d squish you N’ grab you like a lil boy toy but he can’t with that big O’l meanie who’s always by your side, but boy if your professor doesn’t like playin your hero, swoop in an Savin that pretty jaw from his blows.

Jus imaginin your bully givin up bein sweet on you, he starts bein all mean again, punching you N’ gripping you tight makin your big eyes swell up jus so he can angrily try N’ make out with you— poor you bein all confused not even protesting when his flushed cock is in your face, his tip all mushroomed and leakin all over the shaft N’ pressing into your inner cheek— he loves the way you pout, all sloppy with your drool on the ground sitting on your knees is a picture perfect sight to him. Of course your professor finds out, he won’t even look you N’ your eyes after that!

Jus imaginin your professor givin you the silent treatment- gaslighting and tearin your pretty boy status down til your needy and apologetic practically beggin for his forgiveness- these two men were ruinin you- a once happy go lucky man bein twisted into a toxic relationship between two big O’l meanies…N’ why was riding your professors cock the only way to get his forgiveness? “Mh, sirr- are you sure there isn’t a’nother wayy~” your voice is whiny gripping onto his desk with lewd plaps fillin up the room havin his hand on your hip with your lips pressing together forming an ‘O’ shape while his hands rest on your hips liftin and droppin you on his cock havin your insides squished to his size.

Jus imaginin your bully findin out about you and your professor— seein your flushed face and your limp when you show up for practice, it doesn’t take a genius to see you jus took the fuckin of a life time an’ he was full of rage that he wasn’t the man that gave it too ya. Oh how your poor body never catches a break- you’re bent over in the locker room grippin for dear life while he jus grunts and huffs angrily in your ear like a upset dog, your rim burns from bein stretched too long N’ your inner walls are all bruised N’ slick still from your professors cock- he can feel it and he knows you can too.

Jus imaginin the two men tryin to be at each others throats when you turn away N’ playing all nice when you’re around, your bully bein all ruthless T’ you jus so your professor can swoop in N’ be your savior, jus thinkin your bully tryin to be nice f’ once when he sees how close you are T’ the professor—maybe if he sweetens up he can have ya. Your bully bein mean to you until he sees you tuck tail and runin to Him..oh boy if that didn’t make his blood boil seeing you all clingy to that dumb old man—

[fake-bleach]

HOTEL ROOM | SOLDIER BOY x READER

"babysitting" a nearing hundred year old supe wasn't your ideal day, nor was it ever on your bucket list. but, maybe it'll be worthwhile.

word count: 7k

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS: (18+ only!) fem!reader, slight slow burn but very much worth it, porn w/ somewhat much plot & angst/fluff, praise/degrading, use of pet names (honey, baby, sweetheart, etc), drugs i.e. snorting shit (oops, but what else did u expect w/ him..), handjob, piv, unprotected gradual rough sex, tiny bit of hair pulling, coming inside, i thinkk that might be it? happy ending :p another disclaimer: soldier boy's def much softer/vulnerable here cus i feel like reader can change him :) (i'm delusional) :) hope u enjoy! <33

ao3 link! | my masterlist

it’s not like you wanted to babysit. 

and by babysit, i mean watching a 100 year old supe that was still very much alive and well. did i also mention that he was an asshole?

probably not, but you should know that too.

“butcher! no fucking way, there's no fucking way i’m doing this shit!”

you whispered loudly in the british man’s face, trying to make sure that supe couldn’t hear you. but, god, what could that man not do?

butcher rolled his eyes at you, that constant, smug smirk plastered on his face as he shook his head. “oh, c’mon love. you’ll be fine. all he’ll do is watch the telly, snort some shit, and talk ya’ ear off,” he laughed as he stared at your annoyed expression, “i need you here, anyway. can’t have anything happen to you, you got that?”

you turned away from him for a moment, crossing your arms and glancing at the infamous man sat on the hotel bed. you bit the inside of your cheek, sighing out as your head hung low, staring at the floor. for once, you just wanted butcher to take you seriously. to bring you along for the important shit, not this.

but, what else could you do?

you moved to face him again, letting out a noise of disapproval, but your words showing otherwise. “fine, fine, okay. just this one fucking time, okay? you owe me.” you spoke loudly now, your irritation extremely evident.

“oh, come on, doll. am i really that bad?”

soldier boy’s ben’s voice made you flinch; his booming voice sending a rush throughout your body. one part of you was afraid, and the other annoyed. you whipped your head to look at him, his large frame stood in front of you now. he was more than just large; he was powerful.. intimidating. and you’d be lying to yourself if he wasn’t at least a.. little attractive to you. but, you couldn’t let that affect you.

he also had an unbearable ego that practically everyone around him could sense, his arrogant smile directed towards you nearly making your blood boil. 

“considering how much of a conceited asshole you are, i’d say yes,” you bit back at him, returning a condescending grin in response.

ben whistled then, his smile never faltering as he took in your powerful presence and words. “phew! she’s a feisty one, yeah? she yours or is she for the taking?” he teased butcher as a low laugh erupted from him, making you groan. to your surprise, though, his question sounded genuine.

“oh, fuck you! i’m not anyone’s!” you let out, tightening your crossed arms as your eyes moved to butcher. he all but laughed, pursing his lips as he shook his head at ben, pausing for a moment. “oi, play nice you two. can’t be coming back to this room in shambles..” his eyes flickered between you and ben, licking his lips, “but, to answer your question; no, she ain’t, but good luck tryin’, mate. i tried it myself.”

you punched butcher’s shoulder at that, scoffing. “don’t encourage him, you asshole.”

butcher laughed, raising his hands in surrender and giving you an almost apologetic look as he backed up, starting to walk towards the hotel room door. “alright, bye now, love. and you–” he pointed towards ben, his face hardening for a second, “behave, will ya?”

you watched him open the door, shutting it behind him as dread filled your every being. you turned to ben again, his eyes already fixed on you with that same smirk.

“oh yeah, i’ll definitely behave.”

only a few hours in, and you already feel like you’re going insane.

a ton of snarky remarks and about a million snorts of cocaine later, you’re just fighting the throbbing headache that’s building up. hell, anyone would feel the same in your position.

ben was sitting at the small table, you at the end of the bed right next to it, surrounded by fast food and pills. using the end of his knife, he was crushing the small tablets on the table, turning them into fine, white powder. it made you cringe, to say the least.

you watched him as he lined it up, sliding his nose through it eagerly as he sniffed, snorting the line completely. he let out a groan of satisfaction, the white powder stuck on his skin as the high he so desperately craved filled his body.

you let out a quiet chuckle to yourself, shaking your head. for one of the greatest supes in the history of mankind, he was certainly a treasure.

not.

“what are you laughin’ at, huh?” ben looks at you, his face firm as he poses the question. your lips flip, pursing, then frowning slightly as you shake your head. “oh, nothing, nothing. you just.. love that shit, don’t you?” you accuse, a small chuckle escaping your lips again.

his face shifts, a faint smile presented. “what? you want some, is that it?”

“oh no, god no. don’t want any coke of yours, no thank you.” you turn him down instantly, almost as if you couldn’t dream of it.

he laughs now, the deep gravel in it making you shudder slightly. “s’not cocaine, sweetheart. something like it, yeah, but not coke,” he informs you, watching intently as you return your attention to him, interest piquing. you didn’t know much about these kinds of drugs, surprisingly enough considering the people you surrounded yourself with, but you weren’t completely innocent.

he takes notice of your sudden curiosity; your eyes widening just a tad bit more than usual. the way your body language shifts. he notices it all.

cocking his head slightly, he lets out a small chuckle again. “you ever done drugs before, sweetheart?” he asks sincerely, wanting to know. you deny, shaking your head, “no, i mean– i’ve smoked weed maybe once, but i don’t know– never had a reason to do it again, i guess.”

he raises an eyebrow at that, leaning back against the chair he was sat in and crosses his arms. “that so? i’m shocked,” he hums, biting the inside of his cheek at he stares at you, “powerhouse like you, i woulda’ expected you to do allll that crazy shit.”

you snort, looking at him in disbelief. “you got the wrong idea of me then, soldier boy.” you tell him, emphasizing his name. boost his ego a bit more for the fun of it, y’know?

he snickers, staring at you as if you were some puzzle he needed to solve. “do i?” he pushes, leaning a bit forward, “i don’t think i do.”

you roll your eyes at him. “and why’s that?” 

he breathes out, grinning even wider. “sweetheart, you’ve got it written all over you.”

your eyebrows furrow at him, confused. the fuck did he mean by that?

before you could question him, he beats you to it, laying it on you.

“i mean, your attitude with butcher earlier? i don’t know about you, but that don’t sound like someone who takes shit.” he scoffs, his eyes locked on you as he pauses.

“...and you’re not taking any of mine, are you?”

you breathe out through your nose, licking your drying lips and taking in his words. “no, no i guess i’m not,” you admit, appreciating the slight bit of generosity from him, “but, what’s that gotta do with me and your drugs?” you laugh, unable to connect the two.

ben shakes his head, uncrossing his arms and moving his forearm on top of the table, leaning on it. “you’re a curious one, aren’t you? that’s why you didn’t wanna stay with me, right? y’wanted to go out there, save the fuckin’ world, huh?” he inquires, giving you the perfect opportunity to tease him instead of taking him seriously.

“well, no. i actually didn’t wanna stay with you because you’re an–”

“stop being a fuckin’ nag and answer the question.”

his voice booms in your ears, the direct intimidation from him working on you like a charm. you swallow, eyes shifting to look at the table for a moment before returning to him. 

“fine, whatever, i guess you’re right, yeah, i’m.. curious. but, fuck..” you lick your bottom lip, shaking your head as you stare out in front of you, “you try being part of this shit for years, and not being given any opportunity to..” you trail off, huffing.

“to be a hero?” ben questions.

you turn to him now, sad eyes staring into his own. “to be a hero.”

he shakes his head, wiping his mouth and nose as he inhales sharply. “you don’t want that life, kid. trust me.”

your jaw falls open a bit at him, your voice rising, “what the hell do you know about what i want? you don’t know me.”

he huffs, his hand pressing into his knee as leverage as his body leans in towards you, scoffing.

“the fuck did i go through? huh? i was asleep for decades, sweetheart. much before that, i was tortured and experimented on and treated like a piece of fucking meat. an animal.” you stare at him sadly, your demeanor falling as he looks at you with hardened eyes.

“being a fuckin’ hero..” he shakes his head, laughing as his head lowers to look down at his lap, “look where the fuck that got me.” he mutters out, his upper lip twitching as he breathes heavily.

silence fills the room between you two as the faint background noise from the television whirs. you didn’t know what to say. you just knew that maybe.. you were wrong about soldier boy– ben.

he was avoiding your gaze, his chest rising and falling in an attempt to calm himself down. you swallow, pursing your lips. “ben.. i’m sorry you went through that, i really am,” you began, causing him to lift his head at you, “but.. that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve helped people. you’ve saved people. and, yeah, maybe sometimes you weren’t the good guy, but.. you’ve done more than what a lot of people would.”

he looks at you with doe eyes, taking in your little speech. he nods, and it’s almost as if he can’t possibly believe you, but he does. he decides to trust you as your words give him the slightest bit of hope in his heart. an emotion he hasn’t felt all these years.

he sniffs suddenly, clearing his throat and shaking his head as if he were shaking himself out of it. “yeah, well, maybe you’re right. still wouldn’t want yo–” he pauses, cutting himself off, “uh, y’know, going through that.”

you give him a small smile, understanding him completely. it was hard for him to be vulnerable; you knew that now. but, you appreciated his efforts nonetheless. it made you see him.. differently. the way he spoke to you about his experiences.. you wondered if there truly was a good man underneath that harsh persona.

“well, thank you.. soldier boy.”

“oh, stop with that shit. ben.”

you smile. “ben.”

“alright, love. m’ sorry, i promise i’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

you groan into the phone held against your ear, picking up the words of the same british man on the other end of the line. god, i’m never letting him off the hook, you thought to yourself. 

“okay, yeah, whatever.”

“don’t stay mad at me–”

you cut him off, “bye, butcher.”

“bye, love.”

you hear him end the phone call, the sound making you throw your phone down on the bed irritatedly. “the fuck happened?” ben asks you as he sits up on the bed, putting the remote down from surfing through channels with you for hours now. it was nighttime before you knew it, and you spent most of the day talking to ben here and there, as well as watching random shows and movies. certain topics were definitely touchy, but you were starting to get to know him more, and him with you.

you huff, walking over to the empty side of the bed to sit down next to him, crossing your arms. “we gotta stay here for the night. butcher n’ hughie are being held up with some.. shit, and don’t want us leaving without them.”

he lets out a chuckle towards your frustration. “don’t see a problem with that.”

you roll your eyes, turning to face him. “of course you don’t, you’re like– a million years old. i’m bored!” you whine, groaning. you don’t mean to act immature or fussy, but fuck, you were younger than him and needed other kinds of entertainment to survive (dramatically put). shitty television just wasn’t doing it for you.

he scoffs, “oh, fuck you. i can be plenty of fun, doll.”

“oh, yeah? prove it.” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

he smirks at you then, leaning in a bit closer as his face grows snarky. “you want me to show you fun?” he teases.

you groan, grimacing, “ugh, grossss..” you draw out, swallowing sharply as you turn away.

what you didn’t want to do was recognize the butterflies you felt at the thought. or the way your heart skipped a beat at him growing closer towards you. fuck, no.

he snickers, eyes still fixed on you completely. “oh, c’mon, honey. y’know i’m a great fuck. n’ besides.. it’s been awhile..” he teases you further, and he makes it sound so sleazy that it feels like a joke; fuck, maybe he really was just trying to rile you up.

you shake your head though, playing along. “nice try, ben. gonna have to try harder than that, though.” you stand your ground, giving him a faux smile.

he raises his hands in surrender, shrugging his shoulders. “hey, i’ll fuckin’ work for it, baby, i’ll tell you that much.” he admits, grinning at you.

you try your hardest to keep your composure, fighting the heat growing in your face, especially with that new nickname he gives you. a weak spot.

fuck. this was gonna be much harder than you thought.

you’re finishing the leftover fries that ben requested earlier, snagging them from his side as you laid next to him on the bed; cold and soggy, and definitely not appetizing, but you’re working with what you’ve got. you feel the bed shift before looking up at ben, his eyes on you as he moves.

“so, other ideas of fun..” ben trails, standing up from the bed and walking towards the table.

“i’m listening..” you curiously give in.

he grabs his knife, pouring out the remainder of his pills, and starts to crush them, noticing the way his eyes look up at you, eyebrows raised.

“you do a line with me. just one–” he suggests, his attention focused to see how you’ll react. “and you can loosen up for fuckin’ once.”

you grimace at his suggestion, denying him immediately. “no, ben, i don’t.. i don’t know. this isn’t my kind of thing, you know that..” you speak, evidently unsure of the act. come on, snorting some random, crushed up pills? didn’t sound like much fun to you.

he puts the knife down, turning his entire body to fully face you now. “hey, you said you were curious, didn’t you?” he raises an eyebrow, “doesn’t hurt to try it once. besides.. you can trust me, can’t you?” he teases, a sly smile on his face.

you huff, “yeah, sure. sure i can.” you joke at him, sarcasm filling your voice entirely. your face drops though, seriously contemplating his inquiry. “okay, seriously, though. it won’t fuck me up.. completely, right?”

he laughs at your question, his low voice rumbling. “not unless you take more than you can handle, baby.” he tells you, starting to crush the pills again. “i’m right here, though. i’ll getcha’ through it. promise.”

you were shocked at how.. kind he was being with you. how utterly careful he was with you now. it was odd, to say the least. but, you liked this side of him. maybe that’s why you were starting to feel so comfortable with him now.

you think about it for a few seconds longer before ultimately coming to a decision. “i.. okay, okay. just once.” you agree, nervously standing up from the bed and approaching the table, pulling up another chair to sit next to him.

fuck it. what else did you have to lose?

sitting down, you watch carefully as he proceeds to crush up the pills, examining how fine the powder turned. ben uses the knife to separate it, forming some of it into a line that was a bit shorter than what you saw him repeatedly snort earlier. 

was he making sure he wasn’t giving you too much? maybe. you didn’t want to think of it too much.. his intentions. you couldn’t. 

you swallow tensely, eyes flickering from the table to his face as he finishes, his own setting themselves on you. he gives you a small smile; an almost encouraging kind, providing you with a bit of comfort.

he raises an eyebrow at you. “you ready?”

“uh,” you stammer out, biting your bottom lip, “what exactly.. is it, though? i mean, what’s it gonna do to me?” you ask warily, second thoughts arising in your head.

he sighs out as he attempts to think of what to say. “these here are bennies, as we call em’. or, well– what i call em’,” he lets out a small laugh, cocking his head, “they’re amphetamines. they’ll just.. give ya’ a bit more energy.. that euphoria people talk about,” he explains to you as thoroughly as he can, “shouldn’t last too long, n’ if anything, you can try to sleep it off, sweetheart. no harm, no foul.”

he watches your face as you absorb his answer, noticing your features relax with each second that passes. he grins even more, listening to you.

“okay.. okay, doesn’t sound.. too bad. let’s do it,” you quickly spur out, shaking yourself out of it. “fuck it.”

“atta girl.” he gleames, his hand lifting to rub your upper back gently for just a moment; a moment long enough to send chills down your spine. the first time he’s really made any physical contact with you, and you’re already a mess. 

fuck, why did that feel good? why did that sound good? it was a harmless gesture.

you need that high, and you need it now. maybe that was the only way you could get through this long ass night with him.

“okay. do i just.. sniff it, uh?” you ask him, letting out an embarrassed laugh as your lips turn upwards. he nods, his own lips curling. “don’t overthink it. you’ve seen me do it a hundred times now,” he tells you confidently, muttering out the last words, “y’know what to do, honey.”

you just nod, leaning your head forward and slowly putting your nose against the right side of the line. before you can allow yourself to back out, you slide your nose towards the left, snorting it completely. you lift your head up, an abrupt cough escaping your throat as your nose burns, your eyes rolling back before shutting tightly.

“oh, there you fucking go. there you go, baby, there you go..” ben softly praises you, his words almost echoing in your ears as your head thumps. his hand returns back to your skin as he rubs your back in circular motions, your breathing growing heavy as you feel the drug enter your system.

“oh, fuck, ben, what the fuck!” you let out, a laugh escaping your throat as your head grows hazy. you turn to him, his hand still rubbing your back, which was definitely helping, and you grin widely. “that was fucking crazy!” you all but yell, excitement getting the best of you. what a way to show your experience, huh?

he chuckles, shaking his head as he stares at you. “alright, don’t get ahead of yourself, peaches. barely gave you half of what i’d normally do,” ben tells you, teeth bare as his smile widens, “that’s enough shit for you, little lady. can’t be too much of a bad influence on ya’, can i? butcher would rip me a new one.. or he’d try, at least.”

you giggle at that, your composure slowly, but surely, fading. “oh ben, aren’t you supposed to be a big n’ bad supe?” you breathe out, “he’s just a man.. and you’re a.. superhero.. y’wouldn’t let him..” you murmur out, eyes dazed out as you look at the man in front of you. his scruffy beard.. his messy hair.. the details in his skin.. fuck.

was he always this pretty?

you giggle again, his hand slowly lowering to the midst of your back to rest there. he chuckles lowly; an action that makes your breath hitch. “oh, sweetheart.. you’re feeling it already, aren’t you? quicker than i thought..” he trails off, cocking his head, “you think i’m some big, bad supe? s’that it?” he teases, lips curling up as he breathes you in, inching just a tad bit closer. “think i wouldn’t let him get one in?” he whispers.

you shake your head, smile dropping as your face hardens. “no, no, i wouldn’t, nuh uh,” you deny, biting your lip as energy suddenly surges through you, your filter entirely out the window. “i’ve seen you, you know? i mean, who hasn’t? videos of.. the way you fight.. you’re strong..” you mutter, swallowing as you giggle again, “so strong.”

he laughs, his index and middle finger connecting to rub subtle circles on your skin, “have you now?” he asks almost matter-of-factly, “you did research on me, baby?”

your stomach drops a bit, butterflies storming your stomach at the nickname again. you stammer out, “no, no, not research– i mean– yeah, i.. searched you up, but i jus’ wanted to see who you were before i.. came here, but.. s’not like i.. put that much thought into it, i–” you spit out, an involuntary laugh erupting from you as your cheeks heat up from your confession. a lie that escapes straight through your teeth.

oh god. why the fuck were you saying all of this shit outloud? stop!

he shrugs, a sly frown swift on his lips. “don’t gotta make a fuss about it, honey. s’cute. real sweet of you..” he grins, the hand so glued onto your back sliding down sleekly, fingers gripping onto your hip now. you gasp softly at the sudden touch, his grasp on you pulling you just a bit closer to him. your chairs are right next to each other, hips nearly joined together now. he whispers out, his mouth close enough to catch your ear, “sweet girl like you.. i’m honored you think of me that way. wouldn’t have suspected it from how feisty you were earlier.”

you roll your eyes at him, avoiding the flutter in your core as the drug builds up inside of you, fighting it. “oh, come on. you probably used to get this shit all of the time.”

he breathes out, shaking his head. “not from people i want it from..” his jaw falls open as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, murmuring, “..not from you.”

your breath hitches in your throat, turning your head to look at him as your cheeks flush. you gulp, heartbeat quickening as you notice his gaze entirely locked on you. he was being serious. this wasn’t some kind of sick game of his.

you remain quiet, unsure how to respond. too nervous, too dazed to come up with some snarky remark you usually would; that you should bite back with. but, you don’t.

instead, ben’s fingers dance on your hip subtly, his other hand lifting up to caress your face; his thumb gliding against your cheek, trailing down to your bottom lip as his gaze that was once on your eyes fixes onto your mouth.. gorgeous as ever.

his thumb catches itself on your lip, pulling it down gently as he hums, satisfied. you gulp, shaking your head gently as you process what this was leading up to.

“ben.. we shouldn’t..” you whisper out, shutting your eyes for a moment as you pull away from him; just enough to have his hold off of your face. he was a fucking supe, for christ sake. you were human. and sooner or later, he’d be gone again; just like that. you couldn’t. no matter how much you so desperately craved it.

he lets out a disappointed noise, breathing out through his mouth, “why not, sweetheart?” he closes in on you again, lips near your ear as he hums, “don’t you like me, baby? don’t you want me? i like you.. n’ i sure as hell.. need you..” he sighs out, his hot breath hitting the sensitive skin on your neck, your body trembling at the feeling.

you groan softly at his words and the touch of his breath against your skin, shutting your eyes tightly. he huffs, pushing his nose softly against your neck, inhaling your scent and rapidly muttering out, “c’mon, baby, c’mon.. gonna take care of you, yeah? make you feel good, don’t y’want that?” he presses kisses on your neck, slowly trailing up to your cheek as his hands move to cup your face, quiet gasps escaping your lips. your eyes open up hazily, rolling to the back of your head as you lift your neck just enough to give him more room.

you don’t even think before you’re pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, quietly moaning into it as your eyes flutter shut again; your disoriented mind taking over your body completely. he groans against your mouth, his soft lips becoming so harsh against yours, needy and having been deprived of this pleasure for so long.

he pulls away from the kiss for a moment, allowing the two of you to catch your breath as his large hand grips your face, the hold on it tight and rugged. he turns your head to the side, moving in to attack your neck once more with his lips, teeth grazing the skin as he grunts, his body closing in entirely.

it’s primal; instinctive and downright dirty the more he grows impatient. no longer gentle; not him, not now. he all but stands as he leans into you, his free hand moving from your back to your hips, wrapping his arm around you as he uses his super strength to lift you up effortlessly. you yelp as he picks you up, placing you directly on his lap as he settles himself back in his chair, your legs hung around his sides to the best of your ability.

“pretty fucking girl.. you stay right here..” he murmurs out, returning his kisses on you as if his seamless actions were nothing. his hands move to grip your hips tightly now, pushing you further into his lap as you involuntarily grind into him; his cock through those grey sweatpants of his beginning to harden.

“b-ben,” you stammer out, pants heavy as you let him touch you, feel you just how he wants, and you, taking him as you please. your hips and their movements quicken slowly, gradually building up and up the more your cunt throbs against his clothed skin; the way his strong hands keep you moving for him without a second to waste.

your cloudy mind from the drug intervenes with your control, unable to fully grasp your feelings or words that slip from your mind, keeping you completely vulnerable to the man below you. 

god, did that annoy you. 

but, fuck, did it feel so good.

“need you to fuck me, please, ben, please..” you whine out, grinding your core against his hardened cock faster, harder, your impatience getting the best of you. he laughs against your skin, a small moan seeping out of it as he gently bites your neck. “so needy, aren’t you, baby? gonna give you what you want, don’t you worry..”

the hands on your hips find themselves lowering, landing on your ass instantly as ben squeezes, groaning out at the feeling of your flush skin beneath his fingertips. he takes control of you easily, moving your body along his thighs and digging your cunt where he needs it the most. 

the constant friction makes you wetter with each push of his hands, his cock imprinting against his sweatpants with a perfect outline, your panties growing soaked at the sensation of it. an incoherent string of noises falls out of your lips, the gasps and moans sounding like porn to ben’s ears. a satisfied laugh from him shakes you to your core, that deep rumble multiplying your arousal.

you take matters into your own hands, fingers pushing down against his wrists to get him to loosen his grip on you, which he does. you scoot yourself back to disconnect your body from his abdomen, hips stilling on his thighs now, giving you an enticing view of the strain in his pants.

“i said..” you breathe out, mouth falling open as you look into his eyes, lust pouring out of them, “i need you to fuck me,” you emphasize, your fingers moving to palm his bulging cock through his sweats, “so, fuck me.”

you can’t be bothered anymore. you’re past waiting.

your hands slowly find a rhythm as you maintain eye contact with him, ben immediately reacting with a low moan as his hips thrust needily, “fuck, baby..” he hisses out as your fingers slip to the waistband of his sweats, your hand reaching beneath the layer. to your surprise, and delight; no underwear.

god, he was a fucking whore. you loved it. 

“jesus christ, ben,” you let out a laugh as you wrap your fingers around his cock, putting just enough pressure on it, and it makes him twitch against your touch. it elicits a throaty whine from his lips that has you clenching around nothing, squeezing him tighter, tighter. “jus’ take what you want, sweetheart, need you ‘round me, c’mon, ” ben spurs out rapidly, his words the least coherent they’ve been; his usual, old hollywood-esque diction in his voice gone. 

soldier boy, begging you with your hands on his cock and your ass in his lap? 

you couldn’t have possibly dreamt of this moment till now.

you try to hold yourself back, but the little amount of sobriety inside of you’s hardly strong enough to help you achieve that. no more waiting. not now.

“you’re lucky i’m impatient,” you breathe out, and before ben can react, you’re slipping his cock out of his sweats, the heavy weight of him on your hand sending you into a damn near spiral as he twitches against your fingers again, pre-cum practically leaking out of the tip.

you let go of him though, fingers desperately moving to the waistband of your loose sweats to slip them off. ben’s helping you immediately, lifting your hip for you with one hand, and the other hurriedly pushing them down, nearly ripping them off from the pace and force; off, off, off, he all but mutters out with eager noises.

“stupid fuckin’.. fuck, g’off–” ben grumbles until they’re successfully on the floor, and he sighs out in satisfaction, “no more fuckin’ waiting, n’more teasing.”

you nod hurriedly at him, bare legs exposed for him now as his fingers dig into your thighs, taking no second to waste to slide to the hem of your panties, fingers hooking onto them. “useless fuckin’ things,” ben murmurs, and before you can protest, he rips them off seamlessly, throwing them to the floor.

your jaw falls open, gasping out at him, “ben! fuck, i needed those! i didn’t pack any–” 

he shuts you up instantly, his thick index and middle fingers finding your slit, swiping through your soaked folds, and you whine loudly, the sensation making your core tighten. he hushes you softly, looking up at you eagerly, “shh, shh, honey, y’don’t need that shit with me, not now. gonna fuck you right here. now. you’re soaked already.” 

your heavy eyes stare into his own, nodding eagerly as the tip of his fingers bump against your clit, sending a jolt throughout your body. he moans with a short laugh, leaning in to press a messy kiss to your mouth, his other hand just above your ass. he taps your lower back, muttering, “come up here.. gonna have you sit on my cock.. get in as deep as i fucking can.”

you grunt at his words, whining, “fuck, please, ben..” as the sole thought of it sends pulses to your pussy. you nod frantically, immediately scooting closer on his lap to reach his member, kneeling on the sides of his body to lift yourself up. ben’s hand grips the base of his cock to lift it up, and he’s hard, the girth making you drool. you gulp, wondering how the fuck you’ll fit it in, but you’re too high to fucking care.

you position yourself above him, the fat head of it lined up to your cunt perfectly. his hand on your back helps you move closer, the tip nudging against your hole as both hands grip your hips now, fingers digging into your skin. you bite your lip as you look down at his cock, core tensing in preparation. staring into his eyes now, you move, lowering yourself slowly as your walls engulf him bit by bit, inch by inch.

both of you moan as you take him, clenching around him so much that you nearly see stars. you’re so tight around him, and he’s in heaven.

ben groans loudly as his eyes fix on your pussy, and it’s porn right in front of him. he sputters out mindless noises, gritting his teeth as you finally take him to the hilt, feeling his cock fill you up, nudging the deepest parts inside of you.

you hiss out as you sink, your thighs colliding with his own as you adjust to him. “you’re so fuckin’.. tight, oh fuck, sweetheart..” he whines out, and you’re relishing in this; in him. you start moving, hips involuntarily rocking against him as you move up and down. it’s messy; out of rhythm and desperate, but so fucking good.

“haven’t..” he grunts, gripping your hips harder for leverage, “fucked a pussy like this in a long fucking time.” his breaths grow louder the more you move, your throbbing hole just above the tip and slamming back down repeatedly. your core tightens as he starts to thrust up into you, meeting your synchronized movements immediately, and you cry out as you take it. 

you blabber out mindlessly at the sensation, incoherent whines and what seems to sound like ben’s name over and over again filling his ears, and he just laughs, lifting himself from the back of the chair to sit up, adjusting you with him. his chest meets your body, chin resting on your shoulder as his hand finds your hair, gripping it tightly and pushing your body into him. he’s flush against your skin as he huffs into your ear, the hot breath engulfing your brain. your fucked out head and blown, wide eyes.

he moves against you as you bounce on his cock, words spurring out with his harsh pants on your skin, fingers tightening into your hair, “no thoughts in this pretty head, huh? nothin’ but my fucking cock in this cunt. s’how it should be. pretty girls like you.. s’what you’re made for.. made for me.”

your head scrambles at his words; the way they’re so filthy, but most of all? 

because of how right he is.

he fits inside of you like a glove; a perfect hole that’s meant for him to fuck. it has your eyes lolling back over and over again, unable to truly focus on the task at hand. and when your movements begin to slow because of this, ben’s grip on you handles it for you, hips thrusting up into you aggressively. your stomach tightens repeatedly as the tip of his cock hits the deepest parts inside of you, practically bulging out with each hit into you, and it makes your pussy convulse around him, rambled noises escaping your lips.

“am i right, honey? are you made for me?” ben growls in your ear, his harsh grunts echoing, “fuckin’,” he huffs, “answer me..”

his words hardly register in your brain as you grow closer and closer to your release, short moans being the only thing you can muster out, along with a few noises that almost sound like ben’s name. “mmphf– b-be– ah–”

he shushes you, arms wrapped around your body, “don’t gotta think baby, just feel.. let me take you like this, just feel me..” ben whispers desperately into your ear, moving one of his hands to reach between you, the large palm pressing into your lower abdomen, “right fucking here. you’re gonna feel me for fucking days, baby.”

it has your stomach doing flips, body quivering against ben’s hold. your eyes shoot open as he begins to slow his thrusts, relying on pure power rather than speed now. his hips snap into you repeatedly, slow and deliberate as if he needs to make sure your body memorizes the shape of his cock.

and, knowing him? you probably will.

you know that you’ll never get fucked like this again. you know that you’re already completely ruined for any other man now. and a part of you’s okay with that.

his fingers gripping your hair. his hands digging into your skin. the strike of his hips, holding you captive for him as he takes you. how could you think of anything else?

ben’s power over you doesn’t relent at all, his super strength enough leverage to keep himself completely occupied. the hips slamming inside of you have you seeing stars now, your eyes threatening to twitch open in bliss as he buries himself in your throbbing cunt. you involuntarily flutter around him, walls pulsing as your core constricts.

you feel ben’s cock twitch inside of you, his moans growing heavier as he lets out a breathless laugh, “you’re so.. close, i can feel you, sweetheart..” he grunts and snarls, his thrusts quickening rapidly, “and you’re gonna come on my cock like the good girl you are.. while i fill you up.. make sure i stay in this sweet pussy forever.”

you cry out as that familiar heat in your stomach arises, blurting out nonsense, along with a, “p-please, ben, please–”, that leaves you panting.

“yeah, baby? want me to come inside of you, s’that it?”

you nod furiously, whining out as your face heats up at the thought, flush and its sensation overwhelming you. you’re hot all over, and you just need a release.

“that’s my girl.. my sweet girl. gonna come inside of you, give you what you need..” he breathes out against your ear, and before you realize it, you’re convulsing around his cock, yelping out as you come. your hands grip onto his back, his arms, anything you can hold onto as you ride through it.

“there we go, baby, just like that, my fuckin’ girl..” he encourages you, overstimulating you with his unrelenting hips as he buries himself inside of you over and over again, making you clench around him uncontrollably. you’re spewing out mindless moans as your walls spasm, and it makes ben whine. 

he grunts out rapidly, unable to control the noises he makes as his hands on your hips feel tight enough to leave bruises, “gonna.. gonna fuckin’, oh– fuck!–” he moans loudly, cutting himself off as he pushes you down to the hilt, cock twitching rapidly with his come spilling inside of you. you feel the streams of hot white bury inside of you, and you’re lightheaded at the feeling, the aftershocks of your orgasm forming tears in your eyes.

you whine against him as you hold on tight, his hips rocking into you as you both ride it out. it’s almost intimate at how breathless the two of you are, taking in each other completely.

he huffs against your skin, pressing a small kiss to your shoulder. it’s wordless, but it goes without saying. 

this was a moment you’d never forget. and you hoped that he wouldn’t either.

eventually, ben lifts your hips up, his cock sliding out of you as the mess you both made slips out of your cunt, making you whine at the feeling of his come falling out of you. the slick catches itself on his cock, spilling onto his grey sweats sloppily, and you can’t deny the twinge of arousal the sight brings you. leave that for another time.

you take a deep breath as you let out a small laugh, preparing to say something about getting up and cleaning yourself up, but to your surprise, ben’s arm holds onto your body tightly, lifting you up as his other hand shoves his sweats down, feet stepping out of them. he’ll deal with it later.

you yelp as he stands up fully with you in his arms, carrying you as he walks over to the shitty hotel bathroom, lowering you to stand in the bathtub. ben hums softly as he grabs a small rag, running warm water underneath it and squeezing out the excess water.

you’re in too much.. shock to bring yourself to say anything, but when he brings the rag to wipe your inner thighs and core, you let out a noise of surprise, cheeks warming up. who the fuck knew soldier boy could be so.. gentle?

he doesn’t look up at you as he continues. instead, he asks, “what? too hot?”

you let out a laugh, shaking your head. “no, just right.”

he lets out a satisfied noise as he finishes cleaning you up thoroughly, throwing the rag to the side as he grabs another one for himself, repeating the process. you watch him in awe as he does so, and you try your hardest to make sure you don’t fall in love with him.

but, when he carries you to the hotel bed and lays you down like you’re glass that might break, it seems a bit too late for that. and when he gets in that bed with you and holds you like his life depends on it? 

you know you’re done for, and you’re in for a ride.

[fromdove]

RAINCHECK (LITERALLY) ! j.todd x reader

"what? you said I could come over,"

— no warnings, gn!reader (but written with a fem reader in mind.), tooth rotting fluff...you might get cavities

— for my teeny tiny babiest mon cheri (@minorlyatfault),,, i wass going to write j.todd angsty smut but i pussied out like a lil bitch soooo.. sorri. might post it some other day maybe...

— I tried to make jason a little bit more boyish in this because sometimes people forget he's only 19.. like my baby (grown ass man but still my baby)

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

“rainy today. stay dry, don’t forget your hood, hood.” “also. my place is always open if patrol gets too much. keys under the mat if you need it.” “and the couch. and me. obviously.” “also also: i got the cereal. your weird cinnamon one." “figured it might cheer you up. or at least distract you for five minutes.” “no pressure. just… letting you know.” "okokokok sorry bye now."

Maybe he wouldn't show. Maybe he had other plans. Maybe he'd decide the rain was too much. But you couldn’t help but send the message anyway, hoping something might shift.

You didn’t expect much back—maybe a text about a bat emergency or a thumbs up, like always. But even so, there was this soft hope inside you, an old feeling you tried not to acknowledge. Maybe this time, he’d show up in a way that felt like he was staying.

You forget about it. you put the cereal away. you watched the rain start, steady and slow, like the city was being tucked in.

You’d just started boiling water for tea when the knock came.

You paused, staring at the kettle like maybe you imagined the knock. One knock. Then another. You waited. The knock came again. Soft, but certain. You turn the stove off and walk to the door.

you opened the door. and he was there.

The hallway light caught in the rivulets running down his jacket. He blinked at you like he wasn’t sure you’d really open the door. His breath fogged in the space between you.

He was drenched head to toe, water clinging to his leather jacket & dark hair plastered to his forehead.

"You said your place was open,” jason says, almost sheepishly. “Also, you weren't kidding about the rain."

you blink at him. “you walked?”

"the bike hydroplaned. & your street's a no-fly zone." he shrugs. “batboat wasn’t available either."

“I thought about calling,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “But… didn’t want to give you time to say no.” He laughs, short and dry. “Guess I hoped the rain would work in my favor.”

you took him in: tired eyes, half-smirk, shivering hands. jason todd: the only man alive who could look like a stray dog and a greek statue at the same time.

you let him in before the thunder can answer.

His wet shoes make a soft squelch on the doormat.

You remember when he used to disappear for weeks. When “I’m fine” meant blood and bruises and locked doors. This—just showing up, soaked and tired—was growth.

“you’re lucky I like soggy vigilantes,” you say, walking beside him.

“you love me for my sogginess,” he says while he give you that smirk, leaning his head against yours. “it’s part of my charm.”

"uh huh. very charming. very wet dog chic. now give me your clothes"

“is that a threat or a promise?”

you glared. he smirked wider, teeth glinting as he peeled off his jacket and hoodie, all soaked leather and black cotton, until he was left in a clinging grey tee.

You try not to stare, but his shirt clings like it’s auditioning for a romance novel cover. You turn away before your face betrays you, pretending to care very deeply about the floor.

You hand him a towel. dry clothes. the navy hoodie you stole from him last week.

He doesn’t even look at you when he takes the hoodie, but you catch the slight twitch of his lips and the tiny flicker of recognition in his eyes. he doesn’t comment on it though. Either way, the hoodie fits him just as well as you remember.

He didn’t even ask for it back when he saw you wearing it last time. Just grinned that half-grin and said, “looks better on you anyway.” You pretended not to melt. You’re still pretending now.

Behind you, you hear him rubbing the towel through his hair—brisk, impatient.

And once he’s changed and warm and only slightly damp-haired, he walks over to your cabinet, somehow knowing exactly which one contains the cereal you bought him, takes it and walks back to the couch and flops onto your couch like a man recently rescued from sea.

he hums while he tears the cereal box open to get to the cereal. you go to turn the heater on. You then make your way over to sit next to him on the couch.

“You eat like you’ve been starved,” you mutter. “Maybe I have,” he says, too casually. You glance at him, but he’s already crunching again, like he didn’t just say something that cracked your heart open a little.

You noticed he's stolen your blanket. You blink at him. He grins around a mouthful of cereal like a child who's won a very small war.

But very silently and gently though, he pulls the blanket over and drapes most of it around you—at least 95%, like he’s sacrificing something monumental. You roll your eyes with a smirk. “Seriously? The heater’s on. I’ve been warm and cozy in my apartment all day. You clearly need it more than I do.” You push the blanket back onto him. He doesn’t say a word—just arches one amused brow, the corner of his mouth threatening a smile.

For a moment, you just sit there. Only sound is the rain tapping on the windows & the sound of crunching cereal coming from Jason. his fingers find yours, soft, almost shy. like he’s not used to being held with nothing expected in return.

You let your fingers curl around his. He stiffens—but then relaxes into the touch.

you notice him, hoodie half-swallowed by his broad shoulders, hair only a tiny still damp & curling a little at the ends.

“thanks,” he says finally, like it’s too small a word for what he means. “for what?” “uh y'know" he shrugs, not used to expressing his feelings, he continues though, "letting me in your home. I like being here.”

“you’re allowed to. that’s kind of the point.”

“what’s the point?”

“me,” you say, nudging him with your socked toe. “you. cereal. kisses, ideally.”

that gets his attention. slowly, like he’s afraid it’ll scare you off, he turns to face you.

“kisses, huh?” he says, voice low. teasing. unsure.

you nod. slow. serious. “just one. I’m rationing.”

You try to keep your voice casual, but there's something about the way your heart beats faster that gives you away. You’re rationing kisses now, huh?

“reasonable,” he murmurs. “global supply chain issues and all.”

“Oh, yeah. Kissflation’s out of control these days,” you say, deadpan.

He chuckles, clearly entertained—amusement flickering in his eyes.

His hand then hovers near your jaw, not quite touching. Your heart does a thing in your chest you don’t have words for. And then—finally—he leans in.

he kisses you like it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do tonight.

It’s not perfect—he still carries the faint smell of rain, copper, and those cheap Crime Alley cigarettes—but there’s something achingly human in it. It’s warm, a little unsteady. He kisses like he’s holding on for dear life, like if he stays close enough, long enough, the storm won’t reach him. Like maybe you’re the calm he’s been chasing.

your hands find the edge of his hoodie. his hand finds your cheek. and then he pulls back an inch, breathless and stupidly soft-eyed.

“so,” he says. “that was your one.”

“mm,” you say. “might go over budget.”

he kisses you again. & again. &&& again, like he’s finally decided that being here—being loved—isn’t something he has to earn.

And later, much later, when the rain turns to mist and the cereal gets eaten dry out of the box, he falls asleep against your shoulder, mumbling something that might’ve been thank you, or I love you, or please don’t stop letting me in.

You absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair—it’s soft now that it’s dry, fluffier than you expected. He’s completely still, breathing slow and deep, totally out. He’s melted into your side, bit by bit, like your warmth pulled him in and he just… stayed. Like some part of him finally let go.

[yandere-daydreams]

exhibit #5 - omorashi

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!geto x reader (jjk).

length: 3.0k.

warnings: non/con, fem!reader, watersports, infantalization, mentions of physical abuse, physiological abuse, implied kidnapping, and humiliation. dead dove: do not eat.

Geto Suguru was going to kill you.

Slowly, tortuously, and with pleasure. The same way he slaughtered curses too weak to be worth choking down, the same way he allowed his non-sorcerer acolytes to be torn apart after they’d expended their usefulness. Maybe he’d make you drink boiling water, or battery acid, something hot and corrosive that would destroy you from the inside out. Maybe he would drive some curve-bladed, ritualistic dagger through your heart and leave you on his altar to bleed out. Maybe he would have you drawn and quartered, even if you weren’t completely sure where he’d find the horses. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.

You guessed the method didn’t actually matter. Whatever he chose, whatever grisly end you imagined for yourself, the fact of the matter stood true.

He was going to fucking kill you.

You crumpled into yourself, pushing your body further into the back of the closet. Hiding would’ve been pointless, but you weren’t really trying to. Suguru had locked the bedroom door after shoving you inside, and you were beyond the point of trying to escape on impulse. It was all you could do to curl into yourself and try to forget where you were, what was coming, whose blood was drying under your nails. Even that was a futile effort – successful only in dragging your last minutes alive to a standstill and giving you that much more time to contemplate your utter hopelessness. You would’ve been better off banging on the walls and begging him to kill you now. At least, then, he might’ve gotten it over with quickly.

You buried your face in your knees, groaning aloud, but your spiral into complete despair was cut short. Distantly, you heard a lock click out of place, a door swing open, a set of padded footsteps growing ever-closer. You were tempted to stay where you were, to pretend he wasn’t there, but that would’ve only delayed the inevitable. Instead, you swallowed your fear, pushed yourself to your feet, and went to meet your hangman.

Of course, Suguru was waiting for you when you finally opened the closet door, and of course, he was the pinnacle of composure. Calm and collected, leaning on the foot of his bed, his hair pulled back and his traditional attire traded out for a plain black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. The three jagged lines carved into his cheek had been cleaned, but not bandaged over. Either they hadn’t been deep enough to be worth his time, or he wanted you to see them. Hopefully the former, but most likely the latter.

He smiled when he saw you – the expression softened, gentle. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You weren’t so serene.

Throwing yourself into his arms was more of a survival instinct than any real bid for comfort. He caught you easily, laughing as you barreled into his chest and buried your face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you managed, voice muffled by fabric and proximity. “It was an accident, I—I didn’t mean to, please don’t hurt—”

“Slow down. I don’t even know what you’re saying.” He rested a hand on the top of your head, combing his fingers through your hair. “Why would I hurt you?”

Why wouldn’t he? He’d threatened to break your legs for so much as verbally wishing him dead, before. This was worse. This was a death sentence.

“Because…” It was hard to find an answer that wouldn’t incriminate you further. You pulled back, gesturing to your cheek. “Because of the accident.”

He hummed. “Remind me which accident, honey?”

Something curdled in the pit of your stomach. You let your eyes fall to your feet. “This afternoon, during your sermon.” And then, when Suguru continued to wait for a proper answer, “When you tried to pull me into your lap. You caught me off-guard, and I—” Fought back. Pushed him away. Acted like a fucking idiot. “—hurt you. It wasn’t on purpose.”

There was more to it than that. His followers had been watching, and the beat of silence that’d followed your little outburst had rung louder than anything he’d preached. You embarrassed him. It was only a miracle that he hadn’t gutted you on the spot.

“Of course.” His hand slipped down to your neck, his thumb rubbing circles in the apex of your spine. “And how could I punish you for something you didn’t mean to do?”

Easily. He’d done it before – more times than you could count. Your wrist still hurt from the day he’d dislocated it after finding a few loose coins underneath your mattress. You still weren’t sure they’d gotten there, let alone where you would’ve picked them up, but it’d been enough to make Suguru think you were planning to run away. Justification beyond that was superfluous.

But this wasn’t the time to point that out. You only nodded irrationally into his chest, and Suguru chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “I think someone’s had a long day,” he murmured, squeezing you against him before pulling away. “Let’s get you fed n’ cleaned up, alright? We’ll talk about your bedtime after that.”

You didn’t trust his sugary tone or saccharine expression, but obediently, you muttered a small ‘okay’. Suguru pulled back, taking you by the hand and leading you away.

His apartment was a small, depressing thing. He had a larger home further from the city, one with spare bedrooms for both of his girls and a private chamber where he could speak with his strange, eccentric guests privately. His live-in captive couldn’t exist under the same roof as his beloved daughters, though, and you weren’t the type of possession he liked to show off, so you were relegated to a well-maintained, but painfully unloved apartment not far from his temple. There wasn’t much decoration beyond the steel bolts on every door and window, nor did what few personal effects he kept scattered around bring you much joy – a cat o’ nine tails draped over the back of the sofa, a vacant dog crate set up in the corner of the living room. There was nothing of yours, of course. Suguru didn’t really let you have interests beyond him. Anything that demanded more of your attention than needlepoint or absentmindedly nodding along to his megalomaniacal rants was deemed unsuitable and quickly done away with.

The kitchen was a little homier, but not by much. Suguru sat you down at the kitchen table before moving to the nearest counter. There was nothing on the stove, no ingredients laid out to prep, but an electric kettle simmered quietly next to a small glass container. He hummed as he worked, filling the container with scalding hot water, measuring out a cup or so of some colorless powder and mixing it in. It wasn’t until he produced a lid – thick at the base with a pink-tinted nipple spouting out of it like some unfortunate tumor – that you realized it wasn’t a container, but a bottle. For a second, it was all you could do to sit there, motionless and bewildered, and wonder where he’d managed to find a baby.

The lid was worked onto the bottle, the temperature checked against his wrist. He placed it onto the table in front of you delicately, as not to damage the glass, and your confusion immediately turned to dread.

“I… I don’t think I have much of an appetite.”

“You’ll have to try. Growing girls need their calories.” He fell into the seat next to you, tapping his knee. “Right here, honey.”

You looked toward the bottle, then to Suguru – still smiling, still unwavering. You took a deep breath, reminded yourself that there were worse things in the world than ego-death, and pushed yourself to your feet.

Dinner was a slow, effortful, and humiliating task. Suguru held you snugly, cooing out praise as he held the bottle against your lips. You tried not to think about the lack of flavor, or the way the milk clung to the back of your throat in clumps, or why he’d apparently had baby formula and a nursing bottle on-hand. The bottle was refilled once at its half-way point, then again as you neared the last few drops. By the time you finished, your stomach ached and fatigue had knit itself into the very fabric of your being, encouraging you to shut your eyes, to rest your head against Suguru’s shoulder, to fall into the repetitive sucking motion despite the knots of soreness forming in your jaw. Still, you knew better than to complain. As far as punishments went, this was relatively tame. You’d embarrassed him in front of his congregation, and he’d embarrassed you in front of the only person allowed to see you - him. Fair enough, good game, etc.

There was no pretense of autonomy by way of reward. Suguru kept you gathered in his arms – tucked against his chest as he carried you through the empty halls and balanced on his lap while drew a bath, the water hot enough to steam. You half-expected him to leave you to your own devices or, more predictably, to strip down and join you, but he just perched himself on the edge of the basin, only breaching the distance to wash your hair or lather your skin. It might’ve been nice, in another context, with a more loving partner. Under Suguru’s watchful gaze, it was hard to feel like anything more precious than a pet being groomed.

As Suguru drained the water, you realized you had to pee. Badly.

Which wasn’t surprising, on its own. You’d practically drunken half your body weight, and it wasn’t like there’d been many chances for a bathroom break pre-punishment, either. You did your best not to squirm as Suguru patted you down with towel, not to complain when he carefully removed the toothbrush from your hand in favor of shoving it past your lips himself. “You’ve already gotten in enough trouble, today,” he explained as he took your jaw in his free hand, holding you still when you reflexively recoiled. “We’d better make sure you don’t have the opportunity to do anything else you might regret.”

After what felt like much, much longer than two minutes, he let you rinse your mouth out without further intervention. When you were done, you lingered in front of the vanity, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you mind if I…” You swallowed. “…if I get a few minutes alone?”

He hummed. “And why would you want to be alone, love?”

Your face burned. Suguru was always terrible, but he wasn’t normally this dense. “I, uh—Nevermind, I guess. It’s nothing.”

If Suguru noticed your discomfort, he was more than happy to gloss over it. Your usual sleepwear consisted of, on good nights, one of Suguru’s oversized shirts or, on most nights, nothing at all. Tonight, though, Suguru seemed to be in the mood to play dress-up – forcing an ivory nightgown over your head, combing the hair away from your face, tying a delicate, pale pink ribbon around your neck. It was only after he’d taken the better part of five minutes to slide a pair of perfectly white, perfectly frilly knee-sigh socks up your legs that he seemed satisfied, taking a step back to admire his work.

This must’ve been the second part of your punishment. It wasn’t as bad at the bottle, sure, but there was something about the way Suguru’s gaze burnt into you, the vague amusement playing underneath his lovestruck grin, the pressing awareness that he was enjoying this. You let your eyes fall into your lap, but Suguru was quick to correct you – cupping your cheek and tilting your head back, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “Feeling shy?” He squeezed, the gesture playful, yet forceful enough to bruise. “You certainly weren’t during my sermon.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist that it’d been an accident, but Suguru’s patience must’ve been growing thin. His mouth was on yours before you could get a word out, teeth biting into your lips, tongue raking over yours. You felt his hands, next – eager and groping, slipping under the skirt of your dress, kneading at your ass and thighs. You squeaked, jerking away, and surprisingly, Suguru let you, his hands settling on your waist.

“I’m sorry, but I—” For the millionth time that night, your voice seemed to catch in your throat. This time, you forced yourself to choke it up. “I really have to use to the bathroom.”

You heard him laugh, felt his mouth against the crook of your neck. “I know, honey.”

One of his hands drifted to your stomach, pressing down lightly. You tried to scramble back, but Suguru held you in-place – bringing a knee onto the mattress for better leverage. “I’m serious, it’s really—”

“I never said you weren’t.” His touch drifted to your cunt, two fingers dragging circles over your clit. For all the time he’d spent picking out your clothes, panties had been strategically forgotten. “It’s alright. I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

Your breaking point was staggeringly abrupt and humiliatingly minor. Suguru’s arm wrapping around your waist, his body turning over yours as he fell onto the mattress and dragged you on top of him. The bulk of his thigh pressed into your cunt, and something inside you split, cracked, spilled. It was too fast, too hot, too wet, and you couldn’t seem to make it stop. You clenched your eyes shut, anything not to have to see the growing yellow stain spreading across the white of your nightgown, but that didn’t save you from the warmth trickling down your legs, the puddle quickly forming on Suguru’s lap.

It was a dizzying juxtaposition; the tightness in your lower stomach as more pressure was put on your bladder, the heat pooling in your core as Suguru continued to trace aimless patterns into your clit. His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking hickeys into tender skin before dropping lower, following the curve of your breast. His lips sealed around your nipple just as his fingers fell from your clit to your pussy, thrusting into you with only the slightest hint of warning.

Suguru was never careful during sex, not beyond what it took to keep from breaking your neck when he wrapped his hands around your throat, but he was normally deliberate, normally intentional in the ways he used and contorted your body. Now, he seemed determined to curl and spread his digits with little to no regard for your pleasure, to batter his fingers into your cunt like he was trying to split you apart from the inside out. It hurt, but even worse, it was working – slick staining the inside of your thighs as you struggled to close your legs around his hand. You tried to get him away from you, to dig your nails into his shoulder and scratch at his chest, but Suguru only groaned into your chest, sucking that much more harshly.

It didn’t save you from his laugh – barking and cruel – or his hand on your stomach, palm pushing into your bladder, milking your embarrassment. “This,” he hissed, venom sharpening the edges of his infantilizing coo. “is a fucking accident. The shit you pulled during my sermon – that was a brat begging to be put in her place. Don’t try to pass off one for the other again.”

You tried to open your mouth, to spit that you should’ve clawed out his eyes when you’d had the chance, but the only noise you seemed able to make was an unsteady, trembling whine. A flood of humiliated tears escaped despite your best efforts, forming searing tracks down the length of your face, and Suguru leaned towards you, pressing a light kiss into your temple before running the flat of his tongue over your left cheek. There was no attempt at comfort as he dragged your hips against his, as freed his cock and aligned his tip with your entrance. He thrust into you as the last deposits of piss were forced out of your bladder, your mess leaking down his shaft. Suguru only moaned, twitching inside of you.

You didn’t want to cry. Really, you didn’t want to, but apparently, you’d managed to lose control of more than one of your bodily functions. Suguru crooned as the first sob broke past your lips, then another, until you were all-but wailing as he bounced you on his cock. With an artificial sort of exasperation, he lowered you gently onto the mattress, rolling his hips against yours. “Aw, baby, did I hurt your feelings?” The question was sardonic, teasing. As if both of you weren’t covered in your piss. “Here – I’ve got just the thing for delicate little princesses like you.”

Through tear-blurred vision, you watched him pull his shirt over his head and throw it thoughtlessly over his shoulder. A hand was brought to the back of your head and your mouth forced against his chest – lips smashed against his nipple. “Go ahead.” His nails scraped against your scalp. “All little girls love their pacifiers, don’t they?”

It was a wonder, how you’d ever thought you would get away with damaging his pride so easily.

It was a wonder, why you’d ever thought death was the worst thing he could force onto you.

He thrust into you, and you went limp underneath him. A whimper dying in the back of your throat, you let your mouth fall open, latched onto his chest, and started to nurse.

[lqveharrington]

Fake-Love | C.S.

summary: a boy was bothering you, so you and Coriolanus take it into your own hands.

pairing: university!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

includes: a very unstable, toxic relationship between the two, (arranged marriage), making out, comments toward the reader’s body, implied sex (it isn’t written), mentions of murder

a/n: soooo, as i write for the Silver Roses & Fallen Snow series, i decided to write a billion one-shot for our favorite blond to keep the era for him alive so i can finish my series 🫡. also, the uniforms are based of the gilmore girls’ one, since they are in university now and not academy.

The arranged marriage between the Snows and the Edevanes were always doomed to happen. You were born the same year as Coriolanus, and your families were already close with each other.

It was just, you and Coriolanus despised one another.

The feeling was 100% mutual. The reasoning for such a feud was due to the never ending fight for the brightest student in the Capitol. During your years in Academy, it was a tie in every class. Of course, your hatred for one another was more tame.

It only really changed when Coriolanus came back from serving the Districts as a peacekeeper. There was something about his demeanor that was much different, plus the way he was built could have made you weak in the knees.

He joined University a little after it had started for your class, but that didn’t stop him from becoming the best. You were currently the top of your class in University, but that changed when he joined under Dr. Gaul. His jabs to your reputation were much stronger than in Academy. He would make comments about you when walking down the hall behind you, making sure you understood that he would do whatever it took to be back on top.

So, when your parents dropped the bomb on you that you were to be engaged to Coriolanus as soon as possible, your blood boiled at the male. You could not believe he stooped that low to get back at you.

And about a few weeks after the initial announcement, you and Coriolanus officially got engaged, becoming the sudden talk of the Capitol.

“How did you keep your dating life such a huge secret?” A reporter stuck their microphone up to your face as you and Coriolanus exited a car together.

“Well, we were just so love struck with one another that we didn’t want others to know.” Coriolanus smiled, answering the question for you.

His arm was looped around yours as you were guided into the University, answering all the questions being asked of you both. The moment you stepped inside the school grounds you let go of the male, dusting off your uniform’s plaid skirt.

“What time do your classes end?” He muttered toward you, adjusting his own uniform.

“I have study hall all day, I’ll be done whenever you are.” You state as you head for the library, ignoring the icy stare your fiancé was giving you.

Since Coriolanus studied under Dr. Gaul, you knew you would have to stay a lot longer in the University’s library than usual, but you did not necessarily care. You had textbook assignments due, and it was an opportunity to get everything done.

That was the goal until a first year at the University started bothering you.

“I told you, I’m busy.” You stand from your seat, furrowing your brows at the young male. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go find a book for my psychology lessons.”

“Aw, don’t be lame.” He inched toward you, grabbing your wrist. “Why don’t we have our own fun instead? I’m sure you’re just as beautiful underneath your skirt.”

Your eyes harden at his words and mess with your engagement ring, “You‘ll have to excuse me, I have to be somewhere.”

Swiftly, you weave through the different shelves full of books. You swore under your breath when you hear the footsteps of the male behind you, sharply turning into a more secluded space. To your surprise, you found Coriolanus pulling books from the Hunger Games previous years.

“What are you doing in here?” You question, quickly moving around to his left. “I thought Dr. Gaul needed you today?”

“She wanted me to understand the history of the previous games to help with the programming and DNA of new animals.” He mumbled, looking through a thick book from the first Hunger Games. “What are you doing?”

“This guy was hitting on me.” You shrug, meeting Coriolanus’ darkened eyes. “What?”

“What guy?” He placed the books down on a cart, grabbing your chin.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I don’t know his name, but he’s a first year here. Why do you care so much?”

“Because, gorgeous, you’re my fiancée. Any guy who even looks your way that isn’t me is dead.” He backed you into the shelf, hand still tight on your chin. “Did he saying anything or touch you?”

“Yes.” You whisper, gaze dropping to his lips before back up to his darkened blue eyes. “He grabbed my wrist and said that ‘I’m probably just as beautiful underneath my skirt’.”

Coriolanus took his other hand and firmly placed it on your hip, eyes wandering your face. “I’ll kill him.”

You turn your head to the side as you heard footsteps nearing before Coriolanus slammed his lips onto yours, pulling your body close to his. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss without a care in the world.

“Mm, Coryo—“ You part, feeling your skirt hike up. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe.” He chuckles, shutting you up with a harder kiss, slipping his tongue through your parted mouth.

Coriolanus changes his hold on you, both hands now on your waist. You shift your hips, earning a quiet groan from the male. He retaliates by tracing a hand up to your throat, slightly squeezing it which earned a moan coming from you.

“Oh, so you’re just a whore.” The male scoffed from the front of the aisle, looking at the couple.

“Kill him?” You ask between kisses, tugging at his tie. Truly, you didn’t know he would take that request to heart as the male soon was deemed missing a day later. But for now, you were caught up in the heat.

Coriolanus grins, leaving one last kiss to your swollen lips. “He talks to my soon to be wife like that, it’ll be worse than a quick kill.”

read more about coriolanus snow here !!

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[novaursa]

Could I request a little tidbit of the velaryon bride where reader is having a bath and invites cregan to join but it’s too hot for him, but doesn’t want to disappoint her (and maybe because he doesn’t want to admit to himself he can’t take it) and joins her anyway. Maybe something cute and lovey and could potentially lead to a steamy bath session, but just before it gets steamy, cregan interrupts as the bath water is too hot due to readers Targaryen blood.

Valyrian Bride (dragon's bath)

- Summary: You invite Cregan to join you in a warm bath.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is daughter of Rhaenyra.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dragon eggs

- Next part: nameday

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess @ferakillia

The chambers of Winterfell were filled with the heady scent of lavender and rose oil, mingling with the thick steam that wafted from the bathing tub in the center of the room. It was a large, deep tub, carved from dark stone and filled almost to the brim with water that verged on scalding. Cregan Stark paused just inside the doorway, his breath catching as the heat hit him like a wall. Even from across the room, he could see the steam rising in thick, swirling tendrils.

His wife lounged in the water, her head resting against the rim of the tub, her silver-gold hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. The heat had brought a faint flush to her cheeks, making her skin glow with a warmth that seemed to radiate from her very being. She looked every inch the dragon-blooded beauty she was, and Cregan, despite the intense heat, felt his pulse quicken.

She turned her head as he entered, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “There you are, my wolf,” she murmured, her voice a low, inviting purr. “Come to join me?”

Cregan cleared his throat, his eyes sweeping over her, taking in the languid grace with which she stretched out her arms, the way the water lapped gently against her skin. “I… wasn’t planning on it,” he admitted, though the sight of her made him seriously reconsider his plans for the evening.

She raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her violet eyes. “Not planning to? I’m hurt.” She lifted a hand, gesturing lazily to the empty space beside her. “There’s more than enough room for you. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of a little heat?”

He gave her a wry look, but there was no denying the challenge in her eyes. “You call this a little heat? It’s like the godsdamned forges of the blacksmith.”

Her laughter was soft, echoing through the steam-filled room. “Oh, come now. It’s not that bad. Besides, I think you can handle it. Or have all these years in the North made you forget how to endure a little fire?”

Cregan grumbled under his breath but began to strip off his heavy furs and clothes. “Fine, but if I come out boiled alive, I’ll be haunting you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she said, her smile widening as she watched him disrobe. “Besides, a ghostly wolf might be a nice change of pace around here.”

As he moved closer to the tub, Cregan felt the heat intensify, the air itself seeming to shimmer with it. He hesitated for just a moment, then gritted his teeth and stepped into the water, lowering himself gingerly into the steaming bath. It was a testament to his stubbornness—and perhaps a touch of insanity—that he didn’t immediately leap back out.

“Seven hells,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his skin prickling as if he’d stepped into a cauldron. “Y/N, this is hotter than Vaetrix’s breath.”

His wife laughed again, the sound rich and full of affection. “It’s just right for me.” She moved closer, her wet skin glistening in the dim light, and slid her arms around his neck. “But I appreciate your bravery, my lord.”

Cregan tried to relax, though it was hard when he felt like a stew being slowly brought to a boil. Still, the feel of her body pressed against his, the way her fingers trailed along his shoulders, made the discomfort almost worth it. Almost.

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw, her voice a soft murmur. “You’re tense. Let me help with that.”

He turned his head, catching her lips with his, and for a moment, the heat of the water was forgotten as he lost himself in the warmth of her kiss. Her mouth moved against his with a tenderness that made his chest ache, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

She shifted in his lap, her hands sliding down his chest, her touch light and teasing. “See?” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. “Isn’t this better?”

He let out a low growl, nipping at her lower lip. “It would be, if I wasn’t slowly cooking.”

She laughed, the sound bubbling up like the water around them, and kissed him again, deeper this time. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, and he found himself responding, his hands roaming over her back, feeling the smooth curve of her spine.

The heat, the closeness, her soft sighs—it was all intoxicating, pulling him under in a way that had nothing to do with the steaming water. She shifted again, pressing herself more firmly against him, her breath hitching as her movements became more insistent.

But as the temperature of both the water and their shared passion rose, Cregan felt a very real and very unromantic panic begin to build. He could handle battle, blood, and the bitterest of northern winds, but this? This was too much.

He pulled back, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “Wait, wait—hold on,” he said, his voice strained. “I need to—”

She looked at him, her eyes dark with desire and a hint of confusion. “What is it?”

“I need to get out,” he managed, his tone halfway between an apology and desperation. “I’m going to pass out from the heat.”

For a moment, she stared at him, and then, to his utter dismay, she burst out laughing. The sound was pure, unrestrained, and filled with such genuine amusement that he couldn’t even pretend to be offended. She leaned back, her shoulders shaking with mirth as she looked at him.

“Oh, Cregan,” she said, her voice still thick with laughter. “You poor wolf.”

He grumbled something unintelligible but carefully extricated himself from her embrace and stood, water dripping off his body as he climbed out of the tub. The air felt blessedly cool against his skin, and he took several deep breaths, trying to get his bearings.

Behind him, his wife was still laughing softly, her eyes sparkling as she watched him. “I should have known better than to put a Northerner in a dragon’s bath.”

Cregan grabbed a towel and began to dry off, his movements a little less graceful than usual. “I think I prefer the snows of the godswood to whatever molten lake that is.”

She smiled, her expression softening as she leaned against the edge of the tub, her chin resting on her folded arms. “I’m sorry, love. I forget, sometimes, how different we are. The fire in me, the cold in you.”

He shook his head, his heart warming at her words, despite the chill now settling in his bones. “We’ve always been different. That’s what makes it work.”

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the water. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

He smirked, draping the towel around his waist and leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Not even my aversion to your fiery baths?”

She grinned, her fingers tracing a light pattern on his arm. “Not even that. It just means more for me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of the tub, close enough to feel her warmth but far enough to keep from melting. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Aye,” he said softly, his eyes meeting hers, his voice filled with sincerity. “That I do.”

She reached out, her hand slipping into his, squeezing gently. “We’ll find a middle ground, my wolf.”

He nodded, leaning in to kiss her softly, their breaths mingling in the steam-filled air. “We always do.”

And as they sat there, hand in hand, the warmth of the fire between them, Cregan knew that no matter how hot or cold life became, they would always find a way to balance each other out—fire and ice, wolf and dragon, husband and wife.

[dameronspector]

Philophobia (Part 10)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Stark!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Platonic!Reader

Chapter Summary: You try to find information on Rhodey and call the biggest asshole for help, Karli and Zemo are a pain in the ass, all of you get a special visit from the Dora Milaje, John Walker is annoying and you hate him, Joaquin is a sweetie pie who loves you so much, you end up hurting our bird boy unwillingly.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, FLUFF so much fluff, Tension (no smut), Revisiting Past, Mentions of Depression and Phobias, Isolation, Loneliness, Talks of a Funeral, Guns/Bullets, Injuries, Concussion, Bruises, Jealous!Joaquin, Sam and Bucky are worried dads, Joaquin loves Reader so much, Joaquin is whipped, A Special Cameo, Nicknames, This is a long one. that’s all I think!

AN: nothing really, except this one is really cute hehe

“Stark, I’m in the middle of-”

“Where’s Rhodey? And don’t say you don’t know anything about that. We both know, that you’re the only person who has eyes everywhere.”

Fury sighed heavily on the phone.

The moment Pepper told you that Rhodey was missing, your mind went straight to Nick Fury, the only person in this country who had his eyes everywhere and in everyone’s business. Especially when it came to people like Rhodey, who were government officials.

“Fine. I do know. But I can’t tell you anything right now.”

Your blood boiled, irritated with his constant state of unbothered attitude, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can’t tell you anything right now. It’s confidential. You’re not new to this business, Stark.”

You closed your eyes in annoyance. It was never easy with this man.

“Alright, fine. But if I don’t get my uncle back safely, I’ll give you something to worry about, Fury.”

“Are you threatening me?”, Fury let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“Why? Are you scared?”, you challenged him back. He knew you could be as reckless as your dad if you wanted to be.

“Relax. He’s alive, if that makes you feel any better. Just figuring out how to bring him back. And no, I can’t elaborate on that right now. You’ll just have to wait.”

You clenched your jaw tightly, reluctantly agreeing to his terms.

“Yeah, alright. You’ll keep me updated, though?”

A beat passed.

And he finally replied, “Yes, I’ll try.”

You huffed through your nose and cut the call, pinching the bridge of your nose after. You wouldn’t be getting any sleep for a while now.

Your phone buzzed with a notification again. Harley had texted you that the suit will be arriving to your doorstep in approximately 10 seconds.

As if on cue, your watch informed that the suit was here.

You made your way over to the main doors and there it was, the sleek red and gold of the armour glinting in the light, the blue arc reactor in the middle glowing brightly, like it was never broken down.

For a minute, it felt like your dad was inside the suit. The sight of him roaming around the living room in one of the suits was a common occurrence, and the times when he wore it to help Peter out, fighting against Thanos, or save Pepper—all of the moments flashing in front of your eyes like it was a short film.

Involuntarily, your eyes filled with tears, the fact that he would never step out of one of these suits, after doing something crazy and typically Tony Stark, made your chest ache with a pain so profound.

You didn’t notice Joaquin coming up next to you in your trance. You didn’t notice how he saw your body lock up and eyes turn glassy, the emotion and pain swimming in them sending a sharp pang of hurt through his own chest.

His eyebrows scrunched up and he slowly put a hand on your shoulder, making you jump in surprise. Your teary eyes shifted to look at him, his worried face intently focused on you.

"Hey, you okay?", he asked lowly, the hand on your shoulder shifting to rest on your shoulder blades.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat before nodding, "Y-yeah. I'm good. Sorry-um. This is Mark 50, Mark 50, this is Joaquin", you sniffled and pointed at the suit, introducing it to Joaquin like it was a real person.

In a way it was, the suits and the robots were as much as a part of the Stark family as Rhodey or Happy. They were, truly, your siblings and you hated how right Sam was about that.

Joaquin noticed the shift in you and immediately switched his mood, "Damn. Lookin' good", he greeted the suit, a hand extended in front of it.

He wasn't expecting the suit to actually listen and shake his hand in return, a metal fist enclosed against Joaquin's human hand, the suit's helmet tilted to the side like it was nodding.

Joaquin looked at you with wide eyes, face lit up with excitement, "Whoa!"

That made you laugh quietly, heart fluttering in your chest by looking at the wide smile on Joaquin's face.

He was so cute.

"Yeah. Dad used to command it before, but Harley must've programed it to respond to any commands and rewired it's systems to be operated by FRIDAY", you looked at the suit with a fond smile, completely missing the sour look that passed across Joaquin's face.

"Let's go inside. And Joaquin, could you please pull up Sam and Bucky's location? I’ll just thank Harley for his help", you shifted away from the threshold, the suit and Joaquin following closely. Joaquin stared at your back like a lost puppy before reluctantly sitting down at the couch with his laptop propped up on the arm rest.

You rang Harley back, taking a seat next to Joaquin and watching his pretty hands type away on the keypad.

Pretty hands? where did that come from-

"What’s up, Buzz."

"Hi, Haz. Thank you for working on the suit in such less time", you begun sincerely.

Joaquin clenched his jaw. You noticed that and quirked an eyebrow before Harley broke your train of thought.

"You owe me a treat and a new headset", Harley replied casually, and you could hear loud cheers in the background.

"Wait a minute, headset? Didn't you get a new one last month? And where are you, boy?", you chided him.

"Uhh...I may have blasted mine accidentally while working on the suit? And I'm at a football game right now", you could just picture his stupid shrug right now.

Your eyes widened, "Harley did you destroy my lab?! I swear to god- and why are you skipping your classes-"

"Oh my gooood, your lab is fine! There might be a small hole in the wall but otherwise, it's all good! And you're welcome! Come back home and treat me to lunch and a new pair, mkay? I gotta focus on the game now, byeee!"

And he ended the call.

You stared at your phone with your mouth agape before bringing your watch up to your face, "FRIDAY, give me a status update of the lab?"

FRIDAY pulled up a small screen, a footage of your lab visible on it. The footage showed the exact moment Harley accidentally pushed the wrong button and activated the blasters, destroying his precious headset and a small chunk of your wall paneling, the gaping hole standing out against the white and gray interior.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned loudly, Joaquin, who was already looking at you, decides to finally speak up.

"Who is this guy?", he blurts out and immediately regrets it, his hand clenching into a fist.

You looked up and sighed, "Just a stray that my dad picked up long ago and now he's my problem."

Joaquin looked at you in confusion. You smiled fondly.

"He's like the twin I never had, you know? Dad met him in Tennessee in 2013, during the Mandarin attacks. Harley basically saved my dad from starvation and hypothermia, let him stay in their family garage for the night. He was a smart kid, helped dad fix his suit, uncover the Extremis program, and helped track down the Mandarin in Miami."

Joaquin's eyes were wide with wonder, "Whoa."

You chuckled, "I know right? He must've been barely 11 years old. Even supported my dad during his panic attacks and PTSD. Dad was so impressed with this little guy who was practically helping him save the country, that he became a surrogate father to him. Gave him a scholarship and, later, an internship, brought him home during Christmas the next year, and that's how we became friends. I was an only child, so he was the closest thing to a brother to me", you finished with a sweet smile.

Joaquin relaxed. Harley was like a brother to you, there was nothing to be jealous of. Now that that was out of the way, he was happy and impressed with Harley and his presence in your life. He had saved your father’s life at only 11 years old and had given you a feeling of siblinghood. He knew how special a bond with a sibling could be.

Joaquin felt like he could get along with him.

His curiosity got the best of him and he asked, “That’s…really cool. He seems like a nice guy. But, why’d you call him Woody the other day?”

You let out a delightful laugh, one that made your eyes squint and crinkles appear next to them. One that made Joaquin’s heart race and cheeks red.

“We were just two Disney obsessed kids, okay? Spent half of our time watching the animated movies. Toy Story and How To Train Your Dragon stuck out because, Woody and Buzz, and Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were way too similar to us. So those were our nicknames for each other. Never grew out of them”, you finished with a nostalgic smile.

Joaquin ducked his head and smiled, happy that you had these sweet memories as a child.

“Why did you abruptly leave when I was talking to him?”

Joaquin whipped his head up, “Huh?”, nervousness bleeding through his tone and you knew you had him there.

“Why did you leave, Joaquin? You even tensed up when I was talking to him right now”, you tried again in a softer voice.

Joaquin scratched the back of his head sheepishly, eyes looking down at his laptop to avoid your observant gaze, “Uh-I…I was-”

You pursed your lips to stop the smile from spreading, “Jealous?”

And there was the word vomit that you were expecting, “No! I wasn’t jealous. I just- I didn’t know- I didn’t want to force you into anything with me, you know? So like, I thought, maybe you already had someone so- I didn’t want to—And you looked so happy—”

You stopped him from spiralling any further and covered his mouth with your hand, shutting him up effectively. His brown eyes stared at your hand in surprise before looking at you, his soft lips brushed against your palm and you almost shivered.

“It’s okay.”

His eyes widened, head tilting to the side as if he was asking you to repeat it again.

“I mean, I don’t mind that you were jealous”, you repeated quietly, swallowing to get rid of your nerves. It’s been a long time since you opened up to someone like that. You weren’t sure how Joaquin would react to it, your heart was beating out of your chest, hands were shaking and turning cold at the same time.

Before your overthinking could get worse, Joaquin wrapped a hand around your wrist and slowly tugged it down, a thumb rubbing soothing circles against your heartbeat, sparkling eyes flickering all over your face.

“Is that so?”, he asked softly, a stray curl falling apart from his neatly gelled hair and resting on his forehead.

He was so handsome, it hurt.

You nodded shyly, face heating up with nervousness and excitement, both.

He slowly leaned in, a hand coming up to cradle your cheek when there was a beeping sound coming from his laptop, the two of you jumping apart at that.

You cleared your throat while he gently removed his hand from your face, leaving a cold feeling behind. You almost sulked at that when he swooped in to press a kiss to the swell of your cheek before turning back towards the screen.

You blushed hard and thanked whatever force that was out there, for making him turn around at that moment.

“Shit. Walker and Hoskins have tracked Sam and Bucky down”, Joaquin cursed.

You snapped out of your day dream and leaned closer to him to look at the screen.

“What? How’s that possible?”, you murmured as you watched the two dots follow Sam and Bucky around.

“I got no clue. But this can’t be good. I don’t trust Walker”, he muttered, his voice scratchy.

“Yeah, that makes the two of us. I knew this was gonna happen, which is why I called in the suit”, you confessed and he looked at you in confusion, his warm breath hitting your face because of how close you were to each other.

“What? Why?”

“I’m going after them. I’ve got a bad feeling ever since they left”, you admitted and bit the inside of your cheek.

Joaquin’s face fell, “(Name), no. You’re literally recovering from a rib injury that you got a few hours ago. You’re supposed to be resting right now”, he chided you gently, face twisted in concern.

You stared at him for a moment before softening, hands framing his face carefully. Joaquin closed his in contentment.

“I have the suit for a reason, Quino. It’s got the suture spray and FRIDAY will keep you updated with my vitals, in case something goes wrong. And Sam and Bucky will be there, too. I’ll be okay, I promise”, you cooed gently.

He opened his pretty eyes and stared at you in worry, a dent appearing in between his eyebrows because of how much he was stressing them.

“You’ll let me know if anything goes south?”

“I swear.”

“And you won’t do stupid shit?”

You gave him a guilty smile, “I’ll try”, and pressed a thumb in between his brows, smoothing the dent away before squeezing his cheeks in between your palms. He grabbed your wrists in his hands.

“I’ll give you access to FRIDAY. She’s directly connected to the suit so you can talk to me, and track me through her, okay?”

He nodded, his head moving up and down in your hands.

“Anything else?”, you prompted him to open his eyes.

He looked at you for a moment and said, “Can I kiss you?”

You blushed and whispered, “Yes.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He put his hands on your cheeks and brought you closer to him, lips pressing to yours in a gentle embrace, thumbs smoothing the skin below your eyes.

The kiss wasn’t desperate or needy, it was gentle and reassuring, as if he was trying to savour the way your soft lips felt against his but at the same time, needed comfort that you’d be okay.

He pulled away after a few moments, pressing one last kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Go save our dads”, he murmured against your cheek and you burst out in giggles, nuzzling against his face in return.

-

You flew to the location where Sam and Bucky had gone for Mama Donya’s funeral. After commanding FRIDAY to compress the suit, it took the shape of a red and gold bracelet with blue accents that went on your wrist alongside your watch and you walked the rest of the way, not wanting to draw too much attention.

The funeral was held in a closed off factory or a community center of some sort, the building filled with large machines and huge halls, scattered with food supplies and tables full of clothes, bags, pots and other essentials. It was clearly a camp for the refugees.

It was way too quiet when you got in, and Joaquin informed you about the heat signatures a few feet ahead. You slowly made your way over to the main hall’s entrance, the view blocked by 2 rusted machines that looked like unused boilers, and a blue suit came into view—Walker.

Your expression soured as you approached him and noticed Zemo being handcuffed, Bucky standing guard in front of a door, meanwhile Walker and Lemar were pacing back and forth.

“Wow, I wasn’t told that there was gonna be a party here”, you quipped and the four of them whipped their heads up in your direction.

“What—Kid, why are you here?”, Bucky asked in concern.

“Great, we have another trigger-happy child to look after”, Walker sassed.

“The call is coming from inside the house”, Walker glared at you and opened his mouth before you waved him off, “Anyways. Buck, where’s Sam? You guys okay?”

You walked over to where Bucky was standing and leaned against the door.

“Yeah. He’s inside, trying to talk Karli down.”

You nodded in understanding, it was very much in character for Sam to do that, his natural instinct to care for people and the professional experience of being a counselor helping him out.

“And why’s this clown here?”, you murmured and gestured towards Walker.

Bucky sighed, “He thinks Sam is doing a mistake by talking to Karli. Says we should just arrest her or worse.”

You rolled your eyes in irritation before John started breathing heavily. Bucky exchanged a look with you.

“Is he high? What the hell is wrong with him?”, you asked Bucky, who chuckled.

“Ignore him. Why'd you join us? You’re supposed to be resting. Did you sneak out? Did Torres not stop you?”, Bucky rapidly asked one question after the other, his eyebrows scrunched deeply.

You narrowed your eyes, “I don’t need anybody’s permission. And relax, old man, I told him to track me and gave him access to FRIDAY. And here”, you pulled back your dad’s leather jacket’s sleeve and showed him the bracelet, “I got the suit as a backup.”

Bucky looked down at your wrist in doubt, “How?-”

“I’ll tell you later-”

“Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea”, John spoke up and paced around in panic.

You quirked an eyebrow.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight”, Bucky drawled out in boredom.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me”, John gritted his teeth.

You stood up straight and looked him in the eye, noticing his restless body language, “Dude, you need to calm down.”

“He knows what he’s doing”, Bucky referred to Sam.

John glared at the two of you, “I’m goin’ in. This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. And you”, he looked at you with eyes, “not everybody has the privilege of living in ignorance and having a back up ready. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You clenched your jaw, your eyes hardening in anger, “Watch it, John”, a hand moving to your bracelet before Bucky stopped you. You stared at him in disbelief.

John smirked before pushing Bucky out of the way, Lemar choosing to stay behind for now.

You watched John leave and broke your hand away from Bucky’s grip.

“Bucky, what the hell?”, you chided him, his jaw clenching tightly at that.

“I know. Just- be careful. Lay low, I'll go after him", Bucky instructed, you gave him a curt nod and ran in the opposite direction, Bucky taking off after Walker and Lemar following closely, ready to stop Bucky. Zemo was the only one left behind, and he took that opportunity to break free from his handcuffs and follow Walker and Karli himself.

-

You ducked behind the staircase, observing the scene closely before making any moves. You knew Sam would be upset to see you here, but you weren’t going to sit back and watch them get ambushed by Walker or, god forbid, the Flagsmashers.

“This is what that was?”, Karli’s upset voice rang out in the empty hall.

“No, wait—”, Sam tried to placate her, his hands held out in a peaceful gesture.

“Tricking me until help came?”

“We had enough time to talk—”, Walker stopped Sam while Lemar tried to restrict Bucky. You clenched your hands in anger.

“Nazi", Karli spit at Walker and pushed him against Sam, bringing him down with him and a few pots and pans scattering in the wake. Bucky pushed Lemar off of him and ran in the direction of Karli.

You pressed the small button on your bracelet and let the suit wrap around you, the blue screens coming to life inside the helmet, FRIDAY's voice alert and ready.

"FRIDAY, track down Karli."

"Ok, Boss."

And you blasted off, whizzing through the building. Her and Bucky jumped through the staircases, the serums running through their veins helping them run faster and scale heights. Bucky dropped down behind her, landing in a room that was filled with people drying their clothes around and meandering about, they looked at you in alarm and gasped when you swooped in behind Bucky in a blur of red and gold.

Bucky whipped his head behind as he ran, relaxing when he noticed it was just you and ran faster, matching Karli's pace with you close on his heels.

The doorway made way to a dark, brick walled space, surrounded by flights of stairs and metal railings, low light passing through the windows on the opposite wall.

Bucky ran up another series of stairs and you paused, looking around in confusion, "FRIDAY, where is she?"

"Second floor, in the boiler room. Last door at the end of the hallway."

And you took off, reaching the second floor and noticing a brown door at the end of the hallway. Flying close to the door, you turned the suit back into the bracelet by pushing on the reactor and straightened yourself before opening the door, which gave you a clear view of Karli from the railings around the platform.

Descending from the stairs, you tried to keep the noise to a minimum as you followed Karli closely, ducking behind storage shelves and large pipes.

She suddenly stopped, staring at something or someone across her, her breathing laboured. You furrowed your eyebrows.

And suddenly, a gunshot went off, a bullet ricocheting off a pipe, making a loud clang. Your eyes widened as you pressed the bracelet and let it cover your hand in a partial gauntlet, arm raised in defense as you slowly stood up and saw the perpetrator- it was Zemo.

"Fuck", you cursed under your breath. All of you had stupidly left Zemo behind.

"(Name), what are you doing?", Joaquin's urgent voice came in from your ear piece.

You closed your eyes in regret. Thankfully, you didn't give him access to video yet or else he would've not given up until you backed away.

"Joaquin-I'm okay. FRIDAY, shut off comms until further notice", you guiltily informed FRIDAY.

"Wait, no-don't do this, (Name)-", his voice called out before FRIDAY ended the connection. You would definitely regret this later but you needed to focus here, for now.

A series of gunshots went off, Zemo backing Karli into a corner while you covered yourself with a huge crate right behind Zemo, keeping your blaster trained at him.

Karli jumped over a table and used it as a cover, the contents on the table scattering on the floor and that's when you noticed.

The blue glass vials. The serums.

Zemo slowly made his way over to the table while keeping Karli on gun point. You raised up and followed him, wanting to keep him away from the vials and Karli. He fired another shot and almost missed Karli's hand, her quickly ducking behind the table and his eyes went towards the vials rolling around.

"Is this what I think it is?", he asked Karli.

"Zemo, don't!", you cried out and he whipped around, his gun still raised but lowering it when he saw you.

"Let me do this, (Name). This has nothing to do with you", he warned you lightly before turning back towards the vials. He crouched down before picking one up, Karli's distressed face popping out from behind the overturned table.

"No, no...", Karli whispered and Zemo shattered the vial in his hand, it breaking in tiny pieces, the blue liquid spilling on the stone ground, turning it damp.

"Zemo, stop it, I'm gonna blast you, I swear", you raised your arm, the gauntlet powering itself when a door opened and a man came out, Karli making her way up to escape. You forgot the serum then, knowing that they weren’t as important as Karli’s coordination with Sam and to this mission.

"Karli, wait!", you ran towards the stairs, catching up with her when she suddenly turned around, pulling your arm close before pushing you harshly.

She ran away while you lost your balance, the heel of your foot slipping off the step. Your stomach coiled in itself, that feeling of free falling engulfing you.

A sound of metal hitting something echoed in the still room but you couldn't see it as you closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the ground to hit you for the second time since yesterday.

But it never came. Instead, rough gloves and the feel of kevlar on your cheeks greeted you, hands helping you get off the stairs before making you sit on the ground, releasing you immediately and the sound of footsteps walking away hit your ears.

You heart was pounding in your ears, the brief scare of falling had shaken you up, your eyes still shut tightly. Taking a deep breath in, you opened them to see that Zemo was unconscious in front of you, Walker stood next to a pile of water bottles with his head titled, looking at something in his hands.

Had he saved you from falling?

Just as you though that, the door above opened once again, Sam and Bucky walking through it while Lemar rushed in from the other entrance behind Zemo.

You were breathing loudly, eyes meeting Sam and Bucky's from across the room, nodding to let them know that you're okay.

"What did we miss?", Sam asked John in exasperation, Bucky scowling next to him and the four men exchanged a look with each other.

-

"You okay?", Bucky asked you as you walked next to him.

"Yeah, he-"

"What are you doing here? I told you to rest. The doctor told you to rest!", Sam chided you, a frown tugging his lips.

"I know, I'm sorry-"

"Oh, now you're sorry. What if you'd been injured, or worse? What was I supposed to tell Pepper or Rhodey?", Sam stressed. In his panic, he thankfully didn't notice the way you and Bucky froze at the mention of Rhodey.

"And how did you even get the suit?"

"Yeah actually, I have the same question", Bucky chimed in, staring you down with narrowed eyes.

You shrugged casually, "I have contacts", and gave them a smirk.

Sam shook his head in disbelief and Bucky huffed out a laugh. Zemo was stumbling behind the three of you, his right temple bruised and red.

"I didn't think I'd ever say this, but maybe I need to thank John for that", you quipped and the two men next to you chuckled in agreement.

"He also saved me from falling when Karli shoved me", you confessed and they look at you in confusion.

"Who? Walker?", Bucky asked in disbelief and you nodded.

"Well, colour me surprised. They do say, a broken clock is right twice in a day", Sam joked.

You shook your head and chuckled.

"You guys go ahead. I'll join you", Bucky informed you before walking back to the building. Assuming he was most likely going to ask around for information, Sam and you made your way back to Zemo's place with a wincing Zemo in tow.

-

As soon as you entered the living area, you were greeted with a sulking Joaquin, headphones over his head that made a dent in his otherwise fluffy curls, eyes intently focusing on the screen of his laptop, lips set in a frown and hands constantly fidgeting with the keyboard. His arms strained against the tight t shirt he was wearing and you felt your breath hitch at the sight.

There was also an ache in your chest. You hated that you had shut him out like that but you didn’t do well with distractions. Not when you were trying so hard to prove yourself to Sam, that you’d be useful. But, those are just excuses, you suppose. He didn’t deserve that in anyway.

Sam made his way over to him while Zemo went into the kitchen, likely preparing a cold compress for the bruising.

Patting his back, Sam brought Joaquin’s attention back to the present and he jumped lightly before removing the headphones, wide eyes looking up at Sam in alarm.

“Oh-Hey. You’re back? Where-”

He looked around Sam and spotted you, perfectly okay, wrapped in your father’s jacket, hands playing with the bracelet nervously.

Sam took notice of this frantic behaviour from Joaquin and turned to look at you, the nervousness radiating off your body and quirked an eyebrow.

“Uh…you good, man?”, he asked Joaquin while squeezing his shoulder, Joaquin reluctantly looking away from you to answer Sam.

“Um- yeah. I’m good. How-how did it go?”

Sam sighed, “Well. Walker’s dumbass ambushed us. Karli felt betrayed and she escaped. And Zemo broke the vials of the serum.”

Joaquin looked at Zemo, noticing the way he was swaying and stumbling over his feet and let out a low whistle, “Did he get his ass kicked?”

Sam snorted, “Walker threw the damn shield at his head. Knocked him out for sometime and bruised the right side of his face.”

Joaquin breathed out a laugh in response. Sam patted his back again and sat down on the chairs lining the kitchen island to work on his laptop, leaving you and Joaquin staring at each other longingly from across the room.

Zemo came over and laid down on the couch opposite to Joaquin, a towel over his eyes and a drink in his hand.

You averted your eyes away from Joaquin before joining Sam at the island, sitting down next to him and staring at the laptop idly, lost in your own thoughts. Sam was sending a text to Sharon, warning her about Walker and asking her to keep an eye on him.

“Were you ever offered it?”, Zemo asked Sam, who looked at you in confusion.

“What?”, he asked Zemo.

“The serum.”

“No”, Sam replied and went back to his work.

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?”

You stopped fiddling with your bracelet and looked up in surprise, the loaded question from Zemo taking you off guard.

Sam turned around to look at Zemo and instantly replied, “No.”

You slowly smiled with pride. Joaquin looked at Sam with stars in his eyes.

“No hesitation. That’s impressive,” Zemo grunted and sat up, pulling away the towel from his eyes to look at Sam.

“Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli. No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

You stiffened up, his words holding some truth yet his way of tackling the issue rubbed you the wrong way.

Sam grimaced, “Isn’t that how gods talk? And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky? Blood isn’t always the solution.”

Right after that the door opened, Bucky walking through it with irritation bleeding from his every step.

“Something’s not right about Walker”, he announced and walked around you and Sam, throwing his jacket into a chair and picking out a glass from the cabinet, pouring himself some whiskey.

“You don’t say”, Sam quipped.

“No, I agree. He was being really fucking weird. Twitchy and always on the edge…”, you added, suspecting your worse fear—Walker took the serum.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy”, Bucky added in self deprecation. You pursed your lips.

“Can’t argue with that”, Sam joked and you noticed Joaquin stifle a laugh.

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield”, Bucky throws at Sam and you frown, a hand coming up to pinch your nose.

“Not this again”, you groaned and Sam turned around to look at Bucky in disbelief.

“I didn’t give it.”

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.”

You looked up in shock, “Dude?!”

Why did have an attitude all of a sudden?

And as if the devil sensed the rising tension, the doors flung open, revealing the last person you wanted to see.

“All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over”, John’s loud mouth announced himself as he strutted in, a stupid smug smile on his face, Lemar walking next to him.

You actually preferred Lemar over John. Atleast he didn’t spew bullshit at random times.

Sam sighed in exhaustion and met John halfway.

“Hey, slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next”, he said and pointed at Zemo who walked over to the kitchen.

Bucky leaned on the countertop meanwhile you felt a warm hand on your forearm, shifting your intense stare away from John to to look at Joaquin standing next to you, his jaw clenched.

“How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam? Huh?”

Sam stared at Walker and Walker let out a breathy laugh.

"Yeah. Should I put down the shield to make it fair?", John belittled Sam and you clenched your fists, eyes hardened in anger. Sam scoffed.

Just as John went to rest his shield by one of the pillars, a spear zipped past him, lodging firmly into the pillar right next to John's head.

All of you turned around in shock to see that a Dora Milaje warrior was standing in the corner of the room. You let out a laugh and Bucky shifted. Joaquin was too starstruck to even move, Sam looked at her in shock and fear.

Two more Doras entered from the main door, the clinking of their silver jewelry and armour rippling across the room in a pleasant way, their bodies held with grace and poise, the orange and patterned traditional armour fitting them royally, unimaginable power and stealth oozing off of their shining skin. Their sharp eyes pierced through Walker and Bucky sat up uncomfortably.

A Dora clinked her spear against the ground and looked at Bucky directly, saying something in Wakandan isiXhosa that was clearly not funny as Bucky ducked his head in shame. You exchanged a serious look with Joaquin, standing up in alarm.

"Release him to us, now", the warrior demanded, her voice serious and firm in warning.

Nobody spoke, except-

"Hi. John Walker, Captain America."

Except this dumb fucking man.

You rolled your eyes and shut them in embarrassment, Joaquin's mouth agape in disbelief. Sam laughed and looked at the three of you, his face lit up with shocked happiness, like he couldn't believe his was happening.

When the Dora didn't respond, John looked around the room and ran his stupid mouth again, "Well, let's uh- put down these pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?", he said in a fake happy voice.

"Oh my god", you whispered lowly.

"Hey, John, take it easy. You might wanna fight with Bucky before you wanna tangle with the Dora Milaje", Sam tried to warn Walker.

"They're gonna lay you down in 2 minutes max, man”, Joaquin added. You scoffed in humour.

John looked at you two blankly before turning around and running his mouth again.

"The Dora Milaje don't have jurisdiction here-"

Your eyes were so wide you were sure they would burst, if that was possible. Joaquin let out a choked gasp next to you.

"The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction, wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be", the warrior conceded and stared down Walker with her sharp and vigilant eyes.

"I know that's fucking right", "Hell yeah", you and Joaquin muttered together.

Sam smiled and Bucky still looked constipated. You assumed it's because he was going to get his ass handed to him by the Doras as well.

Just when you thought that it was over, Walker did something even worse.

"Okay. Look, I think we got off the wrong foot", he replied smugly and tried to casually put his fucking hand on the warriors shoulder.

You and Joaquin grimaced and slapped your foreheads in unison.

"He's dead", you whispered in shock.

And he was, indeed, dead because the warrior pushed his hand off her shoulder with the spear and kicked him so hard in the stomach, that he hit the lodged spear harshly, and fell down, her partner pulling up her own spear in defense.

You gasped as John picked up his shield and the warrior spinned over him before stabbing his shield. The one who kicked John threw the third Dora her spear, who caught it mid air and attacked Lemar.

The three Doras kept hitting the two men with their spears, choking them and pinning them down, the grunts and groans and glasses shattering being the only sounds heard.

Sam backed up in shock, Bucky walked over to stand next to him smugly, his arms crossed around his chest.

Meanwhile you and Joaquin stared at the fight in wonder, awed at the fighting style of the Dora. They moved like it was a dance, not breaking any sweat or huffing and puffing, their movement precise and every attack purposeful.

Zemo sipped on his whiskey casually, like this wasn't any of his concern.

"We should do something", Sam mumbled to Bucky, who just pursed his lips and watched the scene unfold.

"Looking strong, John!", Bucky taunted as John got smacked by the spear once again and you let out a chuckle at that.

Bucky kept staring the fight smugly, his lips molded into a silly smile with his arms crossed.

Sam shook his head, "Bucky...", he called out in warning. Bucky looked at him before sighing, the warrior pinning down Walker and driving her spear straight into his face.

You let out a gasp, Joaquin holding you by the shoulders and then-

A vibranium arm shot out, stopping the spear before it hit John.

"Ayo-", Bucky twisted the spear away and Ayo, the warrior who kicked John, grunted, as she tried moving it out of Bucky's hand.

"Ayo, let's talk about this!", Bucky tried to reason but Ayo grunted once again, twisting the spear away, Bucky bringing up his flesh hand to stop her movements.

The other two Doras kicked Lemar and he dropped down in pain, one of them raising their spear before Sam rushed in to stop it, the warrior jamming in her spear's end into Sam's chest instead.

"Joaquin, we need to stop them-"

"No. Listen to me this once, please", Joaquin stopped you firmly, his hands pulling you back against him. You pouted.

The warriors kept attacking the four men, grunts and clangs echoing across the room and suddenly a spear shot out towards Walker's hands, passing through the straps and trapping the shield into the wooden table, Walker standing up with empty hands.

Ayo and Bucky's fight escalated and suddenly, she pressed a hand onto his left shoulder, where his metal arm met his flesh and-

The metal arm dropped down with a clink.

You gasped, Joaquin stared at the scene with fear and Bucky looked at Ayo with disbelief and slight betrayal, his eyes blown wide.

You walked over to Bucky, Joaquin making his way towards Sam.

You stood next to Bucky with a hand on his back, watching Ayo open the bathroom before announcing, "He is gone. Leave it."

The Dora handed the shield back to Sam and walked out just as gracefully as they had entered.

That's when you noticed that Zemo was missing. You frowned. How did you miss him slipping away?

"Did you know they could do that?", Sam asked as Joaquin helped him up, making his way towards you and Bucky.

Bucky furrowed his brows and you stared at him in worry, the vibranium arm's inner gears moving as Bucky prepared it to be fitted back into place. He inserted it into the purple grooves on the place where his armpit is supposed to be and the arm clicked, Bucky's clenched fingers making it whirr as he set it.

"No", he rasped out and moved his arm in a circle, making a clanking noise as it set.

You exchanged a worried look with Sam.

They walked over to the bathroom, leaving you behind with Joaquin. You clasped your hands in front you and Joaquin tucked his inside his pockets, both of you observing Sam and Bucky silently.

After a couple moments of awkward silence, Sam informs you that him and Bucky are going to look out for Zemo. You cursed inwardly as you realised you’ll have to be alone with Joaquin for sometime now.

You just hoped he wasn’t too mad about your little stunt.

-

You were scouring through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat when you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned around to look at Joaquin, who had left the bedroom a while after Sam and Bucky left.

In a way, you had decided to give him some space, the dent between his eyebrows kept growing the longer he was around you. You just couldn’t gather the courage to speak up to him because what would you even say to the most patient and understanding person around you whom you just pushed away because you couldn’t multi task?

He walked around you to get a glass of water, his body language casual and unbothered, avoiding eye contact with you throughout. You sneaked a look at him and chewed on your lower lip, deciding to simply ask him what’s wrong.

“Are you upset with me?”, you mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

He paused drinking, hand hovered in the air. He gulped it down heavily after a moment, before putting the glass down. Your eyes lingered on his adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Uh-no. What made you think that?”, he murmured and cleared his throat, arms crossing around his chest and making his muscles bulge and veins strain.

You narrowed your eyes at him, putting your hands on the hips.

“You’re a horrible liar, did you know that?”

Joaquin winced and scrunched his nose. You sighed and leaned against the counter top, your arms holding your torso in comfort now.

“Look…I’m sorry, okay? I just—I get overwhelmed easily and I-I just wanted to prove to Sam and Bucky that I can be useful, that I want to help. I can’t help it”, you let out a breath.

“When you called, I couldn’t comfort you and keep an eye on the mission at the same time. It’s just how I am. Did this before when dad was around and he’d get upset at me every time”, you chuckled lowly, the memory of him scolding you for not updating him during a fight vivid. Joaquin’s lips twitched at that.

“Every time someone close to me is in some kind of danger, it’s like I have this uncontrollable impulse to jump in to protect them. And I know, I said I won’t indulge in field work before joining you guys but…they’re family. I can’t just…leave them out there to fend for themselves. Not when I can still help”, you confessed in a small voice, the vulnerability of your words weighing you down.

Joaquin’s eyes softened then, because he could perfectly understand how you feel. Everything he did, he did it to prove himself to the world, to his mom, grandma and his sister. and most importantly, to Sam. That weight crushed him almost everyday, but Sam’s endless support and strength and the inherent trait to help the ones in need kept him going.

He supposed it was, in a way, worse for you because you’d lost your family members and you couldn’t do anything to save them. That is a burden that he wished on no one. And how he wished, that someone as pure hearted and loving as you, would have never experienced this.

His heart did a little lurch after taking in your dejected and small form. He crowded your personal space, making you look up in surprise, your glossy eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed and a frown tugging your lips down.

Joaquin tilted his head like a puppy, his brown eyes looking at you with fondness and sympathy, “It’s okay, angel. I understand.”

Your mouth fell open. He forgave you? And called you angel?

“What?”, you blurted out like a loser.

Joaquin smiled gently, “It’s okay. I get what you mean. I understand you. You don’t need to apologise to me. Not now, not ever, okay?”

Your bottom lip quivered and nose tickled, a telltale sign of crying. You quickly swallowed the tears and nodded, a hand coming up to brush against your nose.

Joaquin stared at you with thinly veiled love and affection in his eyes. He was so gone for you, it was a little scary.

So he did what he did best when words failed him.

He held out an arm to grab your hand and pulled you in gently, the other arm going around your waist to bring you to his firm chest. When you were close enough, he brought both of his arms up and hugged you, a hand splayed against your back and the other one holding you close by your shoulder.

You froze for a moment before burying your face into his chest, arms going around his waist and squeezing him tightly. You breathed in the comforting scent of fresh laundry and citrus, your favourite, and closed your eyes in relaxation, nuzzling against him like a cat asking for more pets, your forehead touching the warm skin by his collarbones.

Joaquin leaned his head against yours and let out a content sigh, a hand rubbing your back soothingly and you forgot all your problems for a moment.

Both of you were happily wrapped in your little bubble, unaware of the shit that was about to unfold around you.

Part 11

-

AN: AAAAHHH I love this chapter so much plsssss!! Please like and reblog and let me know your thoughts! 💙

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[hamilton-here]

With the leclerc! Sister here and Rosberg! Sister coming up, I have an idea—Verstappen!sister who Lewis falls for during 2021 WDC battle between him and her brother 🤭

𝐼𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝓎𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓂

Authors Note: Hi all! Here’s another request. Still more to complete. Hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave advice. Lots of love xx

Summary: You secretly date Lewis Hamilton until your brother Max finds out, breaking the trust between you.

Warnings: mild sexual content, mild swearing

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes @eywas-heir

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You never asked to be in the spotlight not in the way your last name demanded it.

Being Max Verstappen’s sister meant your life was spent in the paddock’s shadow, orbiting a world of speed, cameras, and ceaseless comparisons. People always expected fire, victory, arrogance. But you weren’t a driver. You weren’t chasing podiums. You just happened to carry the same blood as a man whose name filled headlines and history books.

But 2021, that year had turned the pressure into a furnace.

Max versus Lewis.

Red Bull versus Mercedes.

Legacy versus legend.

Every corner, every qualifying session, every interview boiled down to them. And you? You tried to stay still in the storm. Unmoving. Unbothered.

But that was before Silverstone.

Before the world changed in a single, shattering second.

It had been hot for England humid and electric, the kind of weather that held its breath before something cracked. You stood at the back of the Red Bull garage, close enough to see your brother’s car sitting on the grid, just behind the safety barriers, mechanics making final adjustments.

Max had looked so alive that morning eyes blazing with something fierce and kinetic, his jaw tight but his hands steady as he pulled on his gloves. You’d handed him his water bottle. He didn’t speak, just gave you a nod that said, I’ve got this.

But you saw it in his posture.

He wanted to win this one. Not survive it. Conquer it.

And Lewis?

Lewis had stood just meters away in the Mercedes garage - helmet cradled in one hand, fingers tapping against his leg, the picture of composure. He didn’t glance toward you, or Max. But something about him still pulled at your attention, like gravity.

The tension between the two of them was no longer just sporting. It was personal. You could feel it humming under your skin.

Then the lights went out.

You watched from behind the monitor as the field launched into motion. It was a blur of colour and movement, the first lap unfolding in tight, breathless formation. Your breath caught as Max held the lead, but Lewis was there, right behind, his front wing inches from Max’s rear tire. The crowd roared as they snaked through Maggots and Becketts.

Then—

Copse.

You blinked.

And then he was gone.

A violent flash of colour and sound.

Gravel. Carbon fibre. A sickening crunch.

Your eyes flew to the screen just in time to see Max’s car slam sideways into the barrier hard enough to make the entire garage fall into stunned silence.

Your heart didn’t just stop. It screamed.

“Max—” you whispered, voice cracking.

The replay started before you could even blink. The angle changed.

Lewis going up the inside.

Max turning in.

And then the horrifying inevitability of contact.

“Red flag! Red flag!”

You weren’t breathing. You hadn’t even realised you were moving until your headset fell off your shoulder, clattering to the floor. Your hand gripped the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turned white.

People were shouting engineers, mechanics and strategists. Christian Horner’s voice cut through them all like a knife.

“Get her to medical,” he ordered sharply, appearing beside you. “Now.”

“Is he—?”

“He’s conscious. Talking. But it was a 51G impact. They’re taking him in. Come on.”

The next ten minutes blurred together in a mess of shouting, sweat, and desperate, directionless movement.

You barely felt your own feet as you followed Christian out of the garage, past media crews and stunned spectators. Flashes from cameras exploded around you as you crossed the paddock. All of them wanted the same thing your face. Your grief. A soundbite.

But you didn’t stop until you reached the medical centre, where Max was already being taken away by stretcher. You weren’t allowed in yet.

So, you waited. And waited. Numb. Shaking.

You refreshed the race feed on your phone, despite knowing you shouldn’t. You watched the crash again, slower this time, frame by frame. You couldn’t stop yourself. Couldn’t look away.

Max in the lead. Lewis on the inside. The collision. The helpless, screaming arc into the barrier.

You closed your eyes.

It was too much.

Too loud.

Too everything.

You slipped out the side gate between motorhomes, ducking behind barriers and sponsor trucks. The air outside the paddock was quieter just the wind brushing over the tarmac and the distant echo of engines.

You leaned against the back wall of the Red Bull hospitality unit, drawing in shaky breaths, willing yourself not to cry.

And then you weren’t alone.

He stepped out from behind the Mercedes unit hood pulled over his head, posture rigid. You recognised him instantly. No one else moved like that, with so much restrained intensity.

Lewis Hamilton.

You froze.

He didn’t move toward you. Didn’t speak right away. His eyes scanned your face, and for the first time, they weren’t full of competition. Or rivalry. Or even victory.

Just…empathy.

“I’m glad he’s okay,” he said softly. His voice was hoarse, lower than usual. Like it hurt to say it.

You said nothing.

“I know how it looked,” he added, carefully. “I know what they’re saying. But I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t ever want someone to get hurt.”

You clenched your jaw. “Then maybe don’t send them into the wall at 180 miles an hour.”

His gaze didn’t falter. He took the hit. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Not defensive. Just honest. “Truly.”

The silence between you was a living thing tense, raw, filled with too many unsaid things.

He stepped back, not wanting to push, and looked down at the gravel beneath his shoes.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” he said. “But I meant it. I’m really glad he’s okay.”

Then, he turned.

And just like that, he was walking away, the shape of his hoodie blending into the blur of silver and blue behind him.

That night, the hospital room was dim. Machines beeped steadily. Max, bruised and groggy from sedatives, slept on, oblivious to your presence in the corner chair.

You sat in silence, watching him breathe. Watching the monitors. Holding his phone in your hands.

But your thoughts weren’t on the crash anymore.

They were on him.

The quiet apology. The way he looked at you like you were a person, not just a Verstappen.

It was wrong. In every way it could be.

You were supposed to hate him.

But a fault line had opened somewhere in your chest.

And whether you liked it or not, Lewis Hamilton had slipped through.

Max hated hospitals. Always had.

You knew before he even opened his eyes that he’d be trying to leave. The morning after the crash, the nurse had barely stepped into the room before your brother was tugging off wires, mumbling something about how he felt “fine” and how “they're being dramatic.” His voice was hoarse, and his left side clearly ached when he moved too fast, but that didn't stop him.

Typical Max.

You tried not to baby him as you helped him sit up just kept it quiet, calm, letting him save face. He didn’t ask about the crash right away. But later, as he winced while tying his shoes, he asked, voice low:

“Did they say what Lewis said after?”

You paused.

There were a thousand ways to answer.

He said he was glad you were okay. He looked at me like he wished none of it had happened.

But none of that would help now.

“He celebrated,” you said simply.

Because that’s what the world had seen. The champagne, the cheers, the home crowd lifting Lewis onto their shoulders while your brother was strapped to a stretcher.

Max's jaw clenched. His silence was louder than any outburst.

Back at the hotel, you scrolled through Twitter with a sinking heart.

The world had split in two.

#TeamLewis and #TeamMax were trending in thirty countries.

Everyone had an opinion. Analysts were drawing battle maps. Celebrities were weighing in. The FIA was being torn apart by fans. You even found your own name trending at one point nothing major, just a screenshot of you in the garage, looking horrified.

But one comment caught you off guard:

“Max’s sister looked like her heart broke watching that crash. Bet Lewis saw it too.”

You shut off your phone.

You couldn’t let this get in your head. Couldn’t think about him.

But at night, when your thoughts wandered and the lights were low, you still heard his voice.

“I’m really glad he’s okay.”

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

By the time the circus rolled into Hungary, the air felt thick with more than just summer heat. The tension that had sparked at Silverstone now hovered over the paddock like a live wire. Max was still riding the adrenaline of the title fight, but you could feel it fraying at the edges of him saw it in the tightness of his jaw, the clipped answers to journalists, the way he shoved his helmet down a little too hard onto the table in the garage.

You didn’t blame him.

The pressure was mounting, the world demanding fireworks from two men on the edge of history. Max and Lewis, storm and steel. You were just trying to stay out of the blast radius.

But Lewis kept finding you.

It had started innocently. A glance in the media pen. A quiet “Hey” in the paddock. A half-smile when you crossed paths near the catering area. Harmless, almost forgettable if it hadn’t been for the way it made your pulse spike every damn time.

You were Max Verstappen’s sister. You weren’t supposed to look at Lewis Hamilton like that. And he wasn’t supposed to look back.

But he did.

And worse you were starting to look forward to it.

The rain hit first.

Thick drops splattered against the Red Bull pit gantry as the grid lined up, umbrellas flaring open like nervous wings. The air was electric charged with something more than just the storm clouds gathering above. You stood behind the wall of engineers, your hand pressed flat against your chest as if you could force your heart to slow down. Max was starting third. Lewis on pole.

You braced yourself.

Then lights out.

And within seconds, it was carnage.

The wet track turned Turn 1 into a battlefield. Bottas misjudged the braking, slammed into Norris, who ricocheted straight into Max. Stroll barrelled into Leclerc with equal violence. Carbon fibre exploded into the air. Cars skidded and spun across the soaked tarmac. And your brother’s Red Bull was thrown violently off-line, its side-pod torn open and floor visibly damaged as it limped toward safety.

Smoke. Debris. Screaming engines. The sickening crunch of impact. Your breath caught sharp in your throat.

“Come on, Max,” you whispered. “Say something.”

And then finally—

“I’ve got damage. Big damage.”

His voice crackled through the feed. Flat. Controlled. But you knew Max well enough to hear what lurked beneath rage, resignation, the kind of tight-chested fury that words couldn't hold.

He pitted under red flag conditions, changed tires, and rejoined far back 13th, the car barely hanging on. The floor was wrecked. His pace was destroyed. There was no saving this one.

You closed your eyes, steadying yourself. Not another race like this. Not another blow. Silverstone had almost broken something in Max his trust in the sport, in fairness, in control. And now Hungary was driving the knife in deeper.

Beside you, Christian muttered curses under his breath. Engineers barked rapid updates through the comms, faces grim. And you stood frozen, helpless, watching your brother wrestle the car through rain-soaked laps like a wounded animal refusing to die.

He finished ninth.

A miracle, in some ways. A tragedy, in others.

Hamilton after a strategic misstep left him the only one on the grid at the restart had clawed his way back with relentless, clinical precision. He crossed the line third. Hours later, Vettel’s disqualification bumped him up to second.

Red Bull didn’t protest. What was the point?

The damage was already done. On track. In the standings. And in Max.

And as the clouds rolled out over the paddock, replaced by muggy, late-evening silence, all you could do was hope this didn’t break something you couldn’t put back together.

The hotel was one of those polished, modern towers built to impress people who were too tired to be impressed. Sleek marble floors, low golden light, endless hallways that smelled like money and quiet discretion. The kind of place where the staff were trained to ignore famous faces, no matter how many world titles they had.

You’d peeled off from the Red Bull dinner early. Max hadn’t even lasted that long. He’d showed up late, said nothing, and left even faster. Exhausted. Wounded. Angry. You didn’t blame him. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to have the season beat the fire out of you one race at a time.

You just…needed a breather.

So, you wandered. The elevator climbed without a sound, and somehow, your feet took you to the floor where the drivers’ dinner was being held a PR stunt wrapped in linen napkins and champagne flutes. Something about "friendly camaraderie" and team spirit. You’d received the invitation with everyone else on the grid’s inner orbit. Probably a clerical error. Or Christian being clever.

You lingered near the door, one hand brushing the hem of your blazer, nerves prickling. You didn’t belong in there. Not really. But then Christian passed by, already tipsy, and tossed you a grin over his shoulder.

“Go on, make sure Max doesn’t murder anyone.”

So, you stepped inside.

The room was buzzing low lighting, laughter, the clink of crystal glasses, a rhythm of inside jokes and rivalries. Drivers were scattered across the lounge in loose, easy groups. Carlos and Lando arguing over something on a phone screen. Checo nursing a drink and half-listening to Pierre. George in conversation with one of the Ferrari PR girls.

Max was across the room, stiff-backed and cornered, swallowed by a crush of journalists and sponsors. You winced. He hated these things. But he endured them because he had to. Because everyone expected him to.

You drifted to the edge of the room, where the light dimmed and the buzz didn’t quite reach. Awkward. Uncertain. Half-wishing you could vanish into the carpet.

And then, he appeared.

“You always look like you want to disappear at these things,” came the voice at your shoulder.

You turned and there was Lewis.

He stood close, not too close, but close enough that your breath caught. His charcoal-grey shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled casually up his forearms. Not a trace of his public persona on his face. Just a quiet, wry smile and eyes that held too much gentleness.

You startled, blinking. “Maybe I do.”

He chuckled under his breath, low and smooth. “Then I guess I’ll vanish too. You know. For moral support.”

You tried not to smile. You failed. “That’d be a first. Lewis Hamilton disappearing quietly.”

His grin widened not cocky, not sharp, not the one he wore on podiums or magazine covers. This one was soft, almost boyish. Disarming.

“You’d be surprised,” he said.

You looked at him. He wasn’t surrounded by fans or cameras or anyone trying to ride his orbit. He was just a man standing beside you, eyes tired, presence steady. And for the first time all day, your shoulders dropped a fraction. You didn’t feel like Max’s sister. Didn’t feel like a tagalong in someone else’s circus. You felt…noticed.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

“Same as you, I guess.” He leaned one shoulder against the wall; body relaxed in a way that somehow made you more tense. “Pretending to enjoy the circus.”

The corners of your mouth lifted, involuntarily. A laugh slipped out, soft and startled. It surprised you how genuine it sounded. How badly you needed to hear it.

“You’re good at it,” you said.

“I’ve had practice.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then his gaze shifted, grew more serious. “Your brother’s tough,” he said. “What he did today getting that car to ninth, with the floor torn up like that. That was incredible.”

You blinked. Your throat tightened. “You watched his onboard?”

“Yeah.” His voice didn’t waver. “I watch everyone’s. But I paid attention to his.”

Your chest ached a little. Not because of Lewis. Not entirely. But because someone had noticed - really noticed what Max had fought through. And for all the noise, all the glory and drama, that quiet kind of recognition felt louder than anything else.

You looked down at the drink in your hand. “Max wouldn’t want me talking to you,” you said, barely more than a breath.

Lewis didn’t flinch. He tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. “And what do you want?”

The question landed like a stone dropped into deep water.

You stared at him. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know. You didn’t know what you wanted. Not tonight. Not this season. Not when the world kept spinning too fast and people kept choosing sides. You just knew that when Lewis looked at you like this, like you were just you - you didn’t feel trapped anymore. You felt seen.

And that was terrifying.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Lewis nodded slowly, as if that was enough. As if uncertainty was something he understood.

“Well,” he said, straightening. “When you figure it out…”

His gaze lingered a moment longer, soft and unreadable.

“I’ll be around.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving the faintest trace of warmth in his wake.

And you, God help you watched him go, your heart beating too loud in your ears.

Like something had shifted. Like something had begun. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Zandvoort, Netherlands

The energy here was different.

Louder. Sharper. More possessive.

Everywhere you looked, there was red and orange - blinding seas of it. Flags waved from balconies and grandstands, smeared across cheeks, printed onto t-shirts, even pulsing in the flares that ignited like little wars above the track.

Zandvoort wasn’t just Max’s home race. It was a shrine.

And Max was the altar.

You watched the crowds from behind tinted glass, safe in the Red Bull hospitality suite where the air was colder and the pressure quieter but only just. Everyone expected him to win. Anything less would be sacrilege. And somehow, by proximity, you could feel that weight pressing into your own spine. You weren’t the one racing. But you were a Verstappen. That meant something here. It always had.

You moved carefully all weekend. Stayed close to the team but not too close. Answered press with the same smile you’d perfected years ago polite, neutral, unreadable. You watched Max’s practice laps in silence. You nodded through every media obligation. And the whole time, that same feeling tugged at your ribs like a thread: like someone was watching. Not in a way that made you nervous. Just aware. Observed.

By Saturday evening, your head hurt from the constant roar of engines and your smile had grown brittle. You slipped away, unnoticed, out through the side of the paddock and into the cool stretch of tunnel that linked the garages to the hospitality row. It was quieter there. Shadowed. The kind of place you could take a breath.

You didn’t expect to find him there. But maybe some part of you had hoped.

“Hey.”

His voice was low, familiar. Not casual, but careful.

You turned to see Lewis standing just ahead, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, his cap low over his brow. The tunnel lights cast a soft glow over him, catching on the slight curve of his mouth.

You didn’t jump this time. Didn’t even flinch. “Hi,” you said softly, already feeling the static settle beneath your skin.

He took a small step forward, head tilting. “You always walk like you're trying not to be seen.”

You gave a half-smile. “Maybe I am.”

His eyes held yours. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Because if they don’t see you, they can’t twist you into something you’re not.”

That made something flicker across his face - understanding. Empathy. Maybe even guilt.

“I get that,” he murmured. “More than you know.”

You leaned against the tunnel wall, arms crossed. “Pretty sure everyone sees you. Kind of hard to miss.”

Lewis chuckled, but it wasn’t dismissive. It was quiet. Genuine. “Yeah, but they don’t always see me. Not really.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the honesty.

“What about you?” he asked after a moment, softer now. “Do you feel seen?”

You hesitated. The question caught you off guard. Not because you hadn’t thought it before, but because you never expected someone else to ask it.

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “When Max is doing well, I’m ‘his sister.’ When he’s not, I’m ‘part of the problem.’ People see what they want.”

Lewis nodded slowly, then stepped beside you, shoulder to shoulder. Not touching, but close enough that you felt the warmth radiating off him.

“Come with me,” he said after a quiet beat. “Just for a minute.”

You didn’t ask where. Didn’t need to. You just followed.

He led you through the far gate, past a security guard who nodded wordlessly, and up a gravel path behind the team buildings. The sky was deep purple now, the last of the sunset bleeding into the North Sea. The scent of salt and rubber drifted in the wind.

At the top of the hill, you found yourselves overlooking the track Zandvoort spread out beneath you like a circuit-shaped constellation, lights glowing from the paddock like embers in the dark.

You stood in silence for a long time, the wind tugging at your hair.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

“Yeah,” Lewis said. “Sometimes I forget to look.”

You glanced at him. His jaw was tight. Eyes thoughtful. There was something pulled taut beneath the surface of him, something quietly unraveling the longer you stood there.

“I used to think I hated this place,” he said suddenly. “Not Zandvoort. The paddock. The politics. The pretending.”

“And now?” you asked.

He exhaled slowly. “Now I think I hate how much I still love it.”

You didn’t speak. You just let him be honest.

He looked at you after a moment, really looked. “You were at my first win,” he said, almost like he was testing the memory.

Your brow furrowed. “Canada?”

Lewis nodded. “You were possibly 17. I remember you clinging to Max and Jos like it was the only thing keeping you upright.”

You laughed, surprised. “I was nervous I barely attended any races.”

“You did,” he said, smiling now. “But even then, you had this look like you didn’t want to be there but couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

You looked down, heart stuttering. “That doesn’t count.”

He tilted his head. “It counts to me.”

You lifted your gaze to his again, the air thinning between you.

“I’ve watched you for a long time,” he added quietly. “Not just because you’re Max’s sister. Because you’re…you.”

You blinked, something in your chest folding in on itself.

“I don’t want this to be a scandal,” you whispered. “A Verstappen and a Hamilton? People would lose their minds.”

“Let them,” he said without hesitation. “They don’t get a vote.”

His fingers brushed against yours not an accident. A question.

And you let them.

The contact was soft. Steady. Your hand in his, like it had been there a hundred times before in some parallel life where none of this rivalry mattered.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said, voice barely audible.

His thumb moved gently across your knuckles. “It doesn’t have to be anything yet.”

But it was.

You looked at him, and he looked at you like you weren’t part of a rivalry, a headline, a family legacy. You were just you.

His eyes flickered across your face searching for a possible answer if it was okay. Testing the waters.

So, when he leaned in, you didn’t hesitate.

The kiss was slow, patient. Not rushed. Like the two of you had all the time in the world. And even when it ended, when the space between you stretched again, the quiet stayed.

He didn’t say anything else. He just gave your hand one last gentle squeeze.

You turned away first, heart pounding. And as you made your way back toward the Red Bull paddock, you knew technically, you were walking alone.

But you didn’t feel alone.

Not anymore. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Monza, Italy – One Week After Zandvoort

The Italian Grand Prix buzzed with an energy that never quite dipped, even after sundown. Ferrari fans roared louder than the engines, the circuit practically vibrating with their devotion. Everything was red and fire and noise but in the slivers of silence behind the chaos, you and Lewis had found something rare.

Something that didn’t need the world to watch.

You moved like a shadow through the paddock’s sleeping corridors, past the glowing Red Bull motorhome and around a dim corner by the catering trucks. Most of the staff were gone, tucked away in hotels or night briefings, but you knew exactly where to go.

He was already there.

Hood up, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back and arms crossed. His eyes found yours the moment you stepped into the halo of light from a flickering overhead lamp.

“You’re late,” Lewis said, the teasing in his voice curling around you like warmth.

You smirked. “You always say that, even when I’m early.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m greedy,” he murmured, unfolding his arms as you stepped closer. “I always want more time with you.”

There was no crowd here. No cameras. No prying lenses or sharp-tongued headlines.

Just you and him.

You felt it again the ease between you. The soft pulse of something growing quietly, away from the lights and legacy.

He dug into the pocket of his backpack and pulled something out a small, worn notebook with a leather cover smoothed soft by time and touch.

He handed it to you without explanation, like it was a gift and a secret.

You took it carefully, running your fingers over the surface. “What is this?”

Lewis gave a small, shy shrug. “Something different. I thought we could get to know each other. Properly. Not the version the paddock thinks they know. Just us.”

You opened it and were immediately met with his messy-but-legible handwriting sprawled across the first page.

“If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

You laughed soft and surprised. “Wow, really going deep from the start.”

His grin was boyish, sheepish. “Gotta build trust first. The big questions come later.”

You flipped the next few pages.

“What’s the first thing you notice about someone?”

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

“What scares you the most?”

“When did you last cry?”

Your chest tightened in that quiet, aching way only sincerity could bring.

“Did you make all of these up?” you asked, flipping to a blank page as you sat beside him.

“I’ve kept journals like that for years,” he said, watching your fingers skim the spine. “Sometimes it helps to write instead of talk. But this I wanted this to be something we share.”

You stared at him for a long beat, lips parted but no words forming yet.

So instead, you grabbed the pen tucked into the side loop and wrote:

“Favourite childhood memory?”

You passed the notebook back.

Lewis blinked down at the page, visibly surprised but not displeased. Slowly, he began to write, shoulders curving inward slightly as he focused. His expression softened as he scribbled, the tension he carried on race weekends melting with each letter.

He handed it back when he was done, and your eyes skimmed over his answer.

“My dad sneaking me out to karting before school. Just the two of us. I thought I was flying.”

Your heart twisted in the best way.

You added yours underneath.

“Running through sprinklers in the summer. Max used to yell at me for soaking him. But I always laughed harder when he did.”

He laughed quietly beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “That’s the image I needed tonight. Baby Max drenched and furious.”

You giggled, tipping your head back, and for a moment, you just breathed together, in the hush of Monza’s sleeping paddock.

The notebook passed back and forth again, questions scribbled down, answers trailing into the margins, sometimes with doodles, sometimes just underlined words that said more than full paragraphs.

“Your comfort movie?”

“How do you know when you’re in love?”

“Do you think we make our own fate?”

You didn’t realise how close you were sitting until you looked up and found Lewis watching you again head tilted, braids slightly mussed from his hoodie, his eyes soft and open like a sky right before the stars appear.

“Can I ask one that’s not in the book?” he asked gently.

You nodded. The air had shifted slower, sweeter.

“What do you want from this?” His voice barely broke the quiet, but the weight of the question settled deep in your chest.

You looked at him, not the seven-time world champion, not Max’s old rival, but the man who had remembered your braces and tears during the Canadian national anthem, who carried notebooks and wrote questions like love letters.

You swallowed. “I don’t know yet,” you whispered. “But I know I want to keep finding out. With you.”

He exhaled, like that answer was exactly what he’d hoped for.

He reached for your hand again, fingers curling gently around yours like they belonged there. No urgency. Just the grounding kind of touch that said I’m here. I see you.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of everything neither of you were quite ready to say out loud but both of you were beginning to feel.

And then, slowly, Lewis leaned in.

There was no rush. No hunger. Just closeness.

His forehead brushed yours first, and you tilted toward him instinctively, your breaths mingling as his nose nudged yours. His hand was still in yours, steady.

And when he kissed you, it was like exhaling after holding your breath too long.

Soft. Tender. Careful.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that tried to promise forever. It was the kind that promised now. That said, I’m not going anywhere.

When you pulled back, your eyes stayed closed for a second longer than his. You wanted to remember it the way his lips had felt, the way the notebook still rested in your lap, the way the night air wrapped around you like a cocoon.

Lewis bumped his forehead against yours once more.

Then he whispered, “That one’s going in the notebook.”

You smiled. “What question does it answer?”

His thumb brushed your knuckles, and he said, “What does falling feel like?”

And for once, you didn’t feel afraid of the answer.

You just leaned into it. Acknowledging that this wasn’t just a fling relationship but something more.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Russia – The Grand Prix

Sochi was cold.

Not cruel, midwinter cold but biting in that precise Russian way, where the air sliced across your skin like thin glass. It wasn’t enough to freeze your fingers, but enough to remind you you were somewhere foreign, unfamiliar. The kind of chill that made the edges of everything seem sharper. The kind that settled into your bones if you stood still too long.

And you had been standing still for far too long.

The paddock pulsed with noise and motion. Mechanics rolled tire stacks between garages. Engineers huddled over laptops; voices clipped with urgency. The sharp tang of gasoline, rubber, and cold metal curled through the air like smoke. Drivers moved in and out of hospitality with sunglasses and practiced indifference, and cameras tracked their every step.

You moved through it all like a shadow. Present, but not truly seen.

You weren’t here for the race. Not really.

Not since he texted you.

Behind the hospitality crates. Ten minutes. Need to see you.

Just ten words.

But ten words from Lewis Hamilton could unravel you faster than anything else ever had.

You shouldn’t have gone. You’d told yourself that. A thousand times. But logic was paper-thin against the gravity of him. Against the pull you felt in your chest every time he looked at you like you were the only person who existed in a room full of cameras, expectations, and history.

Now, you were pinned between the cold metal of a freight crate and the heat of his body.

His hoodie was up, the shadows of the paddock hiding most of his face, but not his mouth. Not the way it moved over yours like he hadn’t touched you in years, not weeks. Not the way his fingers spread under your jacket, lifting your shirt slightly to warm his hands against your bare skin.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he whispered, voice ragged at the edges, like restraint had finally burned out.

Your lips brushed against his jaw as you replied, “Me too.”

He kissed you harder then, groaning when your hands slipped under his layers and traced the lines of muscle across his stomach. He tasted like mint and adrenaline and something darker something you both weren’t ready to name yet.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he breathed against your throat, lips dragging down to the soft spot just beneath your ear. “Can’t think straight when I know you’re here.”

Your laugh was soft, breathless, caught between nerves and heat. “You think I’m the distraction? You’re the one sneaking me between shipping containers.”

He smiled against your skin and then bit gently. “Shut up.”

Your hands fumbled at his belt, tugging it loose without thinking instinct and memory driving you, not logic.

And then—

Footsteps.

Loud. Confident. Too familiar.

Your body froze mid-motion.

“Lewis?”

You jerked away as though scorched, slipping into the narrow gap behind a row of crates. Your back hit cold metal, heart in your throat. Every nerve screamed hide. Don’t breathe. Don’t move.

Lewis was already pulling his hoodie lower, one hand on his belt, straightening his shirt in one fluid motion. He stepped back into view just as Max rounded the corner.

“Hey,” Max said, frowning. “What’re you doing back here?”

Lewis’s voice was steady. Cool. “Just getting some air. Needed a minute.”

Max didn’t move. “You look out of breath.”

“Too many interviews.” Lewis gave a half-smile, though his eyes stayed carefully unreadable. “Felt like I was losing my voice.”

Max’s eyes scanned the area, slowly. Deliberately.

Your knees trembled behind the crate. You crouched lower, heart hammering in your chest. You could see a narrow pathway just ahead barely a slit between folded tables and a banner rack. If you moved, he might hear it. If you stayed, he might see you.

You waited. One second. Two.

Then Max shifted closer to Lewis. Closer to your hiding place.

That was your cue.

You moved in a crouch, low and silent, slipping through the gap like water through a crack. A banner swayed with your motion, and you froze as it brushed the crate. Max turned toward the noise.

Lewis stepped between him and the crates instantly.

“Wind,” he said, too quickly. “Keeps kicking up.”

Max hesitated. Then, like a hunting dog on the edge of a scent, he started to circle the crates.

Shit.

You slipped around the side, ducking behind a stack of plastic-wrapped chairs. Your hands shook as you pressed them to your chest, lungs aching. You could hear them now muffled but clear.

“Thought I heard something,” Max muttered.

Lewis shrugged. “Just you. Maybe your own echo.”

Max was quiet for a beat. Then his voice dropped, colder. “You sure you’re alone?”

Lewis didn’t blink. “You wanna check my pockets?”

That earned a snort. But the suspicion didn’t vanish.

“I know something’s up,” Max said. “You’ve been weird for weeks. Off. Distracted.”

Lewis’s expression didn’t change. “I’m fine.”

Max stared at him.

You had found another corner, hidden behind hospitality trash bins. It smelled faintly of engine oil and plastic cups, but it was cover. You crouched, barely daring to peek through the narrow slit in the metal fence.

Max was still searching. Still looking for the thing he felt but couldn’t name.

After a long silence, he exhaled. “Alright. Whatever. I’ll let it go.”

But his eyes flicked over the crates one more time.

“Just don’t screw around and get caught doing something stupid. You’re better than that.”

Then, finally – finally he turned and walked away.

The moment he disappeared into the crowd, Lewis exhaled.

You waited three more seconds. Then you emerged from the shadows like a ghost, your expression tight with nerves, adrenaline still ripping through your chest like a tidal wave.

He saw you and immediately reached out, pulling you toward him.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your cheek, searching your face.

You nodded, still breathless. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

He held you there, just close enough to feel the thrum of his pulse, the grounding warmth of him.

“That was way too close,” you said.

“I know.”

“He knew something was wrong.”

Lewis nodded. “But he didn’t see you. That’s all that matters.”

You looked up at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “How long do you think we can keep this up?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“As long as we have to.”

You swallowed hard, the danger still echoing in your blood. But his hands rough and warm and sure wrapped around yours like a promise.

The wind picked up again, rattling a loose piece of scaffolding somewhere above you. Sochi still buzzed just out of sight with engines, cameras, fans and commentary.

But right here, behind the noise, you stood still with him.

Hidden.

Together.

And even as the danger crept closer, even as Max’s suspicion began to flicker into flame you held on.

Because this?

This still felt like the only thing that made sense.

The cold of Sochi still clung to you, a sharp reminder in every breeze that cut through the race weekend. But no chill outside could match the fire burning in your chest the memory of that stolen moment with Lewis, pressed behind the crates, his breath warm against your skin, the way his hands claimed you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. For days afterward, everything around you seemed to shift in subtle but undeniable ways.

Your phone buzzed again, lighting up with his name, and your pulse would skip a beat, no matter how many times it happened. Your mind replayed every word, every touch, that whispered promise in his voice when he said, “Need to see you.” It wasn’t just anticipation anymore it was something deeper, something dangerously addictive.

You had fallen into a rhythm of secret meetings, carefully carved out of chaotic weekends and crowded paddocks. Sometimes it was late-night texts sent under the radar, instructions to come up to his hotel room after Max was asleep or had gone out. Other times, you slipped away to quiet corners hidden from the relentless buzz of cameras and chatter, your safe havens where no one would guess you belonged to each other.

Every time you met, the world shrank to just the two of you. The noise and flashing lights faded into the background, the only sound the quiet rush of your own breath and the soft click of your hands finding his. These moments were brief, fragile, and stolen but they felt infinite.

One evening, as the sun dipped behind the city skyline, you found yourself slipping quietly through the hallway of his suite. The door was slightly ajar, and through the dim light, you could see him leaning against the wall in that loose shirt casual and impossibly handsome. That grin the one that made your knees weak spread across his face the moment he saw you.

“About time,” he teased, his voice low and warm as he pulled you inside before you could even say hello.

The room was cocooned in warmth. Thick curtains blocked out the outside world, and the city’s glow spilled softly through the windows, painting everything in muted golds and blues. The plush carpet muffled your footsteps, the sleek furniture sat undisturbed, but none of it mattered. Your eyes were fixed on him, and only him.

He closed the gap in an instant, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you close like he’d been holding himself back for too long. The tension between you melted into something tender and fierce all at once. No cameras, no whispers, no expectations just you and Lewis, in a world built on quiet stolen moments.

Days slipped by in a blur of secret smiles, fleeting touches, and whispered plans. But even as you floated in this bubble of warmth and connection, you couldn’t ignore the changes happening inside yourself. You found yourself moving differently more careful, more guarded. Your laughter came easier but was tinged with something new, something cautious. You clutched your phone tighter, always aware of the screen lighting up with his name, always ready to hide it.

And then there was Max.

His presence shifted, just enough to feel like static under your skin. He was quieter these days, watching you with a mix of concern and something else you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t like him to hold back questions, but you caught the way his eyes lingered longer when you weren’t looking. How he stole glances at your phone, scanning for something, anything that might explain the change.

One afternoon, you were unpacking in your hotel room, fingers trembling slightly as you folded a sweater, when Max’s voice broke the silence. It was low and cautious, like he was testing the waters.

“You’ve been…different,” he said slowly, voice steady but carrying a weight that made your heart constrict. “Since Sochi. You’re acting like you don’t even know yourself. And don’t even get me started on Hamilton he’s been acting off for a while now too.”

You froze. The air suddenly felt too thick, your chest tight. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. You forced a smile, but it felt brittle, cracked.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, voice tighter than you intended.

Max didn’t soften. His gaze held steady, searching.

“You sure? Because I’ve seen how he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing that makes sense when everything else is chaos.”

There it was the truth laid bare, wrapped in his worry. You wanted to say something. Anything. To explain. To tell him you were trying to hold it all together, to protect him from what you couldn’t yet share. But the weight of your secret clamped down on your throat like ice.

Max’s eyes softened just a little, and he gave a slow, understanding nod. “Look, if there’s something going on, I want you to know you can tell me. I’m your brother. I’ll always have your back.”

His words were sincere, filled with a loyalty that both comforted and tore at you. But there was an unspoken boundary you couldn’t cross not yet.

You shook your head, voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing to tell.”

He studied you for a long moment, that brotherly concern still lingering in his eyes. Then, reluctantly, he let it go. For now.

What Max didn’t realise was that you were caught between two worlds one tethered to family, history, and all the familiar pieces of your past, and the other pulled forward by Lewis’s magnetic presence, dragging you toward an uncertain, thrilling future.

And no matter how many times you told yourself to be careful, no matter how much you tried to guard your heart and your secrets, you knew deep down you’d choose Lewis every single time.

The weeks after that tense conversation with Max slipped by in a blur of stolen moments and quiet reassurance. Max never pressed you again not with questions, not with suspicion. Instead, he kept his distance, his watchful gaze shadowing you from afar, as if silently waiting for you to reveal the truth on your own terms. For a while, that unspoken truce held a fragile peace in a world full of secrets.

You and Lewis continued to live in your hidden bubble, weaving your secret relationship through late-night texts and rendezvous in quiet corners of the paddock. Away from cameras, away from the constant buzz of racing fans and reporters, it was your sanctuary. The world saw Lewis as the relentless champion, the fierce competitor always chasing victory. But to you, he was simply Lewis the man who made you laugh when the days felt too heavy, who held you close when the pressure mounted, who turned the impossible into something achingly real.

Months passed like this, the racing calendar flipping through its final pages, each race a chapter you shared but never revealed. You’d grown skilled at balancing your two worlds: the public life with Max and your family, and the private life that belonged only to you and Lewis. Though Max’s silence was uneasy, it was peace enough for now.

Then came Abu Dhabi the last race of the season. The air was thick with tension, the roar of the crowd an ever-present reminder of what was at stake. Lewis’s jaw was clenched tight, his usual confident smile replaced by quiet determination shadowed with the weight of expectation. You traveled with him, a quiet presence on the edge of the paddock, careful not to draw attention, your heart tight with hope and dread.

But fate has a way of unraveling even the most carefully woven secrets.

Somehow, Max found out.

It started with a photo. A grainy, half-blurred shot snapped from a distance and posted anonymously to a gossip account. It wasn’t overtly incriminating just you and Lewis leaving a hotel together in the early hours of the morning. But the way he looked at you, the way your arm brushed his as he held the door open anyone who knew you could see it.

Max did.

He saw the post while scrolling in the back of the Red Bull hospitality suite, preparing for the final race. At first, he stared at it in disbelief, thinking it had to be doctored. But the timestamp, the location, the familiarity of your coat draped around your shoulders it all hit at once, sharp and unforgiving.

You felt the shift before you even saw him. The moment you entered the paddock; Max’s eyes locked onto yours with a fiery intensity that made your stomach twist.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was low but laced with sharp edges of anger and betrayal. “All this time... you kept it from me. From me.”

Your throat tightened, words tangled and refused to come. Behind you, Lewis stepped closer, his steady presence a shield against Max’s storm.

Max’s gaze flicked over to Lewis, dark and accusing. “And you. What are you even doing with him? He’s the last person you should want near you.”

Lewis’s calm was fierce as he took a step forward. “Max, it’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” Max’s bitter laugh was like a wound opening. “I see it all the way she’s changed, the way this has twisted her. You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see what you’ve done?”

The air crackled with tension, the silence heavy and suffocating as the two men faced off. Your heart pounded painfully between them.

Then the race began.

Lewis pushed himself to the edge, every lap a desperate battle to reclaim the championship slipping just beyond his grasp. You sat in the stands, fists clenched, hope burning wild in your chest. You wished for a miracle, but the merciless race had other plans.

Max was relentless, seizing every opening, every gap Lewis left behind. Lap after lap, the distance grew. And as the checkered flag waved, it was Max who crossed first a stunning, hard-earned victory that crowned him champion.

You watched Lewis’s shoulders slump, the defeat weighing down his proud frame. The pain etched in his eyes was raw, silent heartbreak cutting deeper than any words could. Your chest ached for him, the man who had fought so fiercely and yet lost more than just a race.

Max’s victory was bittersweet.

He hadn’t just won the race. He’d uncovered your secret, igniting a firestorm of anger and hurt that threatened to tear apart the fragile bonds between family and love.

Later, after the crowds had thinned and the paddock grew quiet, Max pulled you aside. His voice was low, shaking with the weight of everything unsaid.

“I should be happy for you,” he murmured, the bitterness slipping through despite himself. “But I’m not. Because you lied. Because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you met his gaze the brother you loved, the man caught between loyalty and fury.

“I wanted to protect you,” you whispered, voice fragile. “And Lewis. I didn’t know how to make it easy.”

Max’s jaw tightened, the hurt and anger clashing in his eyes. “Easy or not, it should have been honest. We’re family.”

The weight of his words hung between you, a challenge and a plea all at once. The truth was raw and undeniable you had chosen to hide the love you’d found, and now everything was unraveling.

That night, after the roar of the race had faded, you found Lewis alone in his suite. The room was dim, the city lights casting soft shadows across his weary face. He looked up as you entered, eyes heavy but grateful to see you.

You moved to him without hesitation, sliding your hands into his hair, tracing the lines of his jaw with gentle fingers. “I’m here,” you whispered, voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you. “You’re not alone.”

Lewis leaned into your touch, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. “I thought I had it this time,” he said quietly. “Thought this season would end differently.”

“You gave everything,” you said softly. “That’s what matters.”

He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “It still hurts.”

You nodded, tears threatening again, but this time you let them fall. “I know. But we’ll get through it together.”

The night wrapped around you both like a protective cloak. No words were needed beyond your closeness. The pain of loss softened in the warmth of shared comfort.

But the peace didn’t last.

The next day, Max’s silence shattered like glass.

You tried to reach out, to bridge the growing distance, but he was like a storm, dark and unpredictable.

“You lied to me,” Max said one afternoon, voice low but burning with fury as you met him in a quiet hallway. “For months. You hid him from me. From all of us. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” you pleaded, voice trembling. “I was scared. Scared of how you’d react, scared of losing you.”

Max’s laugh was bitter, a sharp sound full of disbelief. “Losing me? You think I’m the one you should be afraid to lose? What about what I’ve lost because of you? The trust...the bond we had gone.”

“I’m still your sister,” you whispered. “That hasn’t changed.”

He shook his head, eyes flashing with pain. “It has. Everything has. Because you chose him over me over family. You couldn’t trust me, so you pushed me away.”

His words stabbed deep, a wound that bled through every memory you shared. You wanted to scream, to make him understand, but the chasm between you felt too vast.

“Maybe I did choose him,” you admitted, voice breaking. “Because he’s the one who sees me. The one who makes me feel alive. All my life you and dad have pushed me away.”

Max’s face twisted in anger and hurt. “And what about me? What about all the years, all the moments I was there at races with you? Did any of that matter?”

“It mattered but I was only there to support you,” you said fiercely, tears streaming freely now. “But this is different.”

“Different doesn’t excuse betrayal,” Max spat. “You wanted a secret life? Fine. But don’t expect me to be part of it.”

The argument spiralled, voices rising, memories clashing like thunder in a storm. You tried to hold on to what was left, but the damage was done. The gulf between you grew wider with every word, until finally, exhausted and broken, you stepped away, the echoes of his anger ringing in your ears.

Days turned to weeks, and the silence between you and Max became a cold wall neither dared to breach. The bond you’d once thought unbreakable was now fragile, held together only by memories and regret.

Yet through it all, Lewis remained your anchor. Together, you faced the uncertain future, the loss and the love, the shattered trust and the hope for healing.

Because sometimes, love isn’t about easy answers or perfect endings. It’s about holding on when everything feels like it’s falling apart choosing to stay, even when the cost is high.

And in that choice, you found strength.

You found yourself.

The story didn’t end with a neat bow or a clear resolution.

Instead, it ended with a promise to keep fighting, to keep loving, and to keep believing in what could still be, even when the world had changed forever.

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 10.2

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader

Words: 2.6k

Summary: The wall breaks.

Tags: manipulation, mentions of blood, smut, cream pie, fingering, sauron needs a therapist he is unwell, wall sex, obsession, sauron pov,

Notes: you sluts convinced me. I'm very proud of this one, especially the first part. As always I love your feedback.

He splashed the water over his face, mind reeling back to hours earlier. He hoped his ruse with the blacksmith worked. Yes, he wanted a job and a fresh start. At least part of him did, the part that didn't seek to take over the world and force every race under the sun to their knees. But he also knew where you'd be. Of course he did. He could sense you anywhere. You'd never be able to hide from him. The sight of you with the boy made his blood boil, but it all served a purpose. To make you doubt. To make you think. To convince you, he felt nothing real for the elf. Nothing like he felt for you.

That wasn't a deception. He didn't feel the same for her that he felt for you. She was a powerful ally and the best pawn he could have at his disposal. She intrigued him, but in a different way than you did. She had such darkness in her, but she didn't acknowledge it. She was beautiful, of course. But you were different in ways that he dare not think too much of. The wall he has built in his mind was too strong to allow his mind to wander to what his feelings for you meant, where the deception ended, and his truth began.

The knock drew him from his thoughts, and he made quick work of dressing himself. He couldn't help but smirk. It was you, of course it was, and it meant that his plan had worked. In a moment, his face changed as he opened the door.

“When did you get back?”

The sound of your voice started a chorus inside his soul. The miniscule part of him that could feel love and affection and joy and hope came alive. Morgoth convinced him it was the weak part of him. Morgoth had worked endlessly to destroy that. Sauron could almost believe it was gone until he looked into your eyes, and it ravaged him, shaking his being and willpower and fighting against everything he knew and believed.

“Early this morning, before sunrise.” He spoke softly. Your silence was thick in the air. Perhaps he needed to do more.

“Sweet one, I am sorry for what happened before. I ..-”

“Do you love me?”

What?

No.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

He wasn't capable of it.

Inside his mind, the carefully constructed wall began to crack.

Do you love me?

The words rang in his ears, getting louder and louder until it was all he could think. His mind could not break free. There was no manipulating or deceiving his way out of this. His consciousness would no longer let him deny it.

He couldn't lie to you. Not truly. Not without regret. The lies he spoke to you were like needles coming from his throat and spilling from his tongue, gashing and cutting him before spilling past his lips. He could not lie to you.

Why?

He could not look you in the eyes and think of bringing you harm. He had tried. How many times on that raft had he thought of drowning you in the sea. Or stabbing you. He could imagine his body acting the movements. He could see it in his mind's eyes, but he could never do it. He could never harm you. He couldn't even make something else bring you harm.

Why?

You made him think of home. Of song and light and love. Of a time before time when everything was peaceful and quiet. Your touch brought him a warmth he had not felt in time unimaginable.

Why?

Why did he have to protect you? Why did he seek you out every moment of every day? Why did 3 days apart from you feel longer than the thousands of years he spent as sludge in a cave?

Why did you make him wonder? Wonder about the future, about his morality, about his redemption. About the mystery of if Maia and mortals could ever have children. Why did you make him think of a family?

Why was your mere presence so utterly groundbreaking to who he had become that it felt like an apocalypse had come over his very soul?

“Halbrand, do you love me?”

Your voice tore him from these thoughts, and looking at you, he knew. He knew.

And in that knowing he feared. He feared what he could do to you. He feared what others could do to you. He feared his old master long dead.

He feared because it was true.

He feared because he loved you, and he could no longer keep it hidden from himself.

“I do.”

He was not prepared for when you sprung on him, and he couldn't gather the willpower to hesitate. He had felt lust before, for others of his kind and for a select few elves, but what he felt for you transcended the physical. You tasted sweet, of course you did, and he couldn't help the groan that rumbled in his throat. His fingers dug into the plump flesh of your cheeks as if afraid you'd move away.

He had longed for this moment, it seemed for an eternity, but he knew that was not the case. He broke the kiss, holding your chin in his grasp as he kept your face away from him. He could not just take you. He had to know if you wanted him too. He craved it. And if you didn't want him, he would wait until you did.

“Sweet one,” his voice was deep and rough, looking down at you. You looked so pure and so innocent. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“I want this. I want you.”

You spoke with no hesitation. There was not even a moment. What he thought about in the quiet of the night with his cock grasped in his hand, the lewd sounds he'd only imagined you making, it was all about to become a reality.

“Fuck,” he groaned and made quick work of pulling you into his room. He pushed you against the door, knee between your legs and lips bruising yours. He could feel your arousal on the cloth of his pants, his tongue slipping inside of your mouth. You tasted so sweet. So pure. So good. He could never be sated.

Your skin felt soft in his hands. He squeezed and kneaded all of you. Your stomach. Your thighs. Your ass. Your breasts. The feel of your skin would be an invisible tattoo etched into his hands until the stars rained from the skies.

It was him who whined when you pulled away. He was desperate for more. His forehead rested against yours as he watched you. Your lips swollen and red, he could taste your spit on his tongue, and he needed more of you.

But only if you wanted him too. Only if you needed him to. The devastation of his love for you had been immense. He could not imagine the havoc your rejection would cause. One hand gently rested at the base of your neck to direct your eyes to him, his thumb softly caressing your skin.

“Tell me to stop, sweet one, and I will.”

You looked up at him, and his breath caught in his throat. How could anyone compare to you?

“I am yours.”

Oh, sweet one.

You did not know what you spoke. You did not know who you were saying this. He had selfishly claimed you, but in this moment, he felt almost broken because you did not deserve him.

“Do not say words when you do not know the weight of them, sweet one.”

“I am yours.” And suddenly you were leading his hand under your dress and to your soaked underwear. He had to grit his teeth to stop his eyes from rolling back. He doesn't dream, but he had dreamed of this. It was slick and wet and hot. And you smiled at him.

Fuck.

He did not care about his deception in this moment. He would fill you with his corruption, his darkness until it flowed from you like a fountain. Until it dripped in pools at your feet.

He moved his fingers against your clit, softly and slowly, “Has anyone touched you like this?” His voice was thick with desire.

You shook your head, but that was not good enough for him. He gently squeezed your throat, and he felt the blood that surged under his touch. One day, he would carve his name into your flesh, and he would lap at the blood that flowed from the wound.

“Use your words,” he mumbled softly.

“No, only you.”

Only him.

He slid his finger inside of you, relishing the sound it made. The wetness and slick on his fingers made him want to taste you, but he couldn't, not tonight. He knew he would spend forever in between your thighs, and he did not have the time for that.

“Fuck, do you hear that?” His finger moved faster, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. “My sweet one,” he cooed, “fucking soaked at the thought of my cock, huh?”

He breathed heavily, his cock was achingly hard. He was addicted to the feel of your cunt and the sounds it made as he fucked it. The way you backed against his palm, the blissed out look in your eyes, he watched it all intently. He added a second finger and as your lips parted, he hungrily tasted your mouth once more. It was sloppy and wet, his teeth tugging at your lips. He couldn't get enough. Grunts and groans and growls ripped through him as he fucked you with his fingers harder and deeper. His lips trailed to your neck, licking your salty skin and sucking until your skin turned red.

You belonged to him.

You whimpered and gasped, and he needed more of it. He gently rubbed your peaked nipple and that was enough. You were a squirming mess as you came, soaking his hand.

“That's it, that's my girl,” he mumbled softly, his fingers never ceasing. “C'mon sweet girl. Fuck, look at you. Look at that pretty fucking face.”

He watched you intently as your body relaxed and your head hit the door. “That was incredible,” your voice was soft and spent.

He chuckled, his thumb coaxing you to look at him. “Pretty girl, look at me.” You did as he told you, his hands cupping your face. You were so pretty. So beautiful. Especially now, exhausted from how hard you came.

“That's my girl,” he squeezed your cheeks in his hand. “My pretty fucking girl. I need you to look at me, okay, and I need you to be honest. There is nothing more I want right now than your cunt squeezing around my cock but I need to know you want that too.”

“Yes, Halbrand, please.”

And that was all it took.

It was a blur as he moved clothes to the side but the moment his cock slid inside you, any moral dilemma or internal conflict disappeared. Only you mattered. Only how perfect your cunt wrapped around him was important. He held your face so he could watch how you reacted to him and he could tell from your lidded eyes and flush face you felt it all too.

"Fuck,” his breath hitched.“Fuck. Does my cock feel good, sweet one?”

You nodded, but again, that wasn't enough. He needed to hear your voice say it, “No, no, no. Use your words. Let me hear it.”

“Your cock feels good,” you breathed out.

Hearing you say that made his cock twitch inside of you. “Such foul words from such a pretty mouth.” His thumb traced your bottom lip. “I'm going to move now.”

You nodded before catching yourself, “please.”

One day, he'd have to make you beg for him.

He looked down to where your bodies connected and moved, watching his cock fuck your cunt for a moment before his attention turned to you. Your eyes rolled back and lips parted like a cock drunk slut already. His cock drunk slut. The slick sounds filling the room pulled his attention back to where you two met. The way you stretched around him was intoxicating to watch.

“You're taking my cock so well, sweet one.” He kept moving, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Your hips moved to match his thrusts and the fingernails in his skin. You had broken so easily. Given into him so easily. He knew he could take you wherever, knew by the look on your face that you'd be his to fuck whenever he pleased.

“You're mine,” he whispered. “This my fucking cunt, isn't it?”

“My cunt is yours,” you whined.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

He thrusted deep and hard, watching your face. You were his. His alone. No one could have you. No one could dare. He'd burn the world to the ground and everyone with it. He'd drown the world in blood. No sin was too dark for him to commit, not if he ended back here. Deep inside you.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and he couldn't have that. He roughly squeezed your cheeks until your eyes opened.

“Eyes on me. Focus on the feeling. I want to see how good I make you feel. Look at those pretty eyes. Those. Pretty. Fucking. Eyes.” He gasped, his grip on your face tight. You whimpered and arched into him.

Something about how you looked at him in that moment, he realized you owned him. He was yours. No one else's. No elf. No Maiar. There was only you. You were his religion, and this was his worship. He was yours. You owned him. He was ruined for anyone else. Perhaps you were not made for him, but he for you.

“You feel that cock, huh? It's yours, only yours. This is your cock, sweet one. I am yours.”

He could tell you were close, and he was too. How he wished it was his true name falling from your lips. He fucked into you harder and harder.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispered, “tell me you love me, and I will come undone.”

He needed it. He needed the release. He was desperate.

“I love you.”

It was music to his ears. Moments later, when your cunt clenched around him and cries ripped through your body, he was soon to follow. His head buried in your neck as his warmth coated you. Your name passed through his lips. He would never be sated. He would always need this.

And later that night, long after you fell asleep, as he caressed your face, he knew he could never go back across the sea. He would stay here with you and prove his redemption to the valar. That he would start a family with you. That he would make you happy. The only thing that mattered more was keeping you safe.

Nothing mattered more than that.

[burningembers91]

Sweet Like Chocolate - Baek Kang-Hyuk x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

War-Torn Love Keeping Hope Alive

Synopsis: When your services are required in the trauma centre, emotions between you and Baek Kang-Hyuk bubble over.

Baek Kang-Hyuk had photos of every patient he’d ever saved. Their frames adorned every inch of every wall in his office, spread across every spare surface of his windowsill and desk. There were twenty years’ worth of stories in those photos, each one representing a life he had saved. There was only one person he’d never managed to take a photo with, the one life that had meant the most to him out of everyone: you.

Your face had plagued both his nightmares and his dreams for the last two years, visions of both saving and losing you that kept him awake at night. Kang-Hyuk had searched so desperately for you, but never had he imagined that he would find you more broken than you were that day he found you on the roadside. The woman he knew was no longer there, replaced by a sad, scared, bitter shell. He knew the old you was somewhere deep down inside, and he kicked himself time and time again at his decision to let you leave on that helicopter without him. If he’d been with you, he could have made sure you got therapy, that your scars were properly tended to and cared for. You were his patient, and he had failed you.

After that day in your office, he made sure he took the long way round to the trauma centre each day, just so he could pass by your office. Your conversation had shattered him, had left him heartbroken at the way you viewed yourself. You were still so beautiful to Kang-Hyuk, still as perfect as you were the day he’d first laid eyes on you. He could tell the fight in you was still there; it was evident in your sheer determination to avoid him at all costs.

You didn’t want Kang-Hyuk’s pity, you didn’t want to be something he needed to fix. He’d always had this incessant need to help every single person he came across, his desire to heal broken people almost an obsession. You wanted to let him help you, wanted to open yourself up to the man you’d fallen in love with, but you were so ashamed. You were ashamed of the way you looked, of the way your damaged leg felt like something that wasn’t part of you anymore. You were ashamed of how bitter you’d become, viewing the world with a constant sour taste in your mouth. You were ashamed that you didn’t want to let Kang-Hyuk love you, when it was quite clear he’d never given up hope when it came to you. You did your best to avoid him, for both your sake and his, but nothing lasted forever, and eventually you had to face the music.

The trauma centre was already wildly understaffed, and the essential paperwork required for each case was in desperate need of sorting. Your name had been pulled, requested by Kang-Hyuk himself, to go and assist in bringing the paper trail up to speed. You’d argued profusely, but once Kang-Hyuk had made up his mind, there was no turning back.

You found yourself standing outside his office, your arms folded across your chest as you waited for him to answer your knock. Your blood was boiling, a deep raging simmering inside your veins. How many times did you need to make it clear that you didn’t want his help? Did he really think that trapping you in his stuffy office with a mountain of casework was going to make a difference? “Come in!” His voice sounded through the thick wooden door, and you pushed it open a little harder than you’d intended, sending the door crashing back into the pristine white wall behind it. “Oops,” you muttered, marching over to the spare desk that had been set up for you. Your eyes immediately went to the wall in front of you, covered from floor to ceiling in pictures. In each one of them Kang-Hyuk posed with a different person, from all walks of life, each one beaming into the camera. He’d told you about his polaroids, about his need to capture the image of every life he’d saved. He’d told you that losing a patient was the single worst feeling he experienced, and each one hurt more than the last. He kept photos of all the people he’d saved to remind himself on dark days that he had made a difference.

There was one frame, directly behind his desk that didn’t have a photo in. It was a dark brown frame, and in place of a photo was a chocolate bar wrapper. You were instantly transported back to the refugee hospital in Afghanistan. That night, you and Kang-Hyuk had shared that bar of chocolate, savouring the sweet, rich cocoa as it melted on your tongue. That was the first night he’d kissed you, his hands gripping onto your waist as you held each other in the darkened hallway. You hadn’t been able to eat that brand of chocolate since, the memory of that night too painful for you. If you closed your eyes, you could still feel his lips on yours, could still taste the chocolate on your tongue. If you focused hard enough, you could still remember how his breath felt against your neck, how his voice sounded when he whispered your name.

Kang-Hyuk watched you as you took in the frame, saw the tears spring to your eyes as the memories came flooding back. He could still remember how you tasted that night, the chocolate mixed with your shea butter lip balm. He could still remember how soft your skin was, how sweet your moans were as his lips caressed the soft contours of your jawline and neck. That wrapper was the only thing he had to connect himself to you, the one physical piece of evidence he had that his feelings for you hadn’t been a dream. “You kept it,” you whispered, your eyes not leaving the frame. “It was the only thing I had of you,” Kang-Hyuk replied, pushing his chair back and gingerly making his way towards you. He didn’t want to scare you away, but he needed to close the gap between you, needed to be as close to you as you’d let him.

You could feel the energy between you, the atoms in the air almost vibrating with the tension. It took every ounce of your strength not to reach out and touch him. You knew you both wanted it; both wanted to close the gap and pick up from where you’d left off. But your embarrassment and shame were too great, the damage not something you wanted Kang-Hyuk to see. “I never got a photo of you,” he smiled, “so I used the chocolate wrapper in its place. It was stupid-“ “It’s not stupid,” you told him, “I think it’s sweet.”

He sighed, perching on the edge of his desk as you looked at you. “I regret leaving you every day,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I never should have left your side. I never should have let you get on that helicopter alone.” “Kang-Hyuk,” you smiled sadly, “we both know you couldn’t have gone with me. There were too many others who needed saving. You did the right thing. It’s my fault I didn’t get the help I needed.” “But I should have been there for you,” he cried, slamming his fist down on his desk in frustration. “I would have told you every day how beautiful I think you are. I would have made sure you never doubted yourself.”

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, “this is all on me. I didn’t get help; I didn’t try and fix myself. I looked in the mirror, hated what I saw and didn’t bother to try and change anything.” Tears spilled down your cheeks, a shuddering sob wracking your body. Kang-Hyuk pulled you into him, his arms closing tightly around you. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings until your tears had dried. “I never stopped loving you,” he said, “not once.” “I know,” you sniffed, your mascara stains smeared across his white lab coat. “I never stopped loving you either. I just stopped loving myself.”

His hands cupped your cheeks, wiping away the smudged makeup under your eyes. You wanted him to kiss you, wanted him to take away the last two years’ worth of pain and self-torment you’d put yourself through. Kang-Hyuk learned forward, his lips brushing against yours. That one small, delicate touch was enough to send a spark of desire through your body, every cell of your being alight for the man who had saved you. “Kiss me,” you whispered, your desire for him almost overwhelming.

Just before his lips touched yours, his phone rang, breaking the delicate intimacy of the moment. “I have to get this,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against yours as he fought between his love for you and his duty to his patients. “I know,” you smiled sadly, clinging to his chest as he answered the call. “I have to go,” he whispered, a few seconds later. “There’s been a crash, they need me on site…” “Go,” you told him, “We can talk when you’re back.” “Wait for me,” he pleaded, “I have so much I want to say.”

Looking back at the desk he’d set up for you, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you joking me?” you smiled, “have you seen the mountain of paperwork you’ve given me? I’ll be here for days.” You watched him leave, listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing off the linoleum floors. You would make sure you stayed this time, promised yourself you wouldn’t run and hide. Time and time again, Kang-Hyuk had shown you that he wasn’t going to give up on you. You never should have given up on yourself, never should have allowed yourself to sink into such a deep, dark hole.

You were tired of living inside a shell, of hiding away from the world. You couldn’t change what happened to you, couldn’t change the decisions you’d made since that fateful day. But you could change what happened next. You could decide to let Kang-Hyuk back in, to pick up where you left off. He still needed that Polaroid of you, the picture of his most precious patient to hang on the wall.

And you needed to allow yourself to open up, to let back in the man who had never given up on you.

[casedclosedbye]

Bottled up

Bucky Barnes x Reader Angst

Wc: 1k

Summary: After bailing him out of jail once again, your frustration boils over as you express how exhausted you are from always being the one to fix things.

It’s been two hours since you bailed Bucky out of jail for the third time this month. You had driven to pick him up without saying a word, your hands clenched tightly on the wheel as your pulse raced. Bucky hadn’t said anything either. He never did. The silence between you both in the car was suffocating, the only sound the tires screeching against the asphalt as you sped down the darkened streets. Every bone in your body screamed at you to stop, to breathe, but your blood was boiling.

You could feel the frustration building, rising with every second as you turned into the parking lot. You were losing it. You were so damn tired.

You slammed the car into park, barely giving the tires time to stop before you threw it into gear and spun to face him.

“You know why, Bucky?” Your voice was tight, strained with the venom that had been sitting inside you for days. “You don’t like opening up even to me. You bottle it all up, and all your frustrations go right over your head! You’re making it worse!”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he stared at you, clearly caught off guard by the sudden explosion of anger. “I don’t—”

“No! Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice shaking as the words spilled out. “I’ve already told you countless times that you can talk to me. I’m your girlfriend! I’m not just here to fix everything for you, but I *can’t* help if you don’t let me in! But what do you do? You go out, you start a fight, you drink your problems away like you’re invincible or something. You don’t trust me, Bucky. You don’t trust anyone. You just think you can do it all alone, and it’s eating you alive, and you won’t let me help!”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced out the window. But you weren’t done.

“I *know* you’ve been through so much. I get it. I really do,” you continued, voice rising, hot tears threatening to spill over, but you didn’t stop. “But you’re not *trying*—it’s always me doing something! I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces! I’m the one worrying myself sick every damn time you get into a fight because you can’t talk about it! I can’t keep doing this, Bucky. I can’t keep giving and giving when you don’t even try to meet me halfway.”

He sat there, silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m so, so, so fucking tired of this,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “I’m the only one trying. I’m the one who gets up and picks you up every single time, and I keep *worrying* about you, and for what, huh? For you to just keep doing the same thing? You think I’m not scared too? You think I don’t lose sleep every night wondering if the next fight is going to be the one where you don’t come back?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to yours, something unreadable flashing in them, but you didn’t stop.

“You keep picking fights like you’re immortal,” you spat. “You’re not immortal, Bucky. One day you’re going to die. You’re going to pick the wrong fight with the wrong person and I won’t be there to fix it, and you’ll be gone. Just like that. And what will I be left with? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Your voice cracked at the end, and a single tear finally escaped.

You saw the guilt flash across his face. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make him open up. It wasn’t enough to make him feel the pain that you did.

“Please, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “Please just let me in.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His breath was shallow, and his gaze dropped to the floor of the car. The guilt in his eyes was overwhelming, but it wasn’t enough to stop you from feeling the hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to let anyone in. I’ve never... I’ve never learned how.”

Your heart sank. He was still closed off. You could see it in the way his shoulders were hunched, the walls so high you could practically feel the distance between you. It hurt. It hurt more than you could put into words.

“I know,” you whispered, your tears falling freely now. “But I can’t keep doing this. I just... I just need you to try, Bucky. I need you to try for us.”

There was a long pause. Bucky stayed silent, the guilt eating away at him. He was processing. But it was too late. You couldn’t stop crying. The sobs came in uncontrollable waves, your body shaking from the weight of everything you’d held inside for so long.

Bucky reached for you slowly, his hand trembling as he touched your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

You shook your head, pushing his hand away gently. “You need to try. *We* need to try. But if you can’t... if you can’t let me in, then I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

His face twisted in pain, but it was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You didn’t know how to fix this. You didn’t know if it could be fixed.

For the first time in a long while, Bucky looked truly broken.

And that was all you needed to see to know that you were both losing.

[greg-montgomery]

Mr. Scratch - Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

a little hurt/comfort inspired by ep. 10x21 - mr. scratch aaron's hallucination is you getting killed right in front of him. pre-relationship <3 words: 1.6k warnings: basically everything bad that happens in that episode: being drugged, hallucinations, blood, feeling paranoid

Aaron stayed unfazed by the sight of the gun pointed at him; his stare cold and unwavering.

“Oh, that was good. Oh, that was so good,” Peter whispered. “That was so impressive.”

His eyes almost sparkled with excitement as he went on, “The way you got into my head…It makes me want to know how I get into yours.”

A sound from right outside interrupted him and Aaron already knew where it was coming from. His team was there, you were there.

“You were right,” Peter said. “They did come calling for you.”

“They’ll kill you,” he threatened him with the same certainty he knew the sun would come up in the morning.

Peter’s next words though made his heart tremble with fear. “Are you sure about that?”

The dead silence in the house allowed him to focus on every little sound being made. His ears despite having been injured in the past could almost hear the door open. They could almost hear the sound of footsteps. He was certain, you were inside the house.

Peter had disappeared in the darkness and he could only pray you would get to him first. What if you weren’t fast enough? What if he drugged you too? What if-

A gunshot from the next room tore his heart in half.

He cursed himself for being unable to move, frozen in the same place as if he was stuck in the middle of a nightmare. Someone was being hurt and he was too weak to help; too slow to save them.

More gunshots followed, he thought he heard someone scream.

And then he heard you. “Hotch!”

Your voice was desperate, scared. But it meant you were alive, and that was more than enough to him.

“Here,” he said with every inch of power he had left in his body.

“Where?”

“Here,” he repeated. “In the study.”

First he saw the outline of your body, moving like a shadow towards him. Your eyes were wide with worry, like every time you saw him in danger. His sweet Y/N, who cared for him in a way he never knew he needed before.

“Where? Where is he?” he breathed as you knelt next to him.

“I shot him. He’s down,” you said.

Before he had the chance to feel relief, before he had the chance to look into your eyes for just a moment of comfort, a body hid the light behind you. He wasn’t dead.

“Y/N!” Aaron yelled, but the bullet had already left Peter’s gun.

You fell to the ground and your hand covering the wound in your neck did nothing to stop the blood from running.

“No,” he screamed with desperation. “No, no, no.”

Tears ran down his cheeks getting mixed with your blood that had been splashed on his face, but he was unable to move. He wanted to run to you, to take you in his arms, to steal you away, but he was stuck watching your terrified expression as you were bleeding to death.

“No,” he cried. “No, baby, not you. Help!” he screamed. “Somebody help!”

His body was shaking, but as if he was under a spell, he couldn’t even lift his arm. A feeling of helplessness took over his body that he had only experienced once before; the day he lost Haley.

“Not my Y/N,” he choked on his sobs.

“Now I know what scares you,” Peter said, towering over him.

The gun he pointed at Aaron turned towards your body again and you were met with a final shot.

“No!”

His eyes closed, his blood boiling with fury. “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch.”

When he opened them again, he had to blink a few times before he realized that your body was gone. His head was dizzy and his vision was blurred, but he was certain of one thing: you were no longer lifeless, laying right in front of him.

“It’s okay. You can move now.”

He had been fooled, just like all of his victims before. Aaron knew what he had to do now, the fact that you were still alive giving him some clarity.

“I’m about to come through that front door.”

He was lying, but still Aaron accepted the knife Peter gave him and turned to the door. You were about to come in, and this time for real; he had to play along. This time he had a second chance. A second chance to save the person he loved that was so brutally taken away from him the first time.

“My gun,” he asked. “I need my gun.”

“Look. Here I come,” Peter said. “Kill me.”

Aaron reached out for his gun and pointed at the spot he had shown him. As soon as he saw the door open, he turned around and shot Peter as fast as he could.

“Hotch!” you ran to him. “We need a medic in here!” you asked.

“Take it,” he said, terrified, giving you his gun. He didn’t trust himself with it; not when it was you right in front of him. “Take it.”

You did as he said, placing your hand on his arm, trying to figure out a way to comfort him.

“He made me see things,” he cried. And then in a breath he said again, “He made me see things...”

“It’s over,” you said softly. “You’re okay. Look at me.”

Aaron met your gaze and you didn’t seem to think twice before reaching out to him and taking him into your arms. He couldn’t help but melt into your embrace.

“It’s okay,” you kept repeating to him, and it wasn’t the words you used, but the sound of your voice that calmed his shaking body down. “I’m here, I got you.”

“He’s gone,” Spencer informed you.

--

“He looks traumatized,” JJ said, staring at her boss. Peter had just been arrested but it didn’t seem to have calmed him down. His attention was completely devoted to you, as you held his hand and talked to him at the back of the ambulance.

“His hallucinations were probably traumatic,” Rossi said.

“He needs to talk about it,” Derek added.

“I’m sure he will. He has Y/N to talk to.”

Their attention turned back to you. You were holding a piece of cotton now, patting it softly over his wound. He kept insisting to the medics he was fine, but seemed fine with you touching him.

Your free hand was still holding his.

“I didn’t know they were…” JJ said before David interrupted her.

“This isn’t the time or the place for a conversation like this. Let’s just be grateful he’s letting someone in.”

“You’re right,” Morgan said.

--

You insisted on driving Aaron home and if he was honest with himself he had no issues with it, since he had also no intention of ever leaving you out of his sight again.

He was thankful Jack wasn’t home. The last thing he wanted was for his son to see him in that state.

Closing the door behind you, you made your way around his couch and sat next to him. You seemed almost awkward in your moves.

The fact that you were a soft spot for him was not a piece of information he had ever shared with you before. But after that night it would be ridiculous for either of you to pretend you were just a unit chief and his subordinate. Your dynamic had shifted.

“Thank you,” he said. “For driving me home.”

“I would never let you drive in that state.”

Any other day your sweet words would have made him smile, but Aaron didn’t have it in him at that moment. He was exhausted and scared.

“Aaron,” you said, reaching out for his hand. The sweet gesture and the use of his first name made his heart flutter. “You can talk to me…about what you saw.”

Flashes of your bleeding body appeared right in front of him. He was back in that house, frozen to the ground, hearing your desperate chokes as you bled away.

“Hotch? Aaron?”

It all vanished the next second, as he blinked to send them away.

“I saw your death.”

His words visibly shook you, and you slightly opened your mouth but without making a sound.

Aaron’s voice broke. “He shot you right in front of my eyes. You were bleeding to death and I couldn’t move.”

His breaths were getting shorter as he sobbed and you moved closer to him, placing your palm right over his heart. “I was too late again. I didn’t save you.”

“You did. You shot him, remember? You saved me,” you smiled sweetly. “You saved all of us. He drugged you and you still managed to shoot him.”

He couldn’t help but let all the tears out. “I’m scared I never woke up from it. I’m scared you’re not real.”

“I’m real. I’m right here, I promise.”

“Y/N…”

Your movements were careful as you lifted your hand to cup his cheek, and the comforting motion of your thumb rubbing the side of his head brought him back to reality. You were real, his inner voice repeated.

“I am terrified of losing you,” he admitted.

“You won’t.”

He tried to speak again but his sobs wouldn’t allow him to.

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes were watery too, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss your tears away. But you put him back to his place, silently reminding him that he was the one who needed comfort this time, as you wiped his tears away with your hand. “I’m here.”

“Will you stay?”

“Do you think I would leave you here alone? I would stay even if you didn’t want me to,” you answered.

“I would never not want you here, Y/N.”

Aaron fell into your arms and you held him there with no intention of letting him go. “I know.”

[slasher-fxcker]

s/o accidentally hurting michael’s feelings and making him cry? sorry i just love soft Michael imagines 😭🤎🙏🏾

A/N: Okay so I did get carried away and change this slightly, this is mostly angst but there definitely will be a fluffier part 2! I’m sorry but no matter how hard I tried I could not imagine a situation where Michael would cry. At this point I’m not fully convinced he would even possess tear ducts.

Fighting with Michael

Warnings: Toxic relationship, violence, mentions of blood. This blog is 18+ MDNI

To say you were beginning to worry was an understatement. It had been 3 days since you had seen Michael and although you knew he could handle himself, you couldn’t help but worry that something had happened to him. You weren’t sure what to do or how long you could wait, but what were you supposed to do? Call the police? Yeah that would go down great, Hi my boyfriend has been on a murder spree for the last 3 days and I haven’t heard from him, think you could help?

No, you knew all you could do was wait, luckily it wasn’t too much longer until you heard the familiar slam of the door that let you know someone was home. You rush down stairs to find Michael walking from the back door towards where you stood. You gasped when you saw him, he was covered in dirt and blood, you knew it was mostly victims but the rips in his jumpsuit made you think that some of it was his own.

He paused for a moment when he heard you, you reached a hand out and took a step towards him causing Michael to glare at you before continuing forward and pushing past you. From his behaviour and appearance, you guessed that the victim must have proved more difficult than he anticipated, but if he expected you to leave him be after practically going missing then he had another thing coming.

You followed him towards the stairs, grabbing his sleeve before he could take the first step. He spun around to face you and you couldn’t help but notice the tight grip he held on the dirty knife in his hand. You tentatively place a hand on his chest, not wanting to push him too much in his current state, “I missed you, I just want to make sure you're okay.” Michael places his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest and for a second you thought he was returning the affection, but he soon gripped your wrist tightly enough that it stung slightly before pushing you so that your back hit the wall next to the staircase. You could feel your eyes well as the emotion of the past 3 days finally got to you, your next words were a whisper but Michael heard you, “Why didn’t you just kill me?” this made him falter, he had been expecting you to either yell or leave him be, that he could deal with, but this, he didn’t know what to make of it. He just tilted his head and slightly lifted the pressure off your chest where he held you.

“You were gone for three days, do you know how worried I have been. But you don’t even care. So why, what was the point in keeping me alive if I mean so little to you.” You knew it wasn’t true, you knew Michael cared for you but you were so angry at him for how he made you feel that you couldn’t help it. You pushed his hand off of your chest, wiping the tears from you face and trying your best to match his glare, you wouldn’t be intimidated by him.

“I’m sick of being treated like this, I’m sick of you shutting me out.” You noticed his white knuckles as his fingers clenched around the blade in his hand but you held your composure, “I don’t deserve this, I stayed with you, I gave you all of me and you won’t even look at me after leaving me here.” He hadn’t reacted yet and you dared to take it one step further, slowly lifting your hand up towards his mask, “You won’t even let me see you.” He once again grabs your wrist in an iron hold, you pull away now anger boiling up inside you, your voice is no longer the soft whisper it had been, “If I mean so little to you then just finish the job Michael! Go on, kill me like you were supposed to. Do it, rid me from your life and finish this!” You barely get the sentence out and you see the glint of the knife as he raises it you close your eyes in anticipation of a pain that never comes.

Opening your eyes slowly you see Michaels form as he breathes heavily, almost erratically. You see the knife in your peripheral, stabbed into the wall, close enough that if you turned your head your nose would brush against it. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as you took in what had just happened, the only sound in the room was Michaels breathing. You couldn’t make excuses for Michael anymore, if he couldn’t show you even a sliver of humanity then you couldn’t keep pretending it was there. Was this a game to him? Something to pass the time in between his kills, was he going to keep you around until you bored him. If he wasn’t willing to try then you weren’t willing to put up with it anymore.

You pushed him away and he let you, knowing he could stop you if he wanted. He watched you as you walked out the door contemplating if following you would do more harm than good. After you slammed the door you swore you heard something being smashed from inside the house but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to care.

You didn’t know where you were headed as you walked down the quiet lane, but you knew you needed to get away from that house for a while. Away from Michael.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: There will be a part 2 to this, don’t worry I won’t leave you guys hanging there, it came out much longer and angsty-er than I expected

[sturnlsstuff]

imagine you have to do some school project in pairs, and you and your partner (a man) go to your house to do it. ghostface!matt watches through the camera he has in your room and gets all jealous

oh my god. i LOVE this 😼 divider credits. @anitalenia

matt was not having it.

his jaw was clenched, irritation coursing through his body as he had spent the last hour watching you and this guy sitting on your bed doing some school project. the guy was sitting too close, every time you laughed at something he said or his hand brushed against yours, matt was close to throwing his computer against the wall. he knows watching this isn't good for him, but he needed to know what was going on. what if the guy will try to make a move on you? what if you let him?

holy fuck, he's gonna explode.

"get this fuckin' hand from her knee—" he hisses to himself through his teeth, seeing how the guy places his hand on you while explaining you something. and you seem so... unbothered? almost as you don't mind? fucking ridiculous.

matt knows he shouldn't be so annoyed when it's your classmate but the way he's flirting makes his blood boil.

chewing on his bottom lip, matt keeps watching as you interact with the guy who seems too comfortable with himself, fully oblivious to the camera in your room.

everytime he asks you something, matt can't stop himself from mocking him and rolling his eyes in a childish manner. he was so jealous.

"....and that explains this. do you get it now?" the guy's slightly muffled voice is heard through the computer.

"no, she doesn't, fuckface—" matt answers with a scoff, like you or your partner could hear him. "explaining this like a fuckin' idiot, she's not fuckin' three..."

after another fifteen minutes of nervous sitting, in which he managed to bite all his nails, matt was ready to force himself to turn off the computer and go do something else, getting enough of this bullshit. but then when he hears this guy referring to you as "sweetheart", matt raises an eyebrow, clenching his fists on either side of his body, his stomach tightening in knots.

he was fed up.

something inside him snaps as he hits the computer and it falls off his desk, shattering into pieces. matt gets up, panting and looking at the broken device on the floor. "shit..." he curses, running his hand through his hair and looking around for the ghostface mask, his hand reaching for his phone.

you were fully aware that matt is going to watch you with that guy, that's why you allowed him to flirt and touch you without showing your disinterest and boredom, just to make sure matt would be jealous, which was a bit obvious. and this is confirmed when your phone lights up with you receiving a message.

matt was planning on removing this guy out of the way anyway, but first he wanted to remind you that you're his since it was clearly needed.

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck @jocelyncsblog @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs @seluky10

[multi-fxndom446]

You came? You called.

Scenario: John Price, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, John ‘soap’ Mactavish and Simon ‘ghost’ Riley

This is part one to three parts. All of these include the, “you came…you called.” As different scenarios I saw them being used in for these characters.

Honestly I can do a part two to this or even do an individual one-shot for a specific character. So if either of those sound interesting please please request it.

All of these were written in mind of different tropes but pretty much boil down to you both love each other. (Sorry if some of these are ooc I did my best😭)

Part Two Part Three

~~

Captain John Price

Warning: blood, pretty open ended 👀

“Does anyone have eyes on Y/n?” Price asked after several minutes of silence from you. He had been trying for what felt like hours to get in contact but you either couldn’t hear him or you were in a place you couldn’t respond.

There was a third option but he didn’t even want to think about it being a possibility.

“The house straight ahead of you,” ghost gruff voice cut through the silence. “Looks like backup was called over there.”

Price took a deep breathe, his eyes zoned in straight ahead. You had to be there.

As he opened his mouth to start giving off orders the sound of a soft whisper came through. So soft none of them caught it the first time.

Then it came again, “captain..” it was your voice. You were whispering like you were scared of getting caught by someone.

He felt his entire body tense at the way your strained voice finally clicked in his head. “I’m going to get her.”

Before his men could even argue price was running toward the house. He could hear a small curse and more footsteps joining not to far behind and he knew his men were running to join him.

“Price. I don’t know if I can get out of this one alive.” You words had him speeding up and with the help of the rest they cleared the house in no time.

Price found you not even a second later, you were trying to put pressure on a wound and he could tell you lost a lot of blood from the way you couldn’t focus your eyes on him.

You went completely limp the moment he picked you up in his arms like you knew you were finally safe.

It’s all he could think about while he stood outside the medic bay. He carried you inside and handed you off to let them take care of you so all he was left to do was wait.

But only a few minutes later your voice came back to him louder as you screamed his name from inside. He could hear the nurses trying to calm you down but you kept screaming for him.

He rushed in and as soon as your eyes connected with his you immediately stopped struggling. Your body slumping into the mattress as you looked at him.

“Price.” You sighed out smiling weakly. “You came.”

He knew you weren’t just talking about right now but about him coming after you even if he wasn’t sure you were going to make it out alive.

He was at your side in a second his hand grasping yours softly. It felt colder. “You called.”

You didn’t respond but he could see the way your eyes started fogging over. “You need to let the nurses fix you up yeah?” He asked gently, squeezing your hand as your soft gaze continued to stare up at him like you were committing it to memory.

“I just needed to see you.” Was the last thing you muttered before he was ushered out.

~~

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Warning: injury, your hinted at being a nurse here. Friends to…

It was late when Price and Soap all but dragged Gaz into the medic bay. Heaving him carefully onto a bed which squeaked slightly from the sudden pressure.

He watched his captain tell the nurses what happened but none of them were who he wanted. “Soap.” He groaned out turning to his friend who was at his side. “Give me your phone.”

Soap did so without question and sat in silence while Gaz called you, unaware of the time. “Hello?” Your voice came through a few rings later. Slightly groggy but still twinged with worry. “Soap?”

“Y/n.” Kyle breathed relieved to just hear your voice. “Nice to hear your voice.”

“Kyle?! When did you get back? Why do you sound like that? Are you hurt?!” He could hear shuffling on your end like you were running around. “Damn it Gaz the one time I don’t take a night shift.”

That caused him to pause. He pulled the phone from his face to look at the time and winced when he saw the small 4am in the corner. He felt worse knowing you didn’t sleep very well and he probably woke you up.

“I’m okay, just needed to hear your voice go back to sleep.” He hung up before you could respond. His hand suddenly feeling too heavy to hold the phone to his ear.

“Stay with him.” Price pointed to soap as he marched out, most likely to finish reports before he came back.

Nurses were bombarding him with medical talk and sticking him in every which way. It was more annoying than anything.

Only a few moments later the doors slammed open and there you stood, chest heaving as you scanned the room almost instantly finding him.

“Y/n.” He smiled weakly, the blood loss mixed with the hit to the head making him woozy. “You came.”

You looked at him like he was an absolute psychopath to even assume you wouldn’t after the call you just had. “You called!” You exclaimed marching towards him. “Did you fall out of another damn helicopter?”

“Definitely not-“

You looked to Soap pointedly who nodded his head solemnly. “It’s part of my charm I feel.” Gaz muttered, sighing in relief when your hands took over the work of the other nurses who left as soon as you came in, knowing you could handle the rest on your own.

“You’re gonna kill me one day Kyle. I swear to god.” You whispered as you dressed his wounds, freezing when you felt his hand graze your cheek.

“Don’t say that.” He frowned. “I never want to be the reason of your pain. Let alone death.”

You almost told him you were joking but in the next second his eyes closed and his hand fell to his side.

You almost panicked till you saw his chest rise and fall in soft breathes. The injury taking all the energy he had left.

“Damn it Kyle.”

~~~

John ‘Soap’ Mactavish

Warning: toxic ex, abuse, protective Johnny, best friends to…

Your phone was on two percent when you called Johnny in the middle of the night. You swore you almost started crying when his voice broke through the storm in your head. “Lass?”

“Johnny.” You sobbed into the phone before the call cut short. You pulled the phone from your ear only to see it shutting off and you felt all resolve start to crumble.

After the fight you and your now ex boyfriend just had you needed him.

You needed his help. You needed him.

In all the years you’ve known Johnny you can almost count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen him angry.

You’re sure it happened often given his occupation but never in front of you. He hated you seeing him like that.

Which is why you’re almost surprised when you open the door only ten minutes later to see Johnny standing there, a frown adorning his usually smiling face.

“You came.” You all but sobbed in relief.

“You called.” He said as he let himself inside. He closed the door behind him and grabbed you into a warm embrace. “What’s goin on-?”

His confused gaze immediately hardened further when he pulled back just enough to see the red mark on your cheek. Delicately he traced his thumb over it, examining it. “He do this?” He seethed and you could only nod.

“Where the fuck ‘s he?” He demanded but you just shook your head and stepped away from his grasp.

“I don’t know he left after the fight but he’ll be back he has nowhere else to go.” You spoke as you led him further into your apartment. “I need help getting some stuff and leaving before he does. Can you help me?”

“Course I can Bonnie.” You didn’t even need to ask him, he would walk through fire if you needed him to. “Tell me what needs ta come.”

You led him to the bedroom and pointed things out to him and within ten minutes he was finishing packing all the essential things you needed.

You were in the living room grabbing anything sentimental when the front door slammed shut. Instantly Johnny was marching his way to where you. Where he saw you were being crowded into a corner of the wall as your ex got in your face.

Johnny saw red the moment he saw your body trembling beneath him. In a second he was in front of you, shoving your ex back who looked shocked for only a moment before he scoffed.

“You’ve a lotta nerve comin’ back ‘ere.” He ground out, jaw clenching when he felt you clutch onto his arm.

“Of fucking course it’s you.” You ex seethed taking a step closer. “You’re the one she cheated on me with aren’t you? I fucking knew it. I always knew there was more between you. The fucking way you look at her like a lost puppy gives everything away.”

He took a step toward you both again and Johnnys arm moved to shield you further behind him. He had no idea what was going on but he knew you would never do something like the man is accusing. You loved him with every fiber of your being and it’s something that killed Johnny everyday.

“You’d be wise to take several steps back.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll fuckin’ kill you. You’re lucky I don’t kill you now for what you did.” Your ex seemed to finally understand the glint in Johnnys eyes and instead of saying anything more, just shook his head and walked back out the front door—pictures rattling from the slam. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I didn’t-“ he paused when he heard you try to speak. “I didn’t cheat on him. I never would’ve-“

Johnny hushed you as he pulled you into another hug. “I know Bonnie I know. Even if you did he had no right putting his hands on you.” He pulled away only to grab your things and lead you out the door. “You’re gonna stay with me fer awhile aye?”

You could only nod.

(Soap part two- 6 Months)

~~

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Warning: none really. Pretty tame for my boy. Exes to…

You called him in the middle of the night on a random day of the week, whispering a soft “Simon?” Into the receiver that went unanswered.

You waited for a moment longer wondering if he would say anything but when he didn’t you just sighed and continued to speak. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now but I-“ you paused to take in a deep breathe. “I can’t sleep without you.”

It felt like a heavy confession and it made you feel weak to even speak it out loud but it was true. You couldn’t sleep, not since he broke it off only a month ago. And in the time you couldn’t even get an ounce of sleep without him next to you.

Silence continued to fill the amtosphere and you almost wondered if you even pressed call. But with one quick glance you knew you did and he in fact did answer, just refused to speak.

“Sorry.” You sighed, resigning to the fact that you just may never sleep again. Being in the military it was hard to find something that made you feel safe enough to sleep but you did and it was Simon. He broke whatever was going on off. To scared that one day you would wake up and realize he isn’t the one that you should be with. “Forget I called.”

You hung up immediately after. Your heart couldn’t take the silence coming from him any longer instead you went around your small room and got ready for another sleepless night before you were sent back into the field early the next morning.

You had just turned off the lights and tucked yourself into bed when a rough knock echoed in the silence that was drowning you.

You let out a sigh and rolled out of bed already annoyed. You swung open the door ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of your mind but instead you stood there frozen.

“You came.” You were shocked to see Simon was the one standing on the other side, eyes boring holes into you.

“You called.” He muttered before glancing behind you in silent question to which you immediately let him in.

“What-?”

Before you could even ask he was already taking off his shoes and pulling off his hoodie, which he hung next to yours on the door. A sense a familiarity washed over you. “You have a mission tomorrow. You need to sleep.”

You didn’t ask how he knew that information or where he even got it from. Instead you followed him to the small bed in the corner where he was already making himself comfortable. “You don’t have to do this Simon. I’m sorry I called.”

“Lay down.” He ordered and you obeyed quickly melting into his warm embrace as his arms tightened around you.

You didn’t know how he managed to do it but in only a few minutes your eyelids became heavy and slumber was quickly taking over. “I’m sorry.” He whispered softly but you didn’t register why nor did you care about what he was sorry for.

You only cared he was here now. “I miss you.” You mumbled and you swore you could feel his arms tighten further.

(Ghost part two- Say don’t go)

~~

Next parts to include,

Alejandro, Rudy, Graves, Valeria, Alex, Keegan and Konig :)

And I will post the rest tomorrow I’m too tired to do this again tonight.