#he managed to stay under the radar

[shih-coulda-had-it]

my original tengu torino AU... the studio ghibli hodgepodge AU...

[spokenfromtheheartandsoul]

idk man like imagine how tired you'd be if YOU had to move to an entirely new place and start all over. not even because of the occupational hazards of your job which would have at least been expected if not reasonable (see: assassins) but instead because your trigger-happy younger brother decided to add live props to an impassioned karaoke performance on a whim and now you've found yourself a co-owner AND manager AND chef to an entire burger restaurant establishment. where the total number of employees other than yourself is a grand total of one (1) aka the same younger brother who has never touched a spatula in his life. and now you're just trying to make decent burgers while settling in to your new neighborhood and stay under the radar while your brother insists on exploring his sense of fashion by dressing in the brightest colors and prints known to man immediately following shifts at your real job (see: ASSASSINS) because it's not like it requires blending into society or anything. and then right when you think you're finally going to have a nice and peaceful friday night at home you get rear-ended by an unhinged and unnecessarily attractive mechanic who insists on fixing your jeep for free but is also SO maddeningly infuriating to interact with that you begin to question whether the free service is worth your sanity. because upon returning to pick up your car the Unhinged Mechanic begins an entirely unprompted striptease to reveal to you that he has - for reasons beyond your comprehension - decided to steal your burger pin. and then he starts going off about his sensitive nipples while he makes YOU take it off of him. and then as if all of THAT wasn't enough you also come home to find your younger brother delightedly getting groped in front of god and your respectable burger establishment in broad daylight while he nuzzles and adoringly stares into the eyes of the exact same cocky one-night-stand you EXPLICITLY warned him to stay away from. and then to top it all off the Unhinged Mechanic has now inexplicably shown up at your closed restaurant and has the audacity to demand service in return for having had to repair the jeep that HE damaged in the first place. because apparently the best place to have a beer is your CLOSED burger restaurant. and although you feel like your actions would be very justified in doing so, you somehow manage to refrain from killing him on sight because you are a Good and Reasonable Assassin. but this also means having to endure watching Unhinged Mechanic down no less than nine beers in one go all while he antagonizes you. and right when you finally decide to put your foot down and kick him out the Unhinged Mechanic decides that THAT is the perfect time to make a move on you. so now not only are you both exhausted and irritated and confused but ALSO sexually frustrated while having to forcibly remove him from your premises by his feet. imagine that. imagine you have to deal with ALL that in the span of 1 week without losing it and somehow YOU'RE the unreasonable and rigid one??????

[thelostconsultant]

The leak

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: Someone recorded you and your boyfriend having sex, and now parts of the recording are being released, letting the world know that you're seeing each other.

warning: mentions of sexual activities, bdsm-ish elements, dom!Oscar, dark!Oscar, aaaaaand that's it. I think. So MDNI.

note: It started out as something kinky, then I figured out who recorded and leaked the whole thing. This was meant to be a short drabble, something to take my mind off the other fic I'm working on...

This had to be a nightmare. 

Your phone began to buzz late in the afternoon, signaling message after message, but you didn't really care about it until your manager called and told you to check social media sites. And there they were, snippets and screenshots from a sex tape, showing you and your boyfriend in what seemed to be his hotel room two days ago.

Whoever recorded and shared this made sure to pick the spiciest parts. The most “popular” video was the moment he put the beige collar on you, then grabbed the golden chain to pull you into a hungry kiss. His orders could be heard crystal clear, and his dominant personality which was in such stark contrast with his usual behavior was now out in the open. 

Your first instinct was to send a message to your chronically online boyfriend, but then you realized this was an emergency and calling him was the best approach now. It didn’t take him long to answer, and his voice was so calm you thought he didn’t know anything. “Hey, baby, what is it? I’ve been thinking about you, are you–”

“Oscar, you haven’t checked social media sites lately, have you?” you asked, your voice thin from the anxiety that had taken over the moment you saw the first snippet. 

There was a short pause, then he went, “The videos? Yeah, that might be a problem.”

“Might be a problem? It’s already a problem!” you corrected him. “People know we’re together, and what’s worse, they know what we do in bed. We kept everything under wraps for a reason.”

Little did you know that Oscar was everything but surprised by this turn of events. Why would he be surprised when it was him who hid that camera in his hotel room, and it was also him who sent it out to someone he knew would spread it like wildfire. He remained an anonymous source, of course, but he knew it was all his work. And he was proud of it. 

He had been begging you to make your relationship official, but you were too worried about what your fans would say. So he decided to take matters into his own hands, showing the world what a good little girl you were for him. He was proud of you, he wanted to show you off, and he wanted you to come to as many races as you could. Just to be his lucky charm, and maybe the solution to releasing some stress if a session was frustrating. 

“Why don’t you come over until people move on from this? We can nestle in my apartment eating ice cream, watching movies… Come on, it’s gonna be fun,” he tried, his voice sickeningly sweet. 

You took a deep breath that you soon let out slowly, giving yourself time to think. “All right, my manager told me to stay under the radar anyway.”

“Great. See you soon then.”

He won. You come over, stay for a few days, and he’ll do his damn best to convince you to stay for good. You would have fun on your own. He would train you to be the kind of obedient little thing he always wanted you to be. Why would you need to make decisions when he can choose for you? You’d realize this was for the best, he just had to be smart and patient.

[necer0s]

One of the things that’s fascinating about Superboy to me as a shameless powerscaler is that he’s like. Right on the edge of being too powerful. There’s a line between characters that can be active heroes and beings that are so powerful as to basically be gods, who have to be shuffled off to their own corners of canon and only show up for really big cosmic threats so as to not break the plausibility of the setting. Superman stays out of Gotham, Silver Surfer stays out in space, Jean Gray dies if she goes full Phoenix. Kon should be in that category, but no one at DC pays enough attention to him to realize it.

Can you imagine? A character who is basically Jean Gray and Superman combined, but no one ever thinks about it because he wears silly shades and a leather jacket and his telekinesis has a minor range limitation that he’s outgrowing. If you seriously introduced a character like that, the idea of them being an oft-ignored minor character would be laughable.

And yet, somehow Kon sneaks in under the radar! At least part of it is the Kryptonian powerset, obviously. Between the various members of the Superfam and the many copies and parodies across different settings, we get used to treating all those very powerful abilities as one thing, so it doesn’t feel like as big a deal to add all of them onto one other power, especially when Tactile Telekinesis is often forgotten or underused by writers who can’t manage inventive power use.

But what it all adds up to is one of the most powerful characters in DC canon, with a huge amount of room to grow, being consistently treated as a minor sidekick. It’s truly wild.

[snazzydwarf]

(This was written in July oh dear-)

You know how in a lot of fics a de-aged Danny winds up in Gotham either via Clockwork putting him there, or Danny goes through a portal (either through his own volition or not) and ends up being taken in by one of the bats?

Okay that, but what if he was never picked up and ends up falling through the cracks and becoming one of the many homeless children wandering Gotham's streets, but unlike all the other street kids who know when to keep their head down Danny just doesn't have those fear receptors... like at all- It's almost scary with how the kid manages to just not give a single flying fuck about what is going on.

So after a while of wandering the streets and getting acquainted with the Gotham's inhabitants everyone slowly get's used to the kid wandering around, dropping their guard and greeting him with smiles when he toddles around the corner, looking for his next meal or piece of scrap clothing.

Perhaps it's this show of trust they begin to notice the strangeness that hangs around him like a cloud. The shifting coloured eyes, the coldness in his skin that never seems to go away no matter how much clothing the kid gets bundled in.

The fact that no one knows where he goes once they take their eyes on him? Spooky to say the least, but they're Gothamites! One shady, possibly meta, kid ain't gonna change anything.

So he becomes a staple in everyone's lives, and eventually learned his name is Danny. He talks about having an older sister called Jazz, two best friends and a puppy he named Cujo. (who let their kids watch Cujo???) They also learned he had an innate fear of The Bats, whenever one swept into the streets during their nightly patrol he would just... disappear. He became unfindable and wouldn't appear until the next day.

At first they thought it was him finding a safe place to sleep while the night rolled around and the Rouges came out to play, but that assumption was quickly squashed when he was caught wailing on one of the Jokers henchmen. The white makeup couldn't even cover up the black and blue bruises that covered his face.

It was comical, if not a bit frightening to see this small child practically a baby sitting upon a knocked out, grown ass man. His little stubby legs dangling off the side of his body, too small to even reach the ground.

Of course nothing stays under the Bats radar for long so he end up eventually getting spotted. However none of the Bats where expecting such resistance from the civilians when they offered to take the kid.

Now whenever the little tyke is bumbling around and a Bat (or any other vigilante associated with them) is in the area, it's all hands on deck to distract Danny and get him somewhere else.

[puckinghischier]

Spotlight

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary - reader prefers to stay out of the spotlight being luke hughes’ girlfriend brings

notes - y’all asked for luke, so luke you’ll get. i wanted to try to get out at least one more fic for you guys before my semester kicks off tomorrow. i don’t know how often i’ll be able to write once things get going, but i’m going to try my best not to completely disappear again. i don’t really like the ending of this, but i hope you enjoy it anyways. happy reading! 🫶🏼

request - “go with me?” “only if you’ll hold my hand” “take my jacket, i don’t want you catching a cold”

[2.3k]

You were someone that absolutely hated the spotlight. You hated the feeling of eyes on you, the knowledge that every move you make is being observed and analyzed.

You flew under the radar all through school, until college. You managed to become valedictorian of your program, earning a highly sought after position with a company based out of New Jersey.

The city has always brought a sense of anonymity to you that you’ve enjoyed. The ability to be a stranger everywhere you go brings a certain comfort to you.

That is, until you met one of the most well-known men in Jersey.

You first met Luke at an event your company was hosting in partnership with the Devils to present them with a hefty donation for a new practice facility. You had tried to get out of going, suit and tie events not being your typical scene, but your boss informed you that you were required to attend.

Even wearing the most plain dress you could find, you caught the attention of none other than the team’s rookie defenseman. You had tried to politely make your exit, but Luke was too intrigued by the pretty stranger in the corner.

The two of you had spent the rest of the night talking, despite the feeling of every eye on you as Luke lead you back to a table. The two of you exchanged numbers at the end of the event, Luke inviting you out to a game. He offered to give you a ticket, but you informed him that your company had rink-side season seats, courtesy of the GM after the donation.

You attended games regularly after that night, blending in the sea of red with Luke’s own Jersey on your back—another perk of the large donation— while also chatting with Luke nearly every day over text, which eventually morphed into phone calls, then facetime calls when he was on the road.

Four months after your initial meeting, Luke decided to make it official and put a label on your relationship.

You had worried about the unwanted attention that came with being a ‘WAG’ as you learned the other significant others on the team were nicknamed, but your feelings for Luke were greater than any discomfort you may experience.

Now, though, looking at the hoard of photographers that are stationed around the rink, your anxiety begins to spike a little.

“Honeybee, I promise it’ll be fine. They probably won’t even focus on us, anyways. They’ll want a few shots of me and Jack with mom and dad, but it’s likely they’ll be too busy on the guys with kids to even notice you’re with me,” Luke reassures you, crouched in front of you while tying your skates.

Today was family skate day for the team, Luke having asked you weeks ago to participate with him.

You agreed, despite your limited ability to skate, thinking it was just going to be the players and their families, no media presence. When you arrived with Luke this morning, however, and you saw the photographers trying to get pictures through the windows of Luke’s BMW, you realized you were wrong.

“I’m just nervous, Luke,” you tell him quietly. “I know if they release pictures of you with a girl during family skate it’s going to be the next big hockey gossip topic, and then it’ll feel like I’m under a microscope.”

Luke’s soft eyes look up at you, sensing the nervousness in your own.

“I know, sweet girl. But I promise, I’ll have Tom talk to the media and tell him to withhold any pictures of us together, if that makes you feel better?” he offers, picking up your now skate clad foot off of his knee and placing it on the padded floor.

You think about the offer, but realize it would still cause unwanted attention on you. You don’t want to be difficult, just invisible.

“No, I don’t want to overcomplicate things. It’s fine. Like you said, I’m sure they’ll mostly focus on everyone else,” you smile down at him, watching his own grin overtake his face.

“Well then, it’s time we finally get you acquainted with the ice. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of it in your future,” he winks, standing to his full height and holding a hand out to help you off of the bench.

He helps you walk over to the entrance to the rink, steadying you after every wobble. Once you reached the gate, you hesitate, halting your movements.

“C’mon, Honeybee. Go with me?” Luke asks you, already having stepped on the ice.

Thinking about what this means once more, and the huge step it is, no only onto the ice but in your relationship, you hesitate for only a few seconds.

“Only if you hold my hand,” you tell him, your words going deeper than just ice skating.

“Always,” he responds, tugging your hands towards him when you step onto the ice, shakily keeping your balance.

“Well, look at you, Wallflower, out here skating with the big dogs,” Jack calls out, skating up towards you and Luke.

Looking over to give him a short smile, you try to keep a majority of your attention on not falling over as Luke slowly pulls you towards him as he skates backwards.

“Figured it can’t be that hard if you do it all the time,” you tease him back, the two of you becoming close friends over the course of yours and Luke’s relationship.

Jack, as rambunctious and rowdy as he can be, is one of the people who works the hardest to keep you out of the spotlight, other than Luke, of course.

On the rare occasion you decide to tag along for team outings with Luke, Jack will act as your own personal body guard, perfectly hiding you in-between him and Luke anytime there’s a flash of a camera or a squeal of a fan.

“Oh, yeah, make fun of the professional. Let’s see you do this,” Jack makes a big show of skating backwards while swiveling, then executing a very poor jump, but still managing to land upright on his skates.

You roll your eyes at him, only glancing up for a few seconds at a time, trying to keep your eyes on your own feet.

“Alright, Jack, that’s enough showing off. Give the poor girl a break,” you hear Ellen scold her middle child as her and Jim skate over towards the three of you, hand in hand.

“Hey, she started it. I was just trying to defend myself,” he holds his hands up in surrender.

Luke guides you over to one of the short walls, allowing you to hold onto it for support for a second, giving you a break.

“Don’t act like you have to have a reason to show off, it’s just your natural state,” you tease Jack again, earning a laugh from the rest of the group.

“You got me there,” Jack doesn’t argue, shrugging his shoulders in agreement.

“Jack! Luke! Over here!” you hear a voice yell, turning to look at the photographer a few feet away from you, leaning over the wall with his camera pointed in your direction.

You feel the spike of anxiety in your chest, attempting to scoot further down the wall to separate yourself from them, but nearly losing your balance.

Luckily Luke was right there to catch you. “Hey, it’s okay. They’ll just get a few pictures of our family together and then move on,” he assures you once he makes sure you’re steady enough to be left alone.

You watch as Jack and Luke position themselves in just the right way that you’re completely hidden behind them, the added bodies of Ellen and Jim only ensuring your hidden state.

The photographer snaps a few shots of the family before giving a thumbs up, looking down to check the quality of his pictures.

You let out the breath you were holding in, sagging a bit at the relief of avoiding any unwanted attention.

“See, told you there was nothing to worry about,” Luke skates over to you again, leading you away from the wall.

“Luke! How about a shot of you and your lady!” the same photographer yells out, causing your relaxed state to turn rigid in a heartbeat.

“Nah, man. No pictures for her today. Just me and Jack,” Luke replies, skating to stand in front of you, blocking you from the camera pointed at you.

“Oh, c’mon, man. The fans will love it!” the photographer tries again, attempting to move positions to catch a glimpse of you.

“He said, no, man. Go get some shots of Cap or something. She doesn’t want her picture taken,” Jack skates up, standing in front of both you and Luke.

The photographer rolls his eyes, agitated at the loss of a good picture opportunity. “Fine, whatever,” the man huffs, turning and walking towards Nico and his family.

“Thanks, you guys,” you mumble out, embarrassed at the interaction.

“I told you, no pictures if you don’t want them,” Luke turns to face you, taking your hands in his once again, pulling you out further onto the ice.

The rest of the skate goes smoothly, no more unwanted attention from the photographers, just you and Luke and his family skating in small circles and having a good time.

Towards the end of the skate, you start bringing your gloved hands up to rub at your red nose, the chill of the ice finally getting to you.

“You cold, Honeybee?” Luke asks you, knowing how chilled you get, even when wearing layers like you were right now.

“Yeah, it’s a little chilly in here. Not that you’d know,” you tease your boyfriend, gesturing to his full set of pads and jersey he was wearing. Not to mention his tolerance for the cold anyways.

He leads the two of you over towards the benches, leaving you leaned against the wall for a second before returning with something in his hands.

“Here, take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold,” he tells you, draping your favorite plaid jacket of his over your shoulders.

You put your arms through the large sleeves, loving how you were now engulfed in the smell of his cologne.

Thanking him, you lean up to give him a small kiss, not caring who was watching, lost in your love for your boyfriend.

“Alright, let’s get you out of these skates and back into your normal shoes before people start filing in for warm ups. I have a game to play and you have to get to your seat so you can watch your hunky boyfriend do his manly job of hitting people and chasing a piece of rubber on ice,” he tells you, causing you to laugh at him, bringing a hand up to ruffle his curls.

After helping you remove your skates, and pouting until you give him a good luck kiss, Luke shoos you away so you can make your way to your usual seat, Jim and Ellen opting to join you at the glass rather than sitting in a box with some of the other player parents.

The boys ended up winning their game, Luke coming straight out of the locker room after the game and picking you up in a celebratory spin, claiming you have to go skating with him before every game now.

You laugh at his superstitious self, grabbing his hand and walking towards the exit of the rink with him to join the rest of the team for celebratory drinks, not wanting to bail on Luke after such a game.

Weeks later, when you see an article containing the pictures from the family skate event, you click on it and scroll through the various snapshots.

You find yourself smiling at all of the family pictures of Luke’s teammates, enjoying how happy the guys are to have their wives and kids with them on the ice.

Scrolling all the way to the end of the article, you find yourself stopping on a couple pictures in particular, the familiar pit of anxiety forming in your stomach.

The last two pictures in the article are pictures of you and Luke. The first was taken when he was zipping up the jacket he gave you, the two of you looking at each other with so much fondness you could feel the love radiating from the picture.

The second is when you were craning your neck to give Luke a small kiss, the picture captured right before your lips touched, both of you smiling at the other with the same fond look in your eyes.

Your immediate reaction should have been a level three meltdown, your picture out there with Luke, officially, in an ESPN article of all places, but you were surprisingly calm. You should have been screaming and angry, having specifically told the photographer no pictures, but you couldn’t find that anger within yourself.

The pictures showcased yours and Luke’s love for each other so well, you wanted copies of them for yourself. Suddenly you didn’t care if people knew your name, or your face. You could care less if you were front and center on every hockey gossip page in existence.

All you cared about was the amount of happiness you saw on Luke’s face in the pictures, and how deeply you felt about him.

So, when Luke called you an hour later, panicked and telling you he was in the process of getting them taken down, you told him it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to be taken down, because you didn’t care if you had to stand naked in the middle of the rink during puck drop at his next game, you just wanted people to know you loved him with every ounce of your being.

Your aversion to attention be damned, seeing these pictures made you want to scream your love for him from the rooftop of the highest building in Jersey. You were still opposed to the idea of unwanted and unnecessary attention, but decided right here that there would be no more hiding. You were going to be there for Luke in any way he wanted or needed you from here on out. And if you happened to be caught in a few pictures on the way? Well, you guess you’ll just have to get them framed.

[driverlando]

🗞️ EXTRA EXTRA !! charles leclerc has a secret wife of five years and a 1 year old son, rumor has it they got married after 5 months of knowing each other

Congrats of 2k 💗💗💗

EXTRA EXTRA!! Charles Leclerc’s Secret Life Revealed: A Wife of Five Years and a One-Year-Old Son!

In a surprising twist worthy of a blockbuster film, the Formula 1 world has been shaken by astonishing news: Charles Leclerc, the talented Ferrari driver and Monegasque star, has reportedly been married for five years and is the father of a one-year-old son!

According to a flurry of rumours that have quickly gained traction, Leclerc, known for his composed demeanour on the track and spotless public image, has kept a significant part of his life under wraps. Sources close to the situation claim that Leclerc married his wife in a secret ceremony just five months after they first met.

A Secret Romance

The romance, described as whirlwind, reportedly began in 2018. At the time, Leclerc was emerging as one of Formula 1’s rising stars, having just secured a seat with Sauber. In a classic tale of love at first sight, the couple allegedly met at a mutual friend’s private gathering in Monaco. “It was electric,” an insider close to the couple shared. “They were inseparable from the moment they met. There was just an instant connection that no one could ignore.”

Despite the rapid pace of their relationship, sources say the couple chose to keep their love affair under the radar, a decision likely influenced by Leclerc’s burgeoning career and the intense media scrutiny that comes with it. The pair reportedly tied the knot in a private ceremony, attended only by their closest friends and family, with no hint of the event leaking to the public or the press.

The Hidden Family

For years, the Leclerc family has managed to stay out of the limelight. The couple’s close-knit inner circle respected their wish for privacy, allowing them to raise their child away from the public eye. The existence of their son, who just turned one, has only recently come to light, sending shockwaves through the motorsport community and beyond.

The secrecy surrounding their family life raises questions about how they managed to keep such significant personal milestones hidden from the media. Speculation abounds that the couple may have used their connections and resources to maintain their privacy. “It’s a classic case of the rich and famous living by their own rules,” one gossip columnist quipped.

A Perfect Storm

The timing of this revelation couldn’t be more dramatic, coming just as Leclerc is battling for a strong finish in the current Formula 1 season. The news of his secret wife and child adds a fascinating layer to his already intriguing narrative. Fans and media alike are now buzzing with questions: Who is this mystery woman? How did they manage to keep their relationship so secret? And, perhaps most intriguingly, why?

Some speculate that Leclerc’s desire for privacy might stem from a wish to protect his loved ones from the pressures of fame. “Charles has always been very private about his personal life,” a source close to the driver revealed. “He wanted to ensure that his family could live as normal a life as possible, without the constant scrutiny and intrusion that comes with being in the public eye.”

The Rumour Mill

As the world eagerly awaits more details, rumours and theories are flying thick and fast. Some suggest that the secretive nature of Leclerc’s personal life could be part of a broader strategy to maintain focus and control over his public image. Others believe it’s simply a case of a man wanting to keep his private life separate from his professional achievements.

While the identity of Leclerc’s wife remains a closely guarded secret, there are whispers of her being a non-celebrity, which could explain the lack of public interest in her identity until now. “She’s not someone from the limelight,” another source added. “They have been careful to avoid places and events where they might be spotted together.”

What’s Next?

As this story continues to unfold, one thing is certain: Charles Leclerc’s secret family revelation has set the gossip columns alight. The world will be watching closely to see how this revelation impacts his career and public persona. Will Leclerc finally open up about his personal life, or will he continue to keep the world at arm’s length?

For now, the Ferrari driver remains tight-lipped, with no official statement from his camp. However, fans and commentators can’t help but wonder how this will affect his future both on and off the track. Will this revelation prove to be a distraction, or will it humanise the driver, making him even more relatable to his fans?

Stay tuned as we delve deeper into the mystery surrounding Charles Leclerc’s secret life. The racing season just got a whole lot more interesting, and this is one story that promises to keep the paddock buzzing for a long time to come!

For more breaking news and exclusive gossip, keep your eyes on our feed. You never know what high-speed secret might come to light next!

[paceprompting]

We'll Meet Again

written for ‘shopping’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: no warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, pre-relationship, fluff, flirting, part two of "Need a Ride?"

Part One

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t mind the mall around Christmas.

Yeah, the tinny music through the building’s speakers might grate his nerves after a few hours, but Eddie made it a point not to be there that long in the first place. And with everyone so busy from Black Friday to New Year’s, he could slip through the crowds with little to no dirty looks in his direction.

Which meant shopping for Wayne’s Christmas present in peace.

He’d noticed it around Halloween, coming home after Wayne to find him passed out on the couch. His coat hung on one of the kitchen chairs, and Eddie had stared at it while eating a midnight cereal. The old man had the thing since before Eddie started staying with him, and the wear was starting to show.

The inner lining had started to come away, and the corduory fabric on the outside was a few patches from unsalvagable. Not to mention the ratty state of the fur collar.

It had taken until now, two weeks into December, to save up enough for a coat—after his half of the rent and gas money. At least for the good ones at Bloomingdale’s.

He’d planned to be in and out in under an hour. It took the longest just to get into the store, and then to the men’s section at the back. Eddie found the style he wanted immediately, and went to searching the rack for the right size.

“Branching out?”

He may have been overly confident about flying under the radar.

Eddie’s eyes shot to the other side of the rack to find himself across from Steve Harrington. Again.

It had only been a week since the night Eddie still wasn’t sure he hadn’t hallucinated—where Steve had given Eddie a ride home without asking anything in return. Eddie had lived in terror for two days at school thinking Steve would pop up behind him and demand repayment.

“How’s the van?” Steve asked.

Because Eddie hadn’t said anything. And for some reason Steve was waiting there until he did.

“Waiting to go to the shop,” Eddie finally managed, swallowing hard. “Sharing the truck with my uncle.”

Steve nodded, standing with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. Eddie peered around the rack and noticed that Steve didn’t have any shopping bags. Or any clothes laid over his arms, ready to buy.

Eddie raised a brow. “Something catch your eye over here?”

“Uh.” Steve blinked, like he’d been caught. He frantically scanned the clothing rack, plucking out a jacket that looked nearly identical to the one he was wearing. “This one.”

“Very you, Harrington.”

Steve held it up to his chest. “You think?”

It was ridiculous that that made Eddie chuckle. He spent twenty minutes with the guy, and he was already laughing at his charming, jock personality. Because Steve had been pleasant during that ride, even when Eddie tested the limits by changing the radio to a metal station.

Then Steve held the jacket out to him.

“Try it on.”

Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed. Then at the jacket, and back. “I can barely afford the buttons on that thing. I shouldn’t even touch it.”

Steve gave him a flat look, and shook the jacket. Eddie set his hands on his hips, and they remained that way until Eddie was sure Steve’s arm was going to fall off before he gave in.

He rolled his eyes, and went to strip off his own leather jacket, leaving Steve to join him. Eddie expected to be handed the garment, but when Eddie was just in his long-sleeve, Steve was holding the jacket for Eddie to slide his arms into.

Holding his breath, Eddie turned his back to Steve and eased into it.

It didn’t have the give of Eddie’s well-worn jackets, but it was warm. He examined the fit against his body, and definitely not what he thought were Steve’s eyes trailing over his torso.

“Alright, it’s nice,” Eddie admitted, glancing at Steve from under his lashes. “One tip for you, though,”

Steve set his hands on his hips, raising his chin. “Oh yeah?”

Eddie put on his stage smile, wide and bold.

“Black. Always.”

“Can I, uh, get you a pretzel or something from the food court?”

Eddie thought he was surprised that they’d walked out of the store together. And then Steve asked him that.

He stared at Steve, the question echoing around in his skull like a ping-pong ball. And Steve…looked almost nervous, pink tongue darting out along his bottom lip. Between the good will of that snowfall drive and the easy way Steve had stayed at his side this whole time, Eddie didn’t have an answer as quick as he usually would.

He almost wanted to say yes.

But it was less his decision to actually make.

“I really have to get the truck back. My uncle’s shift is starting soon, and I don’t want to make him late…” Eddie turned his shoulder toward the exit.

 Steve nodded, lowering his head. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why was he apologizing? He’d never promised anything. He and Steve barely knew each other.

But maybe it was the somber way he’d made Steve say that same thing he had in his car in that knowing way—when now it was quite the opposite.

Steve recovered quickly, getting his hair out of his face with a quick movement. He put on that subtle smirk of his in the face of the rejection.

“It was nice to see you again,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, hearing the vapid state of his reply too late. “I mean, you too.”

Not better, Edward.

But Steve visibly held back a larger smile, rocking on his heels. Apparently, if Eddie wanted Steve not to think he was an utter waste case, he had to interact like a normal human.

“See you around?” Steve asked, pivoting like Eddie had never denied him.

And the mental whiplash had to be the only explanation for his answer.

“Sure.”

Part Three

[the-winter-spider]

Waiting Room | 2/3

Bucky x reader (as always )

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Angst i guess sorta

A/N: So this is the next part to waiting room that was suppose to be just a One Shot but in easily convinced lol and I didn't really have a direction for the story to go in and this is where I landed, so hope you enjoy. There will be maybe another part or two so I can wrap it up. 

The night was cool as you walked away from the compound, the silence almost soothing despite the ache in your chest. You hadn’t made any plans, hadn’t packed anything more than a single bag. You just knew you couldn’t stay in that place anymore—not with the memories pressing in around you, with the sense that every hallway, every room, was echoing with what used to be between you and Bucky.

The city lights were ahead of you, casting faint glows against the dark sky, and for the first time, you felt completely unmoored. Your thoughts tangled in every step you took, as if each pace was a step away from the life you had built with the Avengers, and more painfully, from Bucky.

Hours passed as you wandered the city, barely aware of where you were going. You ended up at a small motel on the edge of town, paying cash for a room that barely had any light, just a bed with thin sheets and an old TV on a dresser. The emptiness of the room felt like it mirrored the hollow ache in your chest.

You set your bag down on the bed, letting out a sigh as you sank onto the edge, staring at the wall as thoughts of Bucky washed over you in waves. Images of him smiling, his quiet laughter, the way he’d hold your hand when no one else was around—all of it clung to you, heavy and unrelenting.

Pulling out your phone, you scrolled through your contacts to his name, thumb hovering over it. You knew he wasn’t waiting for your call; he’d made that clear. But part of you, the part that still remembered what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms, wanted him to pick up, to tell you this was all just a mistake.

Instead, you tossed the phone aside, burying your face in your hands as tears began to fall. You wanted to scream, to do anything that would make this feeling go away. The anger, the heartbreak, the deep sense of loss—the betrayal it all felt like it was crushing you.

The next morning, you took a breath and tried to piece together a plan. If Bucky wanted nothing to do with you, if the team was moving on without you, maybe it was time for you to do the same. You didn’t know how, but you’d figure it out. And maybe, someday, the memories would hurt a little less.

Days turned into weeks, and you managed to stay under the radar. You took on a few odd jobs here and there, avoiding anywhere that felt remotely familiar. You kept your phone turned off most days, keeping a low profile as you tried to settle into a new rhythm.

But at night, alone in that tiny motel room, everything came flooding back. The emptiness, the loss of the life you’d left behind, and the hollow ache that reminded you of the man you’d once thought would be by your side forever. You didn’t wanna feel anything at all anymore.

The motel was your base for now, a temporary haven between jobs. You knew eventually you would have to move but for now the dull hum of a broken fluorescent light above the bed was your only company most nights. You’d buried your old life, the Avengers, and everything you once fought for. Your existence was pared down to survival and the cold efficiency of violence.

You used old contacts from your past—people you’d hoped never to need again. Mercenaries, informants, shadowy figures from the underworld who didn’t ask questions as long as you delivered. And you did. Each contract was a blur, each mission a mechanical task you completed without hesitation or remorse. Slowly you were becoming less of who you were and more of what you were supposed to be before him.

Your skills made you valuable. Assassinations, high-stakes retrievals, contract killings—you took them all. It was work, and it kept you moving. You didn’t feel anything anymore, not the fear, not the guilt, not even the satisfaction of a clean job. You became a ghost, slipping in and out of places, leaving behind a trail of red.

Every kill was precise, methodical. You didn’t stop to consider who your targets were or what they’d done. The moral compass you once clung to was shattered, left in pieces back at the compound. You moved like a machine, your thoughts dulled by the monotony of violence. The whispers of self-destruction were your only companion now.

Weeks blurred into months, the days bleeding into each other. You didn’t follow the news, didn’t check your phone, didn’t want to know what was happening in the world you’d left behind. You didn’t see the press conference Tony had to hold, standing stoic as reporters peppered him with questions about your sudden disappearance.

“Agent Y/N has taken a leave of absence,” he’d said, his voice cool, calculated. “For personal reasons.”

That was all he gave them. No details, no promises of your return. When the questions turned toward your mental health, your stability, Tony’s jaw tightened, and he ended the briefing. Behind closed doors, the team was scrambling, doing everything they could to track you down. But you were a ghost, and ghosts didn’t want to be found.

In the quiet moments between jobs, you sat in the shadows of your rented room, staring at the ceiling. The weight of your kills didn’t register anymore; it was just a tally in your head, numbers climbing higher each week. You didn’t care who you were working for, as long as they paid and kept you busy. The emptiness was consuming, but you welcomed it. It was better than the pain.

You stopped dreaming. Stopped thinking about him, about any of them. The warmth of Bucky’s touch, the safety of his arms around you—it was a memory you refused to let surface. You buried it deep, alongside every other part of yourself that once cared, once felt.

When you weren’t working, you spent your time in dingy bars or cheap motels, drowning in silence. The weight of your solitude was your only companion. You avoided mirrors, avoided looking at the hollow shell you’d become. It didn’t matter anymore. You didn’t matter anymore.

Back at the compound, things weren’t much better. The team was holding together by a thread, every day marked by your absence. They didn’t talk about it openly, but everyone felt the weight of the void you’d left behind. Tony buried himself in his work, throwing up defensive sarcasm whenever your name was mentioned. Steve was more reserved, quiet, his concern etched into every line of his face, his thoughts a constant whirl of guilt, of what if, he was your leader, your friend, your family he should have done better. Natasha, Clint and Sam worked tirelessly to trace your steps, but you were always one step ahead, your trail going cold each time they got close.

Bucky, though—Bucky was a different story. He was unraveling. The stoic front he tried to maintain crumbled more each day. He’d catch glimpses of your room, still left untouched, and it felt like a dagger in his chest. Every lead that turned up empty, every mission he went on without you, only deepened the chasm of guilt and regret.

He didn’t show it around the others, but late at night, when the compound was quiet, he’d sit in the dark, gripping his dog tags as though they could anchor him. He replayed every moment, every word he’d said to you, the pain in your eyes when he told you it was “for the better.” He’d thought he was protecting you, sparing you from a life tethered to his darkness. But all he’d done was push you into your own.

Meanwhile, you continued to slip further into the shadows, your humanity fading with each passing day. The girl who once fought alongside Earth’s mightiest heroes was gone. Now, you were just a weapon, a tool for hire, drowning in blood and regret.

And you didn’t care if you ever came back.

The common room was silent, the atmosphere suffocating. The team sat around the dining table, their plates mostly untouched. It hadn’t been the same since you left—no, since you vanished almost a year ago. Conversations were hollow, laughter a distant memory. Every mission, every meeting, carried the weight of your absence.

Bucky sat at the far end of the table, his eyes fixed on his plate, though he hadn’t touched his food. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the clink of utensils against ceramic as Sam and Natasha picked at their meals. Steve was deep in thought, brows furrowed, while Tony sipped at a cold cup of coffee, his usual bravado long since dulled.

Suddenly, Tony’s tech pad beeped, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen, his eyes narrowing as he read the data. Without a word, he stood abruptly and made his way to the common room, his pace quick and determined.

“Guys,” he said, voice sharp as he entered, the pad clutched tightly in his hand. The urgency in his tone snapped everyone to attention. “I think we’ve got something.”

The team immediately straightened, all eyes on him. Bucky’s heart lurched in his chest, a flicker of hope and dread surging through him.

“What is it?” Steve asked, his voice steady but tense.

Tony didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tapped on the pad, and a hologram appeared above the table—a blurry snapshot of surveillance footage. The image was grainy, taken in some dimly lit warehouse, but there was no mistaking the figure in the frame.

It was you.

Your hair was shorter, your face leaner and paler than they remembered. Blood spattered your cheeks and clothes, your eyes sharp and cold. You looked like a ghost, hollowed out and deadly, a shadow of the person they once knew.

The room went deadly quiet, the weight of the image sinking in. Natasha leaned forward, her jaw tightening. Sam cursed under his breath, while Steve’s grip on the edge of the table tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“Is there video footage?” Steve asked, his voice low, barely concealing the mix of hope and fear in his tone.

Tony nodded grimly. “FRIDAY, play the video.”

The hologram shifted, and the grainy footage began to play. The scene unfolded in a dingy, run-down warehouse, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. Armed men moved through the space, clearly preparing for some sort of deal. But then you appeared, stepping out of the shadows like a wraith.

You were fast, efficient, and terrifyingly calm. Without hesitation, you took out each man with precision—gunshots, blades, hand-to-hand combat. It didn’t matter how many came at you; they all fell. The blood spattered across your face only made your pale skin look more ghostly, more detached from humanity.

What shook them most wasn’t the violence—it was you. Your expression never wavered, your eyes cold and emotionless. It was as if you were on autopilot, a machine programmed to kill. Even when a bullet whizzed past your face, barely missing you and sending a strand of hair flying, you didn’t flinch. You simply moved on to the next target, cutting through them like they were nothing.

Bucky’s stomach churned as he watched. His hands gripped the edge of the table, his breathing shallow. He could barely process what he was seeing. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t the person he’d loved, the person he’d pushed away to protect. This was someone else entirely—a hollow shell, deadly and unrecognizable.

When the video ended, the silence in the room was deafening. Tony rubbed a hand over his face, his usual sarcasm replaced with grim resolve. “That’s the most recent hit we’ve got. It’s from a week ago.”

Steve was the first to speak, his voice strained. “She’s not just surviving out there. She’s… she’s lost herself.”

Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “She’s always been a fighter, but this? She’s not fighting for anything anymore. She’s just… existing.”

Sam shook his head, his voice low. “She didn’t even blink when that bullet came at her. It’s like she doesn’t care if she lives or dies.”

Bucky pushed himself back from the table, standing abruptly. “We need to find her, I got to find her” he said, his voice rough, barely containing the storm of emotions threatening to spill over. “Now.”

Steve nodded, his resolve hardening. “Agreed. We’ve waited long enough.”

Tony tapped on his pad, pulling up a map. “I’ve got the warehouse location. It’s a start, but if she’s smart—and we all know she is—she’s already moved on.”

Natasha stood, her eyes locked on the map. “Then we track her. We use everything we’ve got.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with thoughts of you. The footage replayed in his head, the cold, detached look in your eyes, the way you moved without hesitation or fear. He knew he’d pushed you away to protect you, but now… now it felt like he’d only sent you spiraling further into darkness.

And he wasn’t sure if he could bring you back. But he’d die trying.

The hologram of the warehouse lingered in the air, casting a dull blue glow that accentuated the tension in the room. Tony continued scrolling through surveillance feeds, his movements precise but edged with frustration. No one spoke at first, the weight of your absence hanging over them like a storm cloud.

Sam finally broke the silence, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “Where is she even finding out about these deals? She’s not exactly walking into a coffee shop and picking up intel from strangers.”

Clint, seated at the far end of the table, narrowed his eyes, his mind already turning over possibilities. “Maybe old contacts?” His gaze shifted to Natasha, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, and her face was set in a mask of unreadable tension.

She didn’t look at him immediately. When she did, her eyes were distant, filled with memories she rarely allowed to surface. “Yeah,” she said quietly, almost reluctantly. “That’s likely.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Someone from your Red Room days?”

Natasha hesitated, her jaw tightening as she nodded. “Before SHIELD. Before the Avengers.” Her voice was cold, clinical, the tone of someone recounting a story they wished wasn’t their own. “There’s a guy… a fixer. He operated out of Eastern Europe, connected to black market arms deals, high-profile hits, anything illegal you can think of. If she’s working for him now…” She trailed off, swallowing hard.

Sam leaned forward, frowning. “Anything you’d like to share with the class, Nat? Because this feels like something we should’ve known before.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her gaze flickering toward Clint before settling on the table. “Before SHIELD, before Clint and I found her… she was lost. When she escaped the Red Room, she had nothing—no resources, no one to turn to. This guy took her in, gave her jobs, gave her a reason to keep moving. But it wasn’t a life. It was survival, barely.”

Clint leaned in, his voice lower now, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile truths being unearthed. “She was in deep. Mercenary work, hits, anything he wanted. She carried everything she owned in a backpack. She was running on scraps and rage. And the person she was back then compared to the one we know now…” He shook his head. “Night and day.”

Natasha’s expression darkened. “She was like a machine. On autopilot. He kept her that way with modified Red Room mind control.” Her voice softened, though her words cut like a blade. “Not enough to erase her, but just enough to suppress doubt, hesitation. Enough to make her compliant.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Bucky, standing slightly apart from the others, stared at the hologram of your face, his jaw clenched. His chest ached, a sick mixture of guilt and disbelief twisting in his gut.

Tony’s voice broke the quiet. “That wasn’t in her file.”

Natasha smirked bitterly. “Of course it wasn’t. Fury redacted it. He thought it would protect her if it ever came up.”

Clint’s voice dropped further, the weight of the memory heavy in his tone. “When Nat and I got her out, it was like detoxing someone from a drug. She fought us every step of the way. We had to tie her down to keep her from running back to him.”

Natasha nodded grimly. “She didn’t sleep, didn’t eat unless we forced her to. She was reciting mission protocols in her sleep like she was still under their control. It took months to bring her back to herself. And even then…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Even then, it was fragile.”

Steve’s eyes shifted to Bucky, whose hands were gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Buck, did she ever tell you any of this?”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged slightly, his face shadowed with pain. He shook his head, his voice hoarse. “No. Not like that.” He paused, swiping a hand over his face as he blinked away tears he couldn’t stop. “She… she never pushed me to talk about my past. She let me open up in my own time, my own way.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought… I thought she’d do the same eventually. And she did, bits and pieces. But it was always vague, like she didn’t want me to see just how bad it was.”

He looked back at the hologram, the image of your face burning into his mind. “She risked her life for me, over and over again. And I didn’t even know the extent of what she’d been through.” His voice cracked. “She deserved better than that.”

“And now,” Natasha said softly, her eyes fixed on him, “she’s back in it.”

Bucky’s head dropped, his fists clenching as he whispered, “Maybe worse this time. She’s not just surviving—she’s destroying herself. And it’s my fault.”

“Buck,” Steve said gently, but Bucky shook his head.

“I thought I was protecting her,” Bucky said, his voice louder now, trembling with emotion. “I thought pushing her away would keep her safe. But all I did was push her right back into the darkness she fought so hard to escape.”

Natasha’s voice softened further, though it carried an edge of warning. “If she’s with him again, he won’t hesitate to use that mind control on her. And if he has… there’s no telling how far she’ll go before she burns out.”

Tony paced, rubbing his temple. “We need to find this guy. Shut him down. If she’s working for him, she won’t stop until someone makes her.”

Steve straightened, his face hardening with resolve. “Then we find him. Find out where he’s operating now.”

Clint nodded, pulling out his tablet. “I can dig up some old intel. He moved a lot, but if he’s still running the same kind of jobs, I can find a pattern.”

Natasha glanced at Bucky, her tone quieter now. “We find him, and we find her. But she’s not coming back willingly, Bucky.”

Bucky lifted his head, his eyes dark and resolute. “I don’t care how far gone she is. She’s still in there, and I’m not giving up on her.” His voice dropped, almost to a whisper. “She has to be.”

Tony tapped the screen again, zooming in on the hologram of your face. “Then we better move fast. Because from the looks of it, she’s already gone too far.”

The team exchanged grim looks, the unspoken weight of what lay ahead settling over them. For Bucky, though, there was no hesitation. No doubt. He would bring you back, no matter what it took.

The quinjet hummed softly as it cut through the night sky, a stark contrast to the tension filling the cabin. The team was locked in silent focus, each member mentally preparing for what they might find at their destination. Natasha sat at the controls, her face unreadable, though her grip on the steering controls was tighter than usual. Clint was beside her, reviewing maps and old intel on the fixer, his expression grim.

Bucky sat alone, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His metal hand flexed and clenched rhythmically, the only outward sign of the storm raging inside him. His thoughts churned relentlessly, replaying every moment since the breakup, every mission where he’d chosen to keep his distance, every chance he had to reach out and didn’t.

Steve, seated across from him, finally broke the silence. “We’ll get her back, Buck,” he said quietly, his voice steady but reassuring. “She’s still in there. We’ll bring her home.”

Bucky didn’t look up, his jaw tightening. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “And what if we don’t?” His eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s, and they were filled with a raw vulnerability that Steve hadn’t seen in years. “What if she’s too far gone, Steve? I thought I was protecting her, keeping her safe by pushing her away. But all I did was shove her right back into the darkness.”

Steve sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “You did what you thought was right. You were trying to protect her from getting hurt.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And now she’s out there, risking her life every day because I made her believe she wasn’t worth saving.” He paused, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know what I’ll do if we can’t bring her back. If she’s too far gone…Steve if we cant get her back….”

Steve reached out, placing a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She’s not gone, Buck. She’s still in there. We’ve seen her come back from worse, and she’s stronger than you think.”

Bucky’s eyes fell back to the floor, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. “I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive me. Hell, I’m not sure I can forgive myself.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the cabin, calm but commanding. “We’re coming up on the last known location of the fixer. This isn’t a guarantee, but it’s our best shot.” She glanced back at Bucky, her expression softer than usual. “You’ll get your chance to fix this, Barnes. But you have to be ready. She’s not the same person you knew.”

Bucky nodded, his resolve hardening. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

The quinjet began its descent, the lights of a small, industrial city coming into view below. Natasha expertly landed on the outskirts of the city, near an abandoned factory that matched the coordinates from her old intel. The team geared up quickly, their movements efficient and quiet.

As they approached the factory, Clint pulled up the blueprints on his tablet. “Looks like a standard setup—main entrance, back exit, and a few access points on the roof. If he’s still using this place, he’ll have guards posted. We’ll have to go in quiet.”

Natasha nodded. “I’ll take point with Clint. Steve, Bucky, cover the rear. Sam, Tony you’re our eyes in the sky.”

Bucky didn’t say a word as they moved into position, his focus entirely on the task ahead. His grip on his rifle was tight, his breathing controlled. But inside, his mind raced with what they might find.

As they entered the factory, the air was thick with dust and the faint smell of oil and metal. The sound of distant machinery hummed through the walls, but the place seemed otherwise deserted.

Clint scanned the area with his thermal scope, whispering, “Two guards up ahead, near the control room.”

Natasha nodded, and within moments, the guards were taken out silently, their bodies crumpling to the floor without a sound. The team moved deeper into the facility, tension building with every step.

Finally, they reached the main floor—a vast, open space filled with crates and scattered equipment. And there, in the center of the room, was a man seated at a desk, his back to them.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “That’s him.”

The fixer turned slowly, as if he’d been expecting them. His face was lined with age, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. He smiled, a cold, predatory grin. “Well, well. The Avengers. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Bucky stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. “Where is she?”

The fixer chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, you must mean out little shadow, our ghost. Quite the asset, isn’t she? A real work of art, that one.”

Bucky’s fists clenched, and Steve put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “Where is she?” Steve demanded.

The fixer sighed, feigning boredom. “She comes and goes as she pleases. I simply provide the opportunities. She’s quite effective, you know. Doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question. Just like old times.”

Natasha stepped forward, her gun trained on him. “What have you done to her?”

The fixer’s smile widened. “Only what she wanted. She came to me, broken and desperate. I gave her purpose, focus. She’s free now, free from all those messy emotions that held her back.”

Bucky’s voice shook with rage. “You didn’t free her. You turned her into a weapon.”

The fixer shrugged, unbothered. “She’s exactly where she wants to be.”

Bucky stepped forward, his voice deadly calm. “And where’s that?”

The fixer’s grin faltered for the first time. “You’ll never find her. She doesn’t want to be found.”

Bucky’s eyes burned with fury, but before he could move, Natasha pulled the trigger, shooting the fixer in the leg. He cried out, clutching his wound as he glared up at her.

“Where. Is. She?” Natasha repeated, her voice ice-cold.

The fixer coughed, blood dripping from his mouth as he chuckled weakly. “She’s already gone. But you’ll find her soon enough. If she wants you to.”

The quinjet touched down silently on the outskirts of the city. The team disembarked quickly, weapons drawn and senses on high alert. The abandoned office building loomed ahead, its shattered windows and graffiti-covered walls a testament to its long-abandoned state. Inside, though, it was anything but empty.

Tony’s voice was a low murmur as he held up his tech pad, showing the heat signatures inside. “Multiple targets on the top floor. Armed, moving in formation. Y/N’s in there, too.”

“Looks like another hit,” Natasha said grimly, her eyes scanning the building. “She’s taking out another crew.”

Bucky clenched his fists, his jaw tight. “We’re not letting her walk out of here alone.”

Natasha nodded, her voice steady. “Stay focused. We get in, neutralize the situation, and bring her back.”

The team moved as one, slipping into the building and making their way up the crumbling stairwell. The sound of muffled voices and footsteps echoed from above, the tension rising with every step. When they reached the top floor, they could hear it clearly now—the sharp commands, the clink of weapons, and then, suddenly, a scream cut short.

Tony raised his hand, signaling them to stop. He brought up the thermal view on his pad. “She’s already started.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as they crept toward the open doorway. From their vantage point, they could see you in the center of the room, moving with deadly precision. You were a blur of efficiency, taking out the armed men one by one, each movement calculated and lethal. Blood spattered across the floor and walls, and your face, but you didn’t falter.

The last two men in the room scrambled to take aim at you, but you were faster. You disarmed one with a quick twist of his wrist, driving a knife into his chest without so much as a flicker of emotion. The final man backed away, terror in his eyes as he aimed his gun at you, his hands trembling.

Before he could pull the trigger, you grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease. His struggles were futile, and the sound of his choked gasps filled the air.

“Y/N!” Bucky’s voice rang out, desperate and raw, cutting through the chaos.

You froze, your grip tightening on the man’s throat as your eyes snapped to Bucky. For a moment, the room seemed to stand still. The team watched, their weapons drawn but hesitating, waiting to see what you would do.

You stared at Bucky, your face blank, eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. Slowly, deliberately, you tightened your grip, and without breaking eye contact with him, you snapped the man’s neck with a sickening crack. His lifeless body fell to the floor with a thud.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bucky took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. “Doll,” he said again, his voice trembling. “What are you doing?”

You stood there, blood splattered across your face, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Your eyes flicked over the rest of the team—Steve, Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Tony—all standing ready, but hesitant to make a move.

The room was suffocatingly silent, the air thick with tension as you stood amidst the bodies of the men you’d just killed. You looked at them—at all of them—as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience. Your once-bright eyes were now cold, lifeless, your pupils blown wide, a sharp contrast to the dim light of the room.

Sam was the first to break the silence. “Her pupils are huge,” he said, his voice low, uneasy. “That’s not normal.”

Natasha’s face tightened. She took a step forward, speaking in Russian, her tone steady but filled with quiet authority. “Ты идешь со мной, младшая сестра. (You’re coming back with me, little sister.)” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Ты сделаешь это легко или трудно? (Are you going to make this easy or hard?)”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you nudged the last man’s lifeless body with your foot, shoving him out of your way with a detached, almost bored expression. Then, finally, you spoke, your voice flat, emotionless.

“ Трудно(Hard).”

Steve sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Are we really doing this? All of us, against her?”

Natasha didn’t break her gaze from you. “No. Just me.” She reached for her baton, switching it on with a low hum of electricity. “Let me try.”

Clint, standing off to the side, silently switched the arrow in his quiver to one tipped with a sedative, his fingers steady but ready. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were locked on you, his movements precise and deliberate like he’d done this before, which of course he has.

Natasha stepped forward slowly, her baton raised but not yet striking. She muttered under her breath, almost to herself, “Дежавю. (Déjà vu.)” Then, in a softer tone, she added in Russian, “Я тебя люблю. (I love you.)”

The words didn’t even register. You moved without hesitation, launching yourself at her with lethal precision. Your first strike was a blur, and Natasha barely had time to block it with her baton. But you were faster, stronger, and more relentless than she remembered. Within seconds, you had her on the defensive, your blows landing harder and faster than she could counter.

Natasha grunted as you landed a kick to her side, sending her stumbling. “Something’s off,” she groaned, clutching her ribs as she stood. “You’re stronger than before.”

Bucky had been standing on the sidelines, his fists clenched, watching you tear through Natasha with ease. His heart broke with every blow you delivered. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forward, his voice cracking slightly.

“Sweetheart, please,” he said, his voice filled with desperation. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You turned toward him, your face still expressionless, and in one swift motion, you pulled a knife from your belt and hurled it at him. Bucky’s reflexes kicked in, and he caught the blade mid-air, but the force of the throw pushed him back a step.

He dropped the knife, his hands raised in a defensive posture. “I’m not going to fight you,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the pain in his eyes. “But I’m not letting you hurt anyone else.”

You didn’t hesitate, launching yourself at him. Bucky blocked every strike, his movements precise, never once retaliating. He didn’t want to hurt you, but you gave him no choice but to defend himself.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted over his shoulder as he deflected another of your attacks. “It’s the serum! She’s got some kind of super-soldier serum!”

Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on his shield. Sam glanced at Clint, who still had his bow drawn. “Will that sedative arrow even work on her if she’s got the serum?”

Clint shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

He loosed the arrow, and it flew toward you, but you moved faster than expected, catching it mid-air. The tip still grazed your arm, injecting just enough of the sedative to make you falter slightly. You wobbled for a second, your movements sluggish, but it wasn’t enough to stop you. You turned the arrow back around, flinging it directly at Clint with lethal precision.

Steve’s shield flew through the air just in time, blocking the arrow before it could hit Clint. The sound of metal striking the arrowhead echoed through the room, but before anyone could make another move, Tony stepped forward, his repulsor glowing.

“This is enough,” Tony said, his voice cold and decisive. He raised his hand, preparing to knock you out.

But before he could fire, Natasha, now back on her feet, grabbed a heavy metal pole from the wreckage around them. She moved quickly, her face set with grim determination.

You turned back toward Bucky, ready to swing at him again, your eyes still filled with that cold, mechanical focus. But Natasha was faster. She swung the pole with all her strength, aiming for the side of your head.

The impact was immediate. Your eyes widened briefly before your body went limp, collapsing to the floor in an unconscious heap.

The room was silent except for the sound of everyone’s heavy breathing. Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he gently cradled your head.

Natasha dropped the pole, her chest heaving as she looked down at you, a mixture of relief and sorrow in her eyes. “Я сожалею, сестра. (I’m sorry, sister.),” she whispered softly.

Steve stepped forward, his shield still in hand. “Let’s get her back to the jet. We’ve got work to do.”

[thesummerstorms]

There's no way at least a few of the Crows gathered for the show down in the Opera House didn't look at Lucanis and Arsinoë de Riva and pick up on the fact that they were involved, even if both parts of the couple thought they were hiding it like professionals.

Most likely, those Crows perceive this as Viago's attempt at a power play.

They're wrong; he's in the corner gritting his teeth and silently begging Arsinoë to stay under the radar for once in her life. Openly attaching herself to the first Talon as a romantic partner makes her a target. That's a complication for House de Riva as a whole, one the Talon part of Viago is already complaining about dealing with, but also in general he wants Arsinoë to live.

(Dellamorte spouses companions do not tend to live long, healthy lives.)

But to the traditionalist Crows' outside point of view, it makes sense for Viago to make a power play through his protege. In his handling of the Illario situation, Lucanis has just exposed the fact that he can, in fact, be manipulated by a soft heart. The way they see it, if Viago then manages to place his protégé as Lucanis's lover and House de Riva as his ally, much less if Arsinoe eventually marries Lucanis and they have children, then Viago will have a considerable amount of influence over the First Talon and the whole of House Dellamorte through her.

Hell, if Arsinoë and Lucanis have children, then after a couple of carefully placed accidents, Viago could even place House de Riva in the seat of first Talon by declaring that his protégé's children belonged to their mother's house.

I cannot stress enough that this is the opposite of what Arsinoë, Lucanis, and Viago all want. Arsinoë doesn't even want to be a mother under regular circumstances, much less as part of an entrapment scheme, and no amount of calculation would ever make Viago use her that way.

But Crows are Crows, and the traditionalists especially do not believe that the more "Reformist" houses like Cantori and de Riva (and now Dellamorte by virtue of Lucanis) don't have some long game they're planning.

So in an a not entirely unexpected move, a few of those Houses send their own agents, their best or most beautiful or most charming, to try and make Lucanis a "better offer" as it were.

Again, this isn't entirely unexpected. Viago can't do much directly without putting more spotlight on Arsinoë or confirming things that he doesn't mean, but Caterina still holds the real power at this point. She deals very harshly with anyone she catches in the attempt.

Arsinoë is a little upset at the disrespect towards her character, significantly more upset that Lucanis has to deal with it, but ultimately stays out of it except comforting Lucanis and deflecting any attempts made in front of her. Maybe the occasional bout of poison, since they've made up their minds about her relationships and reputation either way, but generally it is what it is unless she can spare Lucanis discomfort directly.

Lucanis can't help a certain level of emotional "what the fuck", even though Caterina warned him and Illario extensively growing up that Crows from other Houses might try to romance or bed them as a power play. Illario had responded to that by turning the strategy back on anyone who tried it, not to mention his regular contracts; Lucanis had never thought it would be relevant to himself.

The attempts are upsetting in what they reveal about how outsiders perceive him (weak, easy to manipulate, yes, but also potentially unfaithful which is much more infuriating) and Arsinoë (who's being slandered/minimized). They're also just generally uncomfortable and annoying. Yet he doesn't actually have the power to make them stop; professing his love for Arsinoë doesn't change the perception of those involved. It just puts more of a target on her back.

Spite is honestly the most pissed though. He doesn't even entirely get what's happening. The emotions bleeding over from Lucanis are confusing, even if he's growing to slowly understand emotions outside his domain from his attachment to his mortal host.

He does, however, understand that these other humans are INSULTING his human and their Rook, trying to separate them as if they aren't both Spite's, and trying to hurt them besides.

Spite has many, many ideas how to deal with an insult and a threat. There's a growing risk that one day Lucanis might be fed up enough to agree.

[fratttymatty]

Roots Changed

(All characters are 18+)

Ryan Thornton had always been the quiet, bookish kid. At 18, he was still the same shy, nerdy teenager who spent most of his time buried in science fiction novels, comic books, and the occasional video game. Ryan had come to terms with his place in life: an outsider in high school, an openly gay teen with few friends and even fewer social opportunities. His world was small but comfortable, a safe little bubble in the predominantly white suburb of San Diego where he’d lived his whole life.

But when his mom got a new job and the family moved across the city to a much more diverse, predominantly Latino neighborhood, Ryan didn’t know what to expect. The change was jarring. The new school was like nothing he’d known — crowded, full of energy, and with a culture that felt loud and foreign. The kids here were different, the language they spoke, the way they dressed, the confidence they carried — it was all so much more alive than what Ryan was used to.

In the first few days, Ryan stayed under the radar. He was determined to finish high school without any drama, just getting through the final year before heading to college. But that plan quickly unraveled when a group of the popular kids — the jocks and cheerleaders — took notice of him.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. He tried to keep his head down, but he couldn’t ignore the whispers in the halls, the way people looked at him — the way they sized him up. His pale skin, messy blond hair, awkward stance — all of it screamed “outsider.” It didn’t help that Ryan was the only openly gay kid in the school, and he often felt like an alien in the sea of confident, straight students.

One afternoon, during lunch, the inevitable happened. He was sitting alone at a table when Luis, the captain of the football team, and Sofia, the head cheerleader, approached him with their usual entourage. They towered over him, their presence intimidating, but Ryan couldn’t find the words to excuse himself.

Luis looked down at him, a smug grin on his face. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Ryan swallowed hard. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You don’t really fit in here, huh?” Sofia’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it was sharp. She appraised him like a project. “You’re a little too... quiet for this place. Too nerdy.”

Ryan felt his face flush. He had been used to this kind of thing before, but not quite like this. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting to disappear.

Luis smirked. “Well, we can help with that. Make you more... like us.” He exchanged a quick glance with Sofia, who gave a small nod.

“I don’t really—�� Ryan began to protest, but before he could finish his sentence, they grabbed him by the arms. He struggled, but the group was too strong. Their laughter was loud and mocking, echoing in his ears as they pulled him away from the lunch table, past the curious eyes of the other students, and out to the school parking lot.

“What the hell is going on?” Ryan managed to say, panic setting in as they shoved him into the back of a van.

“We’re gonna make you one of us, gringo,” Luis said, the edge to his voice unmistakable.

Ryan’s heart pounded as the van started moving. “What are you doing? Let me out of here!” But the more he shouted, the less anyone seemed to care. They ignored him, speaking in rapid Spanish, laughing, joking, as if they’d done this before.

The van came to a stop in a neighborhood unfamiliar to Ryan, and they led him into a house that felt more like a base of operations than a home. An older man with tattoos covering his arms stood waiting for them, his expression serious, as though this was just another job.

“Sit,” the man said, gesturing toward a chair in the middle of the room. “We’ve got work to do.”

Ryan’s heart raced in his chest, but he was powerless to fight back. They tied him down, but it wasn’t painful; it was more like they were preparing him for something. The man — who spoke little — went to work, using strange tools and substances on him, altering his appearance in ways that made Ryan’s head spin. His skin, once pale and freckled, slowly darkened, turning a rich olive tone. His features shifted subtly — his jawline more defined, his nose more pronounced. But it wasn’t just his skin that changed.

The most dramatic transformation happened to his hair. Ryan’s once-messy, light brown curls were smoothed out, darkening into a deep, glossy brown. They styled it into a perfectly straight, sharp middle part. It was perfect, almost too perfect. His hair, which had always been unruly, now lay in neat, controlled waves on either side of his head, framing his face in a way that made him look... different.

When the process was finished, they released him from the chair, and Ryan was led to a mirror. He barely recognized the person staring back at him. The face was familiar, but the features were sharper, darker. His hair — sleek and controlled — was no longer his own. The new, confident posture, the athletic build, the deep brown eyes looking back at him — it was like he was staring at someone else.

Luis stood behind him, clapping him on the back with a grin. “Welcome to the team, hermano,” he said, his voice low and proud.

Ryan — or whatever was left of him — looked at himself in the mirror. The old Ryan Thornton was gone, replaced by someone else. Someone new. Someone who looked like he could be a football player. Someone who looked like he belonged here, in this world.

Luis wasn’t finished. “You’re Mateo Hernandez now. We’re not calling you Ryan anymore. You’re one of us, hermano.”

Mateo Hernandez. The name felt strange at first, foreign even, but when he said it aloud, it felt right, like it had always been his. Mateo felt stronger, more confident. He felt like someone who had a place in the world — a world where people like him didn’t get pushed around, a world where his old self didn’t matter.

Over the next few days, Mateo settled into his new life with surprising ease. His old identity, his old life as Ryan Thornton, began to fade. The change was too thorough. The way he spoke was different now. His accent was smoother, more natural, the slang coming to him effortlessly. His new friends, the jocks, the cheerleaders, they accepted him without hesitation. He was one of them now, and they treated him like family.

It didn’t take long before Mateo found himself walking the halls of his new high school with the same confident swagger as Luis or any of the other jocks. He laughed, joked, and participated in everything — the football games, the parties, the casual flirting with the girls in his classes. It all felt so easy, so right. The old Mateo, the quiet, awkward kid who once spent his days hiding in the library, was gone.

Mateo Hernandez was a high school jock. He was strong, he was popular, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he was pretending. He was who he was supposed to be.

And as for Ryan Thornton?

Well, Mateo didn’t even remember who that was anymore.

Mateo Hernandez had found his place. And he wouldn’t change it for anything.

[edenesth]

Cheat Codes and Heartstrings

"Oh, dude, what are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be on a date?" Wooyoung asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend's unexpected appearance at their gaming hangout—a plan Yunho had bailed on to be with his girlfriend.

The taller man sighed, pulling out the empty chair and dropping into it. "She cancelled. Said something important came up, so she couldn't make it. Guess we're gaming now."

Mingi smirked, fingers flying across the keyboard as he struggled to talk while focusing on his ongoing Valorant match. "Told you, man. Nothing beats our bond, not even girls. Bros before hoes, always."

San scoffed, tossing a chip at him from across the table, offended on behalf of his loving partner, who was currently at home baking his favourite brownies while waiting for him. "Yeah, yeah. You're just salty you don't have a girlfriend."

"Yeah right, simp," Mingi rolled his eyes.

Wooyoung snickered. "Nah bro, he's not salty about not having a girlfriend. He's just salty because Yunho betrayed his moral loyalty and fell in love with someone else."

"Shut the hell up, Woo," Mingi shot him a side glare before his friend could fire back with their never-ending bromance joke, muttering a curse as he lost his game. He quickly switched over to League of Legends. "Anyway, you showed up at the perfect time—DoraTheDestroyer's playing today."

That got Yunho's full attention. He immediately perked up, scrambling to log into his Steam account. "No way, seriously? Is she actually here?"

DoraTheDestroyer—the most famous female gaming legend in this part of Seoul—had crushed all LOL players and held the top spot for ages. People often wondered why she hadn't gone pro. Few knew what she really looked like, as she preferred to stay under the radar, slipping in and out of cybercafes in her signature black Adidas windbreaker and cap. She always played in the VIP section, away from the regulars.

"Yeah, she's here. Probably for the weekly tournament, though we all know she never accepts invitations to the national championship," San confirmed, nodding toward the VIP section. The doors were closed, but through the small window, they could glimpse her trademark outfit. "Such a waste of good talent."

"Tell me about it." For a moment, Yunho forgot about his girlfriend, his face lighting up at the sight of the female gamer's familiar profile picture—a popular meme of Tyler the Creator dressed as Dora the Explorer.

"Holy crap, I can't believe we finally get to play against her," he grinned, his heart racing with excitement. He'd been waiting for this moment for a long time. As much as the Korean gaming community hyped her up, he needed to experience her skills firsthand—and get beaten by her—to fully believe she was that good.

Mingi chuckled, flexing his fingers as they geared up for the match. "You should probably thank your girlfriend for cancelling. Turns out it was a blessing in disguise."

The match began, and right away, the female gamer's team took an aggressive stance, pushing hard against their defences. But the guys weren't going down without a fight. They called out positions, planned counters, and slowly gained ground.

At first, it seemed like they were evenly matched. Yunho even managed a few key kills that had him grinning in satisfaction. "Well well, looks like we've got a shot," he said, feeling the adrenaline surge. The game was neck-and-neck, the score swinging back and forth as both teams traded victories in intense skirmishes.

But then, as the match wore on, something shifted. The legend had been quiet for a while—too quiet. Just when they thought they had her pinned, she'd slip away, regrouping with her team in ways that left them scrambling to defend their positions. Her map awareness was on another level, and her timing, impeccable.

Mingi caught on first. "Wait… she's playing us. She's luring us into traps."

It became clear she wasn't just good—she was a strategist, always two steps ahead. The moment they thought they had control, her team would come in for a devastating coordinated attack, wiping them out with perfect synergy. Her ability to manipulate the battlefield, vanish when needed, and strike when least expected left them speechless.

The final battle was the most intense, and for a moment, it looked like Yunho's team might actually pull off a victory. They fought tooth and nail, but in the end, her team made a flawless, surgical final push. The defeat was swift, calculated, and undeniable. And as expected, she emerged as the MVP of the match once again.

Yunho leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily. "She's amazing," he said, awe-struck.

His friends sat in stunned silence, nodding in agreement, still processing the sheer level of skill they had just witnessed.

"Well," Mingi finally spoke, running a hand through his hair. "That was something else."

Yunho was still trying to process the insane skills he had just witnessed. DoraTheDestroyer wasn't just a legend in the community; she was a master tactician. Her stealth, her timing—it was on a level he hadn't even imagined. His heart was still racing from the match when his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a message from his girlfriend.

'Sorry for bailing earlier, Yuyu :((( I just got done, let's meet and I'll make it up to you, okie? <3' — beautiful✨

He stared at the text for a moment, his thumb hovering over the screen. Normally, he'd be up in a flash, eager to meet her. But this time, he stayed seated, his mind still reeling from the game. Wooyoung, who had caught a glimpse of the message, nudged him. "Bro, aren't you going?"

Yunho bit his lip, feeling conflicted. He cared about his girlfriend, but something about what had just happened stuck with him. "This won't do, guys," he said, shaking his head. "I have to convince her to join the national championship. She's too good to be just playing for fun like this. She'd make South Korea proud."

Mingi looked over at him, surprised. "Dude, you're serious?"

Yunho nodded firmly. "She's the real deal, man. If anyone can dominate on the national stage, it's her. I have to try."

He pushed himself off his seat, spotting the female gamer moving to leave the VIP section. "Here goes nothing," he gulped, steeling himself as he approached the figure. She was masked up, her cap pulled low, and walked swiftly toward the cybercafe's exit, ignoring the stares that followed her, just like she always did.

"Wait, miss!" he called out, his heart racing as her steps faltered, but she didn't turn to face him. His friends watched intently, along with all the others in the cafe, curious about what he was about to do.

"Look, I just wanted to say how incredibly talented you are. I don't understand why you haven't gone pro yet, but you need to! I promise you will have my full support, along with all the guys here!" he declared, urgency creeping into his voice. There was a pause, and the room fell silent, everyone holding their breath.

Slowly, she turned around, her head still lowered, the cap obscuring her face. "If I do, will you forgive me?" she replied softly.

Yunho blinked, momentarily speechless. "Wh-what...?" His jaw dropped as she finally removed her cap and mask, revealing...

"Babe?" he gasped.

A chorus of disappointed groans swept through the crowd of amateur gamers, who were heartbroken to finally learn the identity of their goddess—and that she had a boyfriend—one who was just as attractive as she was. The revelation sent murmurs rippling through the room, and a collective sigh of annoyance echoed from the guys, realising their beloved idol was taken.

You nervously bit your lip as you watched your boyfriend stride toward you, each step purposeful. He cupped your face in his hands, his gaze intense as he muttered, "God, I didn't think it was possible to love you even more than I already do."

The crowd quickly dispersed, returning to their games, envious out of their minds.

You beamed at his words, reaching up to cover his hands with yours. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?" you asked hopefully, but his grin took on a sly edge as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, "You wish, baby. It's going to take a lot of making up for that."

Your cheeks flushed at his teasing, warmth spreading through you as he wrapped a possessive arm around your back, guiding you out of the male-dominated space. Stepping outside, you felt excitement and apprehension, knowing that your journey to make amends for keeping your identity a secret was just beginning.

As you walked together, Yunho couldn't help but stare down at you, still trying to process everything. He was in awe. The sweet, innocent girl who had always been at the top of her class and earned "Employee of the Year" at work was also a badass gamer who commanded the virtual battlefield. "Why didn't you just tell me who you were?"

You sighed, leaning into his embrace. "I'm sorry... I know this probably sounds stupid, but I didn't want you to see me differently. What if you didn't like the version of me you just saw? What if—”

"Are you kidding? It is stupid. If anything, I love you even more. Do you have any idea how hot that is? DoraTheDestroyer," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. His tone deepened as he tightened his grip on you. "You could destroy me any day."

You blushed, realising that if you had known your gentle giant had such a naughty side, just as he didn't know about yours, you might have told him from the start.

"Maybe I will, Yuyu."

✨ Bonus ✨

"So, are you still mad at Yunho for betraying his moral loyalty?" Wooyoung teased, nudging Mingi, who was still in shock. "I mean, she's only the nation's best League of Legends player. Do you still think you could go up against her?"

The tall dork cleared his throat, blinking as if that would help him regain his composure. "I might not be able to beat her in League, but that doesn't mean I can't beat her in winning Yunho's affections."

San raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly saying, "Really, brother?"

"Fine… I guess she is kinda cool," Mingi conceded. He crossed his arms, trying to maintain a tough demeanour, but there was no hiding the admiration in his voice. "I'll let her have him if she joins the championship."

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

The idea of gamer Yunho is just so 🫦 this was supposed to be a short little timestamp but as usual, I get carried away and voila.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte |

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar |

@bunny4yungi @zl-world

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[lilimaginebean]

jjk men in highscool (fem!reader)

characters: geto, gojo, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, itadori, megumi, yuta

suguru geto is known for his politeness and calm demeanor. he is a member of the literature and debate club, and is the president of the student council. consistently ranking among the top three students in the final exams. he earned a scholarship to attend a private high school.

you met him in the library while you were searching for new authors to read

he noticed you and offered to recommend some of his favorites books. you recommended him too your favorites authors.

he became interested in you when he discovered you shared taste in literature

after several weeks of discussing literature, he invited you to join the literature club, which you accepted since you weren’t part of any clubs yet

from now on, he treated you like royalty, always saving you a seat beside him, getting your favorite meals from the cafeteria when you were late, walking you to the station...

rumors of a romance between the two of you spread quickly

at the winter festival, when it was his turn to speak to the students, he used that moment to confess his love for you

"from now on, you are going to be treated as que queen you are"

satoru gojo is known for his cockiness and charm, making him the most sought-after boy in highschool. he is the vicepresident of the student council, a position suguru convinced him to take by promising he could skip classes. though he pretended to be a slacker, he worked hard and always got in the top 10 of his class

you've known gojo since childhood, as your mothers were best friends

friendship blossomed into love during adolescence

sadly, your parents enrolled you in an all girls private high school; while satoru attended a diferent private school (good both of you were neighbors)

he always tried to pick you up from school and walk you to your home

being cheesy in public so everyone knew you were taken

despite his playboy image, he remained loyal to you, avoiding interacions with girls, leading students to believe he was unattainable or gay

everyone was shocked during the winter festival when he openly held your hand and proudly showcased you to those around him, revealing he was happily taken

"look at her, but not that much, she is all mine"

kento nanami is a student who prefers to stay under the radar, despite being hard to overlook as an emo blonde dude. he attends a public highscool and serves as the treasurer of the student council. in addition, nanami is the president of the cooking club.

you met him in the cooking club, where you joined to improve your cooking skills. sadly, on the first day, you burned three pans.

nanami was amused by how bad you were at cooking. however he soon discovered that while you struggled with casseroles, you excelled at baking

you taught him baking and he taught you cooking

you both decided to spend time together after classes and club meetings

using groceries shop as excuses for dates

on the last day of school, you decided to confess your feelings by by cooking him fried squid in garlic oil, while he planned to confess too by baking a cheesecake

both dishes turned out terrible, so you opted to go to a restaurant to have your first official date

"i don't mind if it tastes horrible, you cooked it, and that's what matters. Let me eat it"

choso is a student loved knows for his sweet nature and helpfulness, despite his emo appeareance. he attended a public highschool and joined the volleyball club to prevent it from closing due to a shortage of active members.

you were the manager of the volleyball club, at first you feel intrigued by Choso

one time he was practicing spikes he hit you

he nearly had a panick attack and apologized everytime he saw you for the rest of the week

you thought he was cute and decided to help him improve his volleyball skills. you taught him the basic of volleyball and he quickly got it thanks to his great physic

when choso asked about your favorite volleyball position, you told him you preffered opposite hitter

later, when the other members asked him in what position he wanted to play he chose opposite hitter

after winning the first match (it took 5 matches), choso decided to confess his feelings

"next time, i will spike the ball better, trust me, you will be proud of your boyfriend"

toji fushigiro is a teacher's nightmare. he rarely attended classes and whenever he did it, he always escaped by jumping out the window. he studied at a private highschool due to his wealthy family and serves as vicepresident of the tabletop games club.

desesperate teachers assigned Toji a tutor, and you were the chosen one

he agreed to work with you simply because he found you pretty. however, during your tutoring sessions, he often ignored you or stared at passsing girls

"how am i supposed to pay attention when you are so close to me, doll?"

frustated with his attitude, you decided to play along. one day, you entered his club and proposed a bet: if you won at poker, he would take seriously the tutoring; if he won, you would leave him alone.

you won undeniably and for the first time someone beat Toji at poker

true to his word, toji fullfield his promise. when exams came, he actually put effort and ranked in the the top 50 students of all highschool. he felt satisfied with himself and thanked you.

he asked you to keep helping him and you accepted it. by the end of the month, you became study partners, he even helped you whenever you didn't understand something.

by the end of the school year, he decided to proposed you a bet: if he won, you would have a date with him and if you won, he would do whatever you asked him too. you won the bet again, what he didn’t expect was that you asked him to be your boyfriend

sukuna ryomen is surprisingly an outstanding student, excelling in exams. his academic success is why teachers overlooked his violent behavior and malicious actions. he served as the president of the student at his public highschool and is considered the king for giving prestige to the highschool.

you met Sukuna when you approached the student council to propose a new club

while he acknowledged your paperwork, he asked if the club would be financially beneficial for school. when you denied it, he rejected your proposal

in retaliation, you ran for the vacan president position in the next elections

sukuna thought it was amusing and believed you wouldn't be a threat. nevertheless, your ideas were appealing to the students.

though he won the election, he invited you to be his vice president, recognizing your rationality as an asset to elevate the school's prestige

as a peace gift, he let you had your club (he became a member of it too, being the most invested one)

"Look at you brat. You have taken my power in the student council and drained money for your non-profitable club. What is next, stealing my surname?"

yuji itadori is the athlete every sports club desires, however his interests are different. his helpful attitude and sweetness more than make up for his avarage gradesm earning him the affection of teachers. he is also a member of the paranormal occult club, which focuses on a watching horror films.

you and itadori have been classmates since you two were seven. he always wanted to get closer, though he was unsure how

after seeing you practicing for the 200 m race one afternoon, he fell in love with the passion you put in. for him, it was a clear confession of love to him

next day, he showed up to your training, requesting to join the club. the president was hesitant but agreed to accept him if he could beat you in the 200 meters

although you ultimately won, yuji's impressive speed, despite his lack of technique, conviced the president to let him join the team

you helped yuuji improved his technique and he enjoyed your company, often talking to you

yuji dedicated every win race to you

"Although I have won many races, the greatest reward would be if you would give me a chance to take you out on a date"

megumi fushigiro is respected by all his classmates and known as the Defensor for standing up to bullies who explot the weak. he consistently earns above-average grades and has no interest in joining any club

megumi knew you as his sister's gorgeous friend and felt a strong desire to get to to know you better

however, when he learned you had a boyfriend, he chose to step aside

that changed when he overhead his sister mentioning that you were in a toxic relationship

the next day, he spotted you at highschool with your boyfriend , who was being overly agressive. He intervened, confronting him under the pretext of protecting a vulnerable girl.

you frowned and insisted you weren't weak, proving it by kicking your boyfriend in the chest and then the neck while calmly breaking up with him

watching you stand up for yourself in that moment, made Megumi fall for you. as his father told him, he should find a woman with attitude like he did in his highschool year

"Sorry for understimating you, you are even tougher than i thought, would you forgive me if i invited you to a coffee?"

his sister Tsumiki nearly fainted when she found out you were dating her younger brother

yuta okkotsu was the new student at your private highschool, and rumors about him quickly circulated due to his sinister appereance, characterized by pale skin and dark under-eye bags. he joined the kendo club.

your teacher asked you to show Yuta the high school and you agreed

despite being an introvert, he opened up to you, sharing that he lost his closest friend to a car accident. his parents thought the best idea would be to change of environment

after a month, he gained popularity by winning a kendo interhigh competition. a competition the highschool hasn’t won in 20 years. while everyone sought his company, he always chose to be with you

slow burn romance; both of you liked each other, but you feared that confessing your feelings might ruin the beautiful friendship you had built over the years

he decided not to confess his feelings to you since you could get uncomfortable around him

you attended his kendo matches and he came to your art exhibitions, always praising your pantings and giving you a bouquet of flowers

you always accompanied him when he went to visit rika’s grave. he would always thank you with a big smile on his face

on graduation day, yuta asked to meet you in the back garden, before the ceremony. when you arrived, he was waiting with a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

"Every small moment with you has led me to this confession: I am irrevocably a sucker for you"

[devilmademewriteit]

Pretty When You Cry

part 2 of Dark But Just A Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: after getting a taste of dad’s associate, Joel Miller, facedown on a desk, you can’t seem to stay away. despite his best efforts, he can’t seem to, either.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mentions of reader having long-ish hair; alcohol consumption; pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance); age gap; dbf!Joel.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka bestie4lifie

word count: 4.7k

no use of y/n in this fic

Click to read part 1: Dark But Just a Game

Click to read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman

ok y’all here she is!! thank you thank you for the reblogs on part 1! this piece and the last were slightly inspired by the dbf!joel miller drabbles by @anchoeritic, which you can read here. once again, love hearing your feedback, negative and positive, & my requests are always open<3

-em<333

—

It had been months since you’d last seen him.

Joel and Tess had a tendency of disappearing for weeks on end, taking the riskier smuggling jobs that nobody else dared to. How they managed to fly under FEDRA’s radar time and time again remained a mystery to all. The pair had to be extremely well connected on both ends of the spectrum.

It was easy to pretend that nothing had changed. He’d left without a word the morning after the party, taking Tess and a great deal of your father’s ammo along with him. It’s not like you’d expected a warning, much less a goodbye, but his departure still felt so sudden, so pointed. The next day, all he’d left you with was a constellation of light bruises between your thighs and a small, white pill in a dime bag tucked under your bedroom door.

So you went on with your life, only allowing your thoughts to wander in his direction when you’d had too much to drink or whenever you heard the word ‘sweetheart.’

Then, this morning—rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’d stumbled down to the main floor in a scant excuse for pajamas, failing to register the multitude of voices at the base of the stairs in your half-awake state.

And there he was, his spread legs taking up half of the shabby couch, one arm draped casually over the back, his other relaxed at his side. A deer in headlights, you screeched to a stop as soon as you were conscious enough to recognize him, frozen in his gaze as he briefly took you in—one hand shifting subtly to pull at the fabric of his jeans. Then, he looked away, his features hardening into a mask of nonchalance and indifference.

No acknowledgment, no greeting, no nothing.

Great. Things were back to how they’d been before he’d fucked you dumb on a wooden desk.

Scampering back up the stairs, you sealed yourself back into your bedroom, doing your very best to ignore the heat building between your legs.

A heat that only Joel-Fucking-Miller could entice from you.

Leaning your forehead against the door, you kicked yourself mentally for running away from the (non)interaction like a scared little kid. Where had that bygone, unchecked confidence gone? Where was that fearless playfulness you’d so often used against him?

Fine. If Joel wanted to pretend that nothing had happened between you two, he was leaving you with two options.

The first was to ignore him back.

No, you decided. That would be exactly what he’d want of you—what he’d expect of you.

To make things easy for him.

Conveniently, your second option was to make things really, really hard for him. To make it impossible for him to ignore you.

Good thing you were exceptionally well versed in what made Joel Miller incapable of disregarding you. Getting him to snap was practically your specialty, your carefully crafted home-made method.

After all, your incessant teasing had gotten you facedown on a table before, maybe it could get you on your back this time.

Smiling mischievously, you felt your old confidence soar back to its former standing.

—

“What could possibly be more fun than watching a building explode?”

Emma punctuates her tone with incredulity like a needle passing through silk—she was always doing a poor job of managing her attitude when it came to peer-pressuring you.

“C’mon, you know I can’t leave the boss here with all these people,” you lie effortlessly. Of course, you could leave. Hell, your dad probably would’ve preferred it that way. There weren’t many parents who enjoyed or encouraged the presence of their child while they were—oh, just committing criminal offenses—and your father was no exception.

Under normal circumstances, gallivanting around the moonlit city with Emma would’ve been your bread and butter, especially when she had intel on a firefly operation that would be (she hoped) culminating in a few explosions and a ton of rounds fired. But it wasn’t every night that your old man hosted a soirée for the best bandits in the city to congregate, getting them to drink shit liquor and make shit deals.

And Joel Miller was in your home, drinking the strong stuff and actively avoiding you.

So, these were not normal circumstances.

“That’s so lame,” she whines, brow furrowing in anguish as she mourns her mission.

Guilty eyes to the floor, you toss her a placating smile, thankful for her poor observation skills. Despite being raised in a family of highly successful criminals, Emma seriously lacked in the whole ‘perception’ department.

As it happened, you were just about ready to give up on your own mission. Despite going bra-less in the tightest top you owned and wearing the most ass-hugging jeans you could find, Joel hadn’t spared a mere glance in your direction all night.

In fact, you hadn’t even seen the guy. He’d been M.I.A. all night.

Frustrated, you decide to play your final card. Joel Millers aside, it was a fun card to play, even if you ended up losing the game.

Someone was going to have their hands on you tonight.

Scanning the bustling room of criminals, worn-in faces and worn-out hands gliding across your field of vision, your gaze lands on an unfamiliar young man. Tall, blonde-ish, lanky—looks like a toy still in its box, begging to be taken out and played with.

Perfect.

“Give me an hour,” you murmur urgently, catching Emma’s wayward attention, “no questions asked, and I’ll watch the damn shoot out with you, sparky.”

She looks at you, a bewildered smile creeping onto her expression. “But I thought—you just said—”

“Without asking any questions, Em.”

She puts her hands up in mock surrender and backs away, subsequently tapping her wrist and mouthing ‘one hour.’

Straightening yourself out, you ease your way toward your target, landing in the unoccupied space between the young man and the out-of-commission fireplace. He eyes you up before quickly looking away.

Nervous. Good.

“He waters down the drinks, y’know.”

Looking up at him through your eyelashes, the stranger returns your attempt at conversation with a puzzled glance. Jerking your chin, you gesture to his cup, full of a light-brown liquid that was once a spiced rum or a bourbon, now a glass of water barely seasoned with dark liquor.

“Saves the good stuff to repackage and resell to soldiers. His crime co-conspirators get stuck with the weak shit.”

You keep your tone casual, half focussed on the art of flirtation, half eyeing the room for a pair of angry, dark eyes. The boy sizes you up, nodding with sudden respect and understanding.

“You’re the boss’s daughter.”

You smile half-heartedly, a twisted part of you enjoying the look of amazement on his face. “Guilty,” you respond, shrugging sheepishly. Angling your body towards him, you flash him your most exquisite expression of interest.

“Meet him, yet?” You ask, curious to hear his thoughts. After all, your old man never failed to make an impression—nine times out of ten, it was an extremely negative one.

He shakes his head, explaining, “I only know about him ‘cause I’m here running my first job for him.”

“Interesting. And you are…?”

He stares down into his cup.

“Just passing through,” he answers quietly.

“Just-Passing-Through—what an interesting name!” You tease, hand landing gently on his bicep. “Is it foreign?”

The stranger snorts. Eyes darting across the space, you scan the room again for Joel, giggling artificially with the stranger.

“So,” He gestures awkwardly to the dusty, yellowing, crowded room. “You live here?”

You nod, gazing intently into his hazel eyes. The boy’s cute, there’s no denying it, and a tiny voice in your head tells you to forget about Miller, to actually try with this guy and experience something normal, something simple for a change.

But it is a tiny voice, and quickly, another louder, deeper and richer one reemerges to dominate over the softer echoes in your head. “I like needy” “you think of me when you’re touchin’ this pretty pussy?” “Takin’ it so good, pretty girl—”

The pair of bandits in front of you inadvertently shuffle a few feet to the left, clearing a direct path, right down the center of the room. You’re graced with an illuminating glimpse through the disorderly crowd.

He’s leaning against the old gas stove, burly arms crossed over his chest, apparently deep in conversation with your father. Shit. He looks so fucking fine in that dark t-shirt; your breath catches slightly as you trail your gaze up to his face, remembering the way his soft stubble felt against your neck, the way those hands felt on your tits, your ass, your waist, buried inside you…

Cool it, you scold yourself. We’ve still got work to do.

“You like music?” You ask abruptly, returning your attention to the lanky boy at your side.

Taken aback, he rubs the back of his neck, replying, “Uhh, I guess?”

“Great.” Plucking his cup from his grasp and placing it above the fireplace, you hold out your hands to him. He smiles a soft, sweet, shy smile—excitement burgeoning in his timid eyes—and links his fingers with yours.

Pulling the stranger across the room, you briefly lock eyes with Emma, whose mouth gapes open as she relays her classic what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you-and-also-you’re-my-hero expression, which you return with your own specialty, an I-don’t-know-how-we-got-here-but-here-we-are shrug. You make a point not to look in Joel’s direction, giggling affectionately as you climb the stairs with your gaze fixed on the boy’s. It was better if he thought you were doing this because you wanted to and not just to make him jealous.

So what if it was a petty game to play? Games had won you Joel the first time. They could sure as hell win you him again.

Your door creaks on its hinges as you press your free hand to it, the occupied one still interlaced between gentle, long fingers. Guiding the boy into the room, you make a conscious choice to leave the door ajar. Sure, it felt riskier (and that alone was enough to entice you), but it also seemed more natural—something a stupid, horny youngster would do.

The stranger stands self-consciously in the middle of your room, taking in the unmade bed, the faded, distressed curtains, and the old cassette player on your dresser. Shuffling over, you hit play, and Jimi Hendrix’s skilled fingers work their magic over the ancient speakers.

Spinning around to face him, you lean back casually against the hard, wooden edge of the dresser.

“You know it?” You ask, voice infused with seduction, intrigue, and mystery—all those things that men seemed to enjoy.

He frowns in concentration. “Heard it, probably couldn’t name it.”

“Can’t name Hendrix?” You gasp, feigning offense with a hand over your heart. He shrugs shyly, smiling down at his feet.

He really was sweet. Something extremely gentle dominated his disposition, something that pulled you in and asked you not to leave. He’d watch meteor showers with you and lend you his jacket if you shivered within a 10-mile radius of him. He’d ask, “is this okay?” before laying you down and making sweet love to you—missionary, of course, so he could look into your eyes and steal soft moans from your mouth with passionate kisses. Hell, he’d probably get straight for you, ditch the fast life, build a nursery and raise babies with you.

You fling out your hand, daring him to take it. Hesitantly, he moves to grasp your fingers in his, looking down to search your softened stare.

“You’re pretty fearless, huh?” He strokes your index affectionately with his thumb.

Chuckling under your breath, you lift a curious hand to trace his cheekbone. “I know what I want,” you reply in a partly seductive, partly earnest whisper. He ducks his head, and you rise onto your tippy toes to press your lips to his, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“M’I interrupting somethin’?” A deep voice booms from the doorway.

The stranger swings around, revealing one half-annoyed, half-amused Joel Miller, arms crossed, leaning informally against the frame. Your heart lurches in your chest, drumming hard and fast. Stifling the reaction, you fix your eyes unabashedly onto his, recognizing the unchecked danger roaming his gaze.

Oh, fuck.

“Joel.” You acknowledge him coolly. “Nice to have you back.”

He ignores your reproachful taunt and the pointed tone you deliver it in, breaking away from your glare. The tense, tall form next to you shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Joel draws an understated smirk, drinking in the effect of his presence. “You’re needed downstairs.”

You raise an interrogative eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“Not you, sweetheart,” Joel condescends. “Him.”

You gape at him, gaze darting between the two men, not comprehending a damn thing.

“Oh!” The boy lunges forward, extending a gangly hand toward Joel. “You must be the boss, then, yeah?” He gestures back to you. “Told her earlier I was startin’ out with you tonight. Thanks a lot for the opportunity, man, really—” he rambles.

Joel shows no signs of acknowledgment aside from an inconspicuous twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you snort involuntarily—defensively—as over-correction corrupts your tone, gushing, “Joel is not my dad.”

Subtle amusement flashes across Miller’s expression.

“Oh,” the boy responds, hands dropping to his sides in embarrassment.

Joel clears his throat, interrupting the brief interlude of painfully awkward muteness. You think a silent thank you to Jimi Hendrix’s guitar for making the moment a tad less excruciating. “Down the stairs and to the left,” Miller instructs. “They’re waitin’ on you.”

The stranger nods. Shuffling towards the door, he spins on his heels, relaying to you a sheepish wave, mumbling out a hopeful “see you around.”

He leaves. The din from the main floor and the music from the speakers punctuates your tense stand-off with Joel Miller as genuine annoyance clouds your thoughts.

You simmer speechlessly.

“Good song,” he mentions off-hand. Stifling a scoff at the nonchalance, the cockyness, and the sheer casualness of his demeanour, your annoyance swells.

“You’re needed downstairs.” You mock his deep voice, throwing up air quotes to drive the derision home. “Really, Miller? That’s the best you could come up with?”

A shrug.

“S’true, sweetheart. Go n’ see for yourself if you want.”

“Bullshit.”

Again, he shrugs, eyeing you up hungrily, visibly entertained by your flustered state.

“Y’know, Joel, I actually liked this one,” you mutter coolly, realizing the genuine truth of the sentiment as the words roll off your tongue.

“You could do better.”

Huffing a quick breath, you cross your arms and roll your eyes dramatically.

Joel bathes in your ire for only a moment before pushing off the frame and shutting the cracked, dilapidated door behind his back. A familiar tingling spreads through your core, mounting to a buzz as he closes the distance between you. He weaves a hand behind your back—there’s a click, and then the music’s stopped.

“So, that’s it?“ You challenge, Joel’s proximity doing a number on your nervous system. “Just gonna keep ignoring me til’ I’ve got my eyes on someone else?”

Tone both sincere and playful, he rumbles, “jus’ cause I can’t have you, angel, doesn’ mean some other jerk-off gets to.”

Damn it. Damn it right to hell.

Joel’s downright possessiveness makes you weak in the knees, ringing in your ears like a bible hymn. The ridges and valleys of words spell out come home; you think a silent prayer to God, begging him for the strength to resist them. But Joel’s magnetism beckons you towards sin, and no God stands a chance against the unholy look in those darkening eyes.

It serves no use, fighting against it. You craved Joel like a smoker craves nicotine—and you’d risk it all for one more fix.

You needed the man to cave.

“You can have me, Joel.”

A dangerous smile teases his lips. Then, he ducks his head, slowly shaking it side to side.

“Trust me, angel—you don’t want that.”

A huff. “Yes, I do,” you insist.

“You want me to fuck you, that’s it,” voice deepening a near-octave, he straightens to tower over you. “‘Cause if I actually had you…?” He whistles under his breath as the sentence trails off.

A hand cups your face, one wanton finger absentmindedly tracing your cheekbone.

“I’m not a good man, sweetheart.”

Determination courses through your blood as his warning sets your nerves alight. You grasp his thick wrist, turning to place a soft kiss on the skin of his palm. His shadowed eyes lock onto yours, drinking in the sight of your lips dragging across his hand.

“Well,” you purr, seizing what you recognize as the perfect opportunity, “I’m not a ‘good girl,’ either.”

“And I never asked for good, Miller.”

A moment passes—only Joel’s breath, your heartbeat, and the echoes of your invitation disrupt the heavy silence.

And temptation wins him over, once again.

A powerful arm snakes around your back, spinning you around easily. The backs of your knees hit the edge of your mattress, and before you know it, Joel’s pushing your waist down roughly, settling himself between your legs as he looms over your body.

“Y’know,” he muses darkly, eyes wild with lust. “You got some serious fuckin’ daddy issues.”

He undoes the button of your jeans, grabbing the denim at the waist and yanking it unceremoniously over your hips, your ass, and halfway down your thighs. Without wasting a second, he pushes your dampened panties to the side, easing a thick finger between your dripping folds.

“Remind me to thank your old man for that.”

He groans with approval at your wetness, your readiness for him. Crying out “Joel!” in surprise and pleasure, you dig your fingernails into his forearm.

“Fuck, angel,” he breathes softly, watching his digit pumping in and out of you, “Jus’ can’t bring myself to let anyone else touch you like this.” He palms himself through his jeans to relieve some of the building arousal.

“Wanna be the only man this needy lil’ pussy comes for.”

It’s not enough. Tears leak from your eyes and your knuckles go white as you squirm on the unmade sheets—Joel’s touch fills you with ecstasy, but it’s still not enough.

“Joel—” you whine, fighting to prop yourself up on your elbows, forcing yourself to meet his lust-filled gaze before wandering first to the sight of his fingers fucking you, then to the bulge in his pants.

You need more of him.

“I know, sweetheart,” he coos, following your line of vision. ”But I’ll split you right open f’I don’t warm you up first.”

When he slips another finger between your walls, your back collapses against the mattress. Mewls and whimpers tumble from your lips—male satisfaction darkens Joel’s complexion with every moan you give him.

“Know what I thought about, away on the job?” His fingers alternate between curling roughly inside your cunt and rubbing your own slick against your swollen bud. “Thought aaalll about this pretty fuckin’ pussy, takin’ my cock from behind.”

“Pictured it when I used my hand.”

Mouth frozen in a silent “ah,” you look into his hungry, heavy eyes and the grey-speckled hair falling into them.

“Yeah?” You manage, voice involuntarily sliding up an octave.

He cups your cheek and nods.

Your eyebrows knit together in euphoria as his talk and his tantalizing fingers bring you right up to the edge of your climax.

And then Joel’s abruptly pulling his fingers out, leaving you gasping for air on the damn brink of bliss. He drags your jeans and underwear towards your ankles, tearing them from your body and tossing them carelessly onto the bed.

“You take that pill I left you?”

You nod enthusiastically, watching intently as Joel’s wet, wide fingers work impatiently at his buckle. “S’good, baby.” He pulls his own denim over his hips, smirking arrogantly as amazement crosses your expression. You’d forgotten how big he was. “‘Cause I’m gonna need you to take it again.”

It feels like the first time all over again, watching his heavy length bob up and down in front of you. You wonder what he tastes like.

Before you can find out, he’s yanked your legs over his hips, leaning forward to guide the tip of his manhood between your aching folds and teasing you with the dark head of his cock.

You’re moaning a soft “feels s’good, Joel” when he pushes himself entirely inside you, eliciting a sharp squeal from your lips as the curve of his cock grazes that spot inside you—as he bottoms out completely. He releases a low groan; it sounds like angels sighing.

Needing to see more of you, he bunches your shirt above your breasts. “Look at you, baby,” He palms one roughly, teasing and pinching the nipple as his thighs snap against your ass, the torturous combination bringing you closer and closer to oblivion.

“S’fuckin’ pretty with your tits bouncin’ for me.”

Lost in his eyes, expression frozen in ecstasy, you anchor your nails into his forearms, responding to his thrusts by grinding your hips against his.

“Fuckin hell, sweetheart.”

Joel’s eyebrows knit together as he gives you every inch of himself without holding back; your body responds to him—muscles quiver uncontrollably, cunt squeezes devotedly around his cock. The only word you seem to remember is ‘Joel.’

“Squirmin’ like crazy, baby,” he mumbles. “Been waitin’ for me?” His harsh, rhythmic strokes fuck you mute—but that was never an excuse with Joel. A calloused hand circles your gasping throat, pressing softly against your windpipe in an unmistakeable command.

“Words, angel.” Possessiveness underpins his husky demand. “Anyone else fuck you while I was gone?”

You meet his shadowed eyes, gaze hazy with pleasure. “N-no, Joel.”

He groans with approval.

“Fuckin’ right. That’s my girl.”

Your breath quickens as your clit begins to twitch, release simmering between your hips. “Oh god, Joel, I-I can’t—”

When he ducks his head into your neck, the scent of sandalwood soap mingling with his sweat overwhelms you with need; Joel’s teeth nip at your skin affectionately, beard brushing your collarbone as his thumb finds its way to your throbbing bud.

“Ohmygod—Joel, Joel, Joel—” uttering his name in worship, you reach your climax the second his finger presses into your clit—toes curling inside your socks, fingernails digging into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, growing harder and harder as his name tumbles from your lips, punctuating the rhythmic sound of his broad thighs slapping against your skin. “Jus like your lil’ pussy.” His hands move to your waist, squeezing your hips between his calloused hands as he bounces you up and down his pulsing cock.

“Fuckin’ young n’ needy.”

As he fucks you through your orgasm, you feel Joel working another one out of you. Wanton whines and moans escape your throat. Catching glimpses of his broad, towering form over you only makes the fluttering more intense—meeting his wild eyes only brings the simmering heat inside you to a downright boil.

“Please—come inside me—want it so bad—Joel—”

“Keep fuckin’ quiet,” He growls. “Tryna make your poor fuckin’ dad hear you beggin’ for my cum?”

Joel loved fucking you like this.

He loved fucking you with only a shitty, thin door separating your naked, eager body from all the blissfully ignorant assholes he worked with. He loved watching you writhe pathetically under his weight, cunt wrapped around him so desperately.

Made him feel like a man.

“Gonna give me another one?” He goads, voice straining slightly as his own release builds fast between his thighs. “C’mon, baby, wanna feel this pussy comin’ on my cock—js’one more, sweetheart, that’s right—”

His breathing turns shallow as his words tumble out; your eyes roll to the skies as he takes you there again, your near-sobs of “thank you thank you thank you” stifled just in time by the rush of his hand to your lips. Cradling your head, he pulls you into his shoulder and buries himself impossibly deep inside your cunt. You distantly register his muffled “shit—s’fucking good, baby” as his seed soaks your walls. Joel pushes his cum right into your guts with a couple of final, decelerating strokes.

Head still cradled in his neck, stars dance before your eyes. Joel’s chest heaves with every breath he takes, and his exhalations tickle the top vertebrae of your spine. You let your heartbeats settle together, frozen in place as he slowly softens inside you.

Finally, he pulls out with a gentle groan.

“Gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You slump onto the mattress, a cocktail of his cum and your slick leaking out of your pussy, still unable to string along a cohesive sentence.

Softly smiling, he adds under his breath, “Be at the wrong end of every conman and criminal’s rifle f’anyone ever found out about this.”

You prop yourself up on trembling elbows, watching Joel pull his jeans back up over his hips.

“I guess we’ll just have to run away together,” you hum, half-joking, half-serious. “You can teach me how to be a big-bad-smuggler.”

He chuckles, the rumble in his chest blanketing your still-pulsing body with an unfamiliar warmth.

“Yeah, you’d sure like that, huh?” His eyes dance with playfulness, a rare vision of Joel Miller. It suits him. “Wouldn’t last a damn day with you teasin’ me on the job.” He kneels down, finding your underwear and slipping it onto your ankles, wriggling it up your calves—a practiced movement, like something he’d done a million times before. “M’not sure you’d be too crazy about the clickers—though sick n’ decaying does seem to be your type.”

You giggle, lightly slapping his firm shoulder as he bends over you, pulling your damp panties up. His fingers smooth the distressed fabric delicately, lingering on the skin of your hip for a brief, cherishing touch. Silence settles between you as Joel’s thumb strokes your hip absentmindedly. Glasses clink and laughter erupts downstairs.

Brusquely, he clears his throat and straightens up, a hard mask of apathy descending on his features once again.

“Clean yourself up, alright?” He smooths his hair back, heading for the door.

“Joel.”

He knows the meaning behind your tone before you do.

It’s not that there’s anything, in particular, you need him to hear—you just don’t want him to leave.

Not yet. Not now.

Hand on the doorknob, his looming form stills.

“You should…” he begins, eyes glued to the door, throat constricting around his words. “You should go out with that guy. From earlier. Be good for you to see someone your age, y’know.”

“Well, I don’t want that guy,” you respond, sitting up on the mattress, fixing your stare on his back. “Do you really need me to say it, Miller? I don’t care how old you are, or that you’re friends with my dad, or how many people you’ve wasted,” you ramble, the taste of exasperation and agitation building on your tongue. “Hell, I wouldn’t even care if you were fuckin’ infected. I like you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowing together in frustration.

“Well, don’t.”

He exhales, shaking his head with frustration.

“Shouldn’t’ve let this happen again. Made a damn mess of things by fuckin’ you.”

For some extremely unwelcome reason, his words bite like hell. You’d borne your soul to him, been vulnerable with him, had him inside you twice now, and all he viewed you as was a regret. Crestfallen, tears stinging your eyes, you roll onto your side, facing away from him, still half-dressed. You don’t have the capacity to care about how pitiful a sight it is, only wanting the man to leave you to tend to your wounds in peace.

But, of course, he doesn’t.

He won’t.

That hand just can’t seem to twist that fuckin’ knob. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters. “Okay.”

Something like hope begins to bloom in your chest as you hear the concession leaking from his words. You try to beat it down, focussed on the cracks and divots in the wall facing your tear-lined eyes.

“Tess is gone for the week—job outside the Zone.” Despite the tortured strain in his voice, it tastes of desire. “Place’ll be empty. Jus’ don’t let anyone see you.”

With that, he wrenches the door open; a brief swell of noise floods the room before he seals you back in. Still curled up into yourself, the beginnings of a smile etch their way onto your lips. You turn into your pillow, grinning into the linen, unable to contain it.

Victory.

Joel Miller was a hard man. Of that, you were certain. absolutely certain.

But you were also certain that he was soft on you.

And that felt like winning.

—

Read part 1: Dark but Just a Game

Read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman (Let Me Hold You Like a Baby)

—

TAGLIST: @witchy-jadda @bookofbee @ninebluehearts @jbcalway @jasminedragoon @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed

—

TAGLIST: @witchy-jadda @ninebluehearts@jbcalway @jasminedragoon@mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo94 @ninebluehearts

[hippiegoth97]

Random Spencer Reid Thought #1

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, fem!reader, bau!reader, new relationship, sex at work, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, no use of Y/N, caught in the act (kinda, at the end), fluff

Some Tags: @hotwritergf @melodymunson @rafeyscurtainbangs @mediocredreams @loserboysandlithium

@bloodibambiidoll @littlexdeaths @sanctumdemunson @cairro-xx @veemoon (tbh I wasn't sure who all to tag, so I tagged some moots and people I know usually read my stuff. Feel free to ignore if it's not your thing tho lol)

"I swear to god, you're gonna get us caught one of these days, Reid." You say breathlessly, tugging on Spencer's tie to keep his lips close to yours. You'd dragged him into a nearby supply closet after the rest of the team had dispersed for lunch, most of them heading to a new BBQ place nearby. They'd asked you and Spencer to come along, but you've both had much more pressing things on your mind.

From the second you came in this morning (separately, of course, even though he'd stayed the night at your place), your eyes have wandered from your work to each other's desks from across the cluster. It's been absolute torture, forced to sit so far apart, unable to touch each other or whisper all the dirty things you plan to do later. All you had to get yourself by was vivid thoughts of Spencer tossing his papers away, stalking over to you, and bending you over your desk to fuck you silly. You're sure he was picturing similar filthy things, given how often he cleared his throat and crossed or uncrossed his legs. Although, the ideas inside his head are usually more centered around getting down on his knees and burying his face between your thighs. It's a wonder that nobody seemed to notice your discomfort, really. The amount of stolen glances and fidgeting in your seats are certainly behaviors that should set off a profiler's internal alarms. But, thus far, you've managed to fly just below everyone's radar.

You've been seeing each other for a few months now, keeping it a secret from everybody else. It started off as a fluke date shortly after you joined the BAU team, and Spencer took a shine to your quick wit and bottomless well of intellect in no time at all. He'd asked you out for coffee (after a barrage of peer-pressuring encouragement from Morgan), wanting to show you around a bit as you were new to the area at the time. Spencer was a complete gentleman, opening the door for you, pulling out your chair, offering you his jacket when you got cold. Add on the way you talked one another's ears off about everything under the sun, moon and stars, and you were hooked on each other in an instant. Neither of you had met anyone who could keep up, or maintain your interest before. By the time he walked you home that night, you shared in the knowledge that this...spark you felt was something special.

Things progressed rather quickly from there. You've gone out together at least once a week, even sneaking out at night during cases to get some quality time in. A dinner here, a tipsy make-out in either of your hotel rooms there, as well as more educational outings to the planetarium, various lectures, and art exhibits when you're at home base. It didn't take long to heat things up, either. Spencer was less experienced than you, having only a couple casual hook-ups under his belt, which went as awkwardly as one would expect. But you were patient with him, showing him what you like and what you don't, helping him figure out the same for himself. It was a simultaneously experimental and exhilarating experience for you both when you finally had sex the first time.

And now, here you are, all wandering hands and moaning mouths in a closet full of office supplies. Spencer's got you sitting on a metal filing cabinet, legs spread in your pencil skirt as he stands between them. His large hands grip and squeeze your thighs, while he rolls his hips to press his erection against your clothed cunt. "Don't act as if the idea of getting found out doesn't turn you on." Spencer teases, smiling against your lips as you tug him forward into another kiss.

"Maybe a little." You admit, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. Your eyes drift closed, and you feel his hand slowly slip further down your leg and under your skirt. His lithe fingers pull your panties to the side, rubbing sensual circles around your clit. You moan down his throat, your own hands reaching blindly for his belt now. You don't have a lot of time, as much as you hate to rush this.

"We should tell them soon. It's only a matter of time before they catch on." Spencer suggests, slipping two fingers into your soaked pussy with ease. The sound he ends up swallowing from your lungs makes his dick twitch inside his pants. Never in his life did he think he'd be so lucky to find a woman like you, or a woman at all, for that matter. Spencer enjoys every moment spent with you like it's his last, and it's been nice existing in this safe romantic bubble. But sneaking around has its disadvantages, namely having to keep his hands to himself when you're around the team. Far be it from Reid to be unprofessional in any sense, but, fuck, it's so hard to behave when you're around.

"I know, Penelope's been dropping lots of extra hints lately." You say with a light laugh, your insides boiling as Spencer curls his digits inside of you. They're perfectly long and slender, reaching all the right places every time. He's made you come with them alone on many occasions.

"I noticed. She's not very subtle." Reid chuckles, his gaze drifting down as you manage to get his belt unfastened. You waste no time in undoing to button and zip, reaching inside his boxers to grab hold of his aching length. According to you, he's very well endowed. Even though he's aware the average size of male genitalia is 5.1 inches when erect, he's never gotten curious enough to measure himself. A brief visual guess probably puts him at around seven or eight, not that he's all that concerned about it. All he cares about it making you happy, and his mind is far too vast to be fixated on how long his cock is.

"I don't think she ever has been." You comment, eyes focused on Spencer's dick in your grasp. He's rock solid, his tip rosy pink and leaking pearlescent precum. The sight makes your pussy throb around Reid's fingers. If you had more time, you'd drop to your knees in an instant.

"And that's why we love her." Spencer adds, groaning as you stroke him nice and slow. The both of you keep this up for a moment, zeroing in on one another's most sensitive areas that you've craved all day. Soft sighs and moans leave your mouths, mingling with the wet schlick sounds of your foreplay. "But, enough about the team." He says softly, meeting your gaze. His free hand cups your cheek, drawing you in closer as you stare into his beautiful brown eyes. "This moment is just for us." He nearly whispers as he kisses you deeply, lovingly. Neither of you have dropped the 'L' word yet, though you both certainly feel it for one another. But the time to say it definitely isn't during a lunchtime quickie in a damn closet. The occasion will present itself, at a later date.

While Spencer has your attention captured in the kiss, he gently takes his cock from your grasp and into his own. He gasps against you, tangling his tongue with yours to make your knees weak, just like you taught him. He gives his dick a couple fervent strokes, taking his fingers out of your cunt so he can line himself up. You whine at the loss, though your stomach twists in anticipation of what will soon take their place. Using his pruned fingers to hold your panties to the side, the sticky tip of Spencer's cock nudges against your center. More moans brew within your throats, kept hidden inside to prevent you from being discovered.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, hands tangling in his hair as you melt into him. His lips and tongue make you feel dizzy with lust, and his cockhead rutting against your folds is sending you into orbit. "Spence, please. I need you, baby." You plead between desperate kisses.

"I need you, too, you have no idea." Reid replies, pulling back just a moment so he can see what he's doing. He positions his dick at your entrance, and pushes inside at an agonizing pace. Low moans escape you both, you at the stretch, and him at the squeeze. "Fuck, you're so wet." Spencer says, trying to keep his cool.

"All for you, Spence." You say sweetly, locking your ankles behind his back, pulling him as close to you as possible with your legs. His hands return to your thighs, holding on tight as he begins to thrust.

Spencer starts off slow, watching as his cock pumps in and out of your pussy with no resistance. Your arousal makes him all shiny in the dim light, already forming a creamy ring around his base. "God, you're perfect." He exhales, unable to think of a single thing that looks as beautiful as this. The two of you, becoming one, your interlocking parts sculpted by nature to fit together flawlessly. Nothing within his expansive memory could possibly compare.

"So are you, baby. Can you go faster? We're running out of time." You beg pathetically, needing this release before you inevitably have to go back to work filling out papers and looking over crime scene photos.

"I hate how right you are about that." Spencer replies with a broken sigh, picking up speed with his thrusts. The infallibly accurate internal clock you share is ticking down, every push of his hips against yours marking each second that's taken from you. He plants his lips on yours again, focusing on giving you what those desperate noises you're making are telling him. You need him, all of him. Every last inch rutting into your sopping cunt until you see stars. And when it comes to you, Reid always aims to please.

"Fuck, Spence, just like that." You pant between fervent kisses, marveling at the way his cock pounds into your g-spot with flawless precision. The coil of arousal you've been building up since you sat down with your coffee this morning ripples and tangles with every thrust.

It becomes rather difficult for Spencer to keep kissing you when his pace picks up even more. His head falls forward, resting on your shoulder as he continues to wind you both up towards ecstasy. He turns his head slightly, hatching the naughty idea to speak lowly in your ear. "I can't wait until we get home later, and I can take my time with you." He says, trying so hard not to let the loud groans he wants to emit come through. They come out as hushed whimpers instead, which only turns you on more.

"Fuck." You let out a small noise of your own, muted as you bite down on your lower lip. But he hears it all the same, and keeps going.

"I'll spend all night touching you in all your favorite places, fuck you until the sun comes up, make you cry out for me as many times as you ask me to." His words are equally filthy and adoring, showing you just how much he wants to worship you and your body. Chills run up and down your spine as he speaks, his breath burning hot against your neck. It's nearly too much, and yet, you can't enough.

"God, Spence, please don't stop!" You moan, far too loudly.

"Now who's gonna get us caught?" Reid teases, even though the way you squealed nearly made him blow his load entirely.

"Sorry...sorry..." You pant the words out, for fear of being too loud again.

"It's okay, baby. I like knowing just how good I make you feel." He coos to you, almost sending you over the edge. Your walls squeeze around him tightly in warning. His breath catches at the sensation, right there with you in terms of how close you are to reaching climax. "God, that's it...you're so close, so am I. Gonna make you cum, gonna make you feel so good, I swear...so fucking good..." Spencer's mind sprints faster than his mouth can get the words out, barely audible as he buries himself further into your neck. He slams himself into you even harder, faster, chasing his release and dragging you alongside him.

"Spencer, oh my god." You gasp as he hits that perfect place inside you cunt even better than before, his hips pounding against yours hard enough to leave bruises. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, his mouth sucking and licking at your neck in a feverish need to make you lose control. It's definitely working, the waves of bliss beginning to roll over you in thick crashes. "Oh, god, make me cum, baby...don't stop, you feel so good..." You babble mindlessly as your insides flutter around Reid's dick, threatening to clamp down on him at any moment. "Fuck, oh, I'm gonna cum...oh, god- fuck...oh, spenceSpenceSPENCE!" You clap a hand over your mouth to conceal your scream as your orgasm takes hold. You tremble violently in Spencer's grip, your pussy strangling him with all its might. Stars blur your vision, pure pleasure coursing through your veins at lightning speed. You cling to him, nails clawing at his back, heels digging into his ass helplessly.

"Fuck-ing- god." Spencer stutters out as you squeeze him so tight, biting down hard into your neck to muffle the load groan rushing from his chest. He pierces you sloppily through his release, painting your eager walls with thick ropes of sticky white, hips stuttering and feral grunts leaving him with every stab of his spent cock. He gradually comes to a stop as your shared high subsides, pulling his softening length from you, watching as your mixed release flows from your now-sore cunt. He reaches into his pocket for a kerchief he keeps for such occasions, gazing adoringly into your lust-drunk eyes as he cleans you up. He would use his mouth, if there were time for such things.

You gasp as the soft fabric meets your puffy lips, never breaking Spencer's stare while he takes care of you. You've never felt more in love in your life than you do right now, with your legs still spread wide open, while this gorgeous, scrawny, genius wipes your combined spend away. Once you're all clean, he pulls your skirt back down over your legs, and puts his flaccid cock inside his pants, fastening the belt with casual ease. He helps you down from the cabinet, noting your wobbling legs as you stand in your sensible heels.

"All set?" He asks, earning a giggle from you as his hair has become more of a mess than usual.

"Almost." You say softly, smoothing down his unruly locks to look more presentable, and less like you two just went to town on each other over lunch. "Well, we'd better get back out there. The others should be arriving back now." You say, heading for the door first. You hate to leave at all, but the last thing you need is to get caught right now.

"I'll wait the three minutes, and meet you back in there." Three minutes, the amount of time you'd determined was appropriate enough to excuse you both coming back to the bullpen near the same time without raising suspicion. No one bats an eye at three minutes difference. It could be explained away as a coffee refill, a bathroom break, anything really. But returning at the same time? Or leaving this small room at the same time? Out of the question. You'd made the mistake of returning at the same time once, and you didn't hear the end of it from the team for a good three days, despite the assertion that you and Reid had been in separate places at the time.

"Okay. See you then." You nod, giving him a quick kiss. You open the door, checking to see if the coast is clear. Satisfied with your findings, you step out from the closet, closing the door behind you. You're about to turn and walk in the direction of the bullpen, when you end up smack dab in front of Penelope. You have no idea where she came from just now, or how long she's been hiding out. But the sly smirk on her face tells you she knows enough. "Hey, Garcia. How was your lunch?" You ask nervously, failing to play it cool.

"Oh, it was good. I brought some leftover eggplant parmesan from home." Penelope replies, nearly bursting with the knowledge that you and Reid have indeed been hooking up, as she rightly suspected. "How was yours?" She asks coyly, biting her lip as she expects you to spill all the gory details she couldn't hear through the door.

"It was...fine. I packed a lunch as well." You answer, clearing your throat.

"Oh, I'm sure you packed something. What did you have? Some sausage maybe? Or a footlong?" Penelope continues to tease, and at this point, you know the jig is up.

"Oh, alright! Yes, I did! You happy now?" You exclaim, rolling your eyes as your arms cross out of reflex.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Garcia chuckles, doing one of the dorkiest victory dances you've ever seen. The few passersby give her a sideways glance, but she doesn't pay them any mind.

"Okay, okay!" You put your hands on her shoulders to still her, meeting her eyes. "Look, can you just promise me you won't say anything? Spencer and I plan to tell everyone when the time is right, but we like keeping this thing to ourselves for now. Alright?" You implore with her to keep her mouth shut, for your sake, as your friend, and Spencer's.

"Yeah, I can do that." She nods in understanding, pulling you in for a hug. "I'm so happy for you guys!" She squeals, getting excited again.

"Thanks, Garcia. I appreciate that." You smile, returning her embrace.

"So do I." Spencer says from the other side of the door.

"You better treat her right, pretty boy! Or mama is gonna get you!" Penelope warns with all the love in the world.

"I fully intend to." Spencer replies, and you can practically see his lovesick expression from out here, and how his eyes must be looking straight at where he imagines you're standing, meaning every one of those four simple words.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Can you please do one where the reader isn’t feeling well and a recruit offers to escort her to her room (Bucky and Sam are in a meeting) but then tries to take advantage of her? She feels dirty, ashamed, and breaks up with Bucky. Weeks pass before she works up the courage to return to the Compound, knowing the recruit will be there, because she misses seeing Bucky and Sam. They hang out, and as she is leaving, the recruit corners her. Bucky overhears him being mouthy. After the recruit is dealt with, Bucky assures her that he loves her and that she is not damaged goods, so to speak. Thanks! 🩷

You’re Not Damaged Goods

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: Mentions of assault. Angst.

Y/N clutched her stomach as another wave of nausea rolled through her, leaving her lightheaded and unsteady. Training that morning had been brutal—pushing through her discomfort in the hopes of staying under the radar hadn’t helped. The last thing she wanted was to bother Bucky, who was tied up in a strategy meeting with Sam and the team.

As she stumbled out of the gym, leaning heavily against the wall for balance, a recruit named Jared jogged over. Tall, with sandy blonde hair and a cocky smirk, he was one of the newer faces around the compound.

"Hey, you okay?" Jared asked, concern lacing his tone.

Y/N tried to wave him off. "Just… not feeling great. I'll manage."

"You sure? You look pale. Come on, let me help you get to your room," he offered, his hand brushing her arm.

She hesitated. Normally, she’d decline, but the thought of collapsing in the hallway was worse. "Okay, thanks," she murmured.

Jared slipped an arm around her waist, steadying her as they walked. His grip felt a little too tight, but she chalked it up to his effort to support her. As they turned a corner, she noticed they weren’t heading toward her room.

"Wait," she said, pulling back slightly. "My room's the other way."

Jared grinned, the concern in his eyes replaced by something darker. "Relax. I just thought we could… talk somewhere private."

Alarm bells rang in her head. She tried to step away, but his grip tightened. "No, I think I'll head to my room now," she said firmly.

Jared's smile turned predatory. "Don't be like that. You’ve got to know how pretty you are, right? Bucky doesn’t have to know."

Her heart pounded as panic set in. "Let go of me," she demanded, her voice trembling.

Instead, he pressed her against the wall, the cold surface biting into her back as his weight pinned her in place. His breath was hot and rancid against her ear, sending a shiver of dread through her. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the muffled sounds of agents passing in nearby hallways. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to move, to fight, but her limbs felt leaden, her fear momentarily paralyzing her.

“Come on,” Jared whispered, his tone dark and filled with deep intent, “you don’t have to play hard to get.”

Her heart clenched as his hand slid lower, crossing a boundary that made her want to throw up.

A surge of adrenaline flooded her system, snapping her out of her frozen state. She shoved him hard with every ounce of strength she could muster, her hands shaking violently as she forced distance between them.

"I said no!" she shouted, her voice breaking with raw fear. It echoed down the hallway, a desperate plea for anyone—someone—to hear.

A passing agent rounded the corner, startling Jared enough that he lost concentration. Y/N didn’t waste a second, bolting down the hallway and locking herself in her room. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. She felt dirty, humiliated, and most of all, ashamed.

That night, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Bucky. He’d been so happy after the meeting, his smile so genuine. How could she burden him with this? Instead, she let the memory fester, her thoughts spiraling. By the next morning, she’d made a decision.

She had to leave.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Weeks passed, and Y/N’s absence was a gaping hole in Bucky’s life.

He tried to reach her—calls, texts, even showing up at her old apartment—but she never responded. Sam tried to reassure him. "She probably just needs space," he’d said.

But Bucky knew it was more than that.

He just didn’t know why.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Y/N hadn’t planned to return to the compound. Every step she took inside brought back memories of Jared’s leer and the way his hands had pinned her in place. But she missed Bucky and Sam. She missed their banter, the way Bucky’s presence made her feel safe.

She made herself small as she walked through the halls, avoiding eye contact. She found Sam first, laughing in the kitchen. Bucky was next, sparring in the gym. Both greeted her warmly, but she kept her distance, her guilt gnawing at her.

“I should go,” she said after a few hours, clutching her bag tightly.

“You sure?” Sam asked. “We just got you back.”

“I’ll visit again soon,” she promised.

As she stepped into the hallway, she froze. Jared stood at the far end, his eyes locking on her immediately. His smirk was back, sharper and more menacing than ever. She tried to turn away, but he was already moving toward her.

"Y/N," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Long time no see."

She didn’t respond, quickening her pace, but he grabbed her arm, spinning her to face him.

“Running away again?” Jared sneered. “You don’t need to pretend you didn’t like it when I—”

“Get your hands off her.”

Bucky’s voice was low and steady, sending a chill down Jared’s spine. He was standing just a few feet away, his jaw tight and eyes blazing with fury.

Jared laughed nervously. “Hey, man. Just talking to her.”

“Agent Lee,” Bucky took a step closer, his voice ice-cold. “You have 10 seconds to get out of eyeshot.”

Jared released her arm, raising his hands defensively. “I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” Bucky snapped.

“I gave you 10 seconds, you now have 5. Here’s how this is going to work,” Bucky continued, his voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. “You’re going to stay far away from her—from any woman in this compound, actually. You don’t speak to her. You don’t look at her. Hell, you don’t even think about her.”

Bucky leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper now, but no less terrifying. "Because if I catch you stepping out of line again, they’re not going to need a meeting to figure out why you’ve gone missing. You’ll just disappear. And trust me, I’m very good at making things disappear."

The ghost of a smirk played on his lips as he straightened, his gaze never wavering. "So, what’s it gonna be? Are you walking out of here, or am I carrying you out in pieces?"

Jared swallowed hard, his face pale, his bravado crumbling. Bucky’s stance didn’t waver, his protectiveness a palpable force that seemed to radiate through the air.

"You made the wrong choice coming after her," Bucky added, a final warning in his icy tone. "And if you’re dumb enough to try again? You’ll find out just how bad of a mistake that was."

Jared muttered something under his breath before retreating, but not before Bucky stepped forward, towering over him. “If you so much as look at her again, I will invert your ribcage, you sad fuck.”

As soon as Jared disappeared, Bucky turned to Y/N. She was trembling, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Doll,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

She nodded weakly, but tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“For leaving. For not telling you. For—”

He silenced her with a gentle hand on her cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for. This wasn’t your fault.”

“I feel… ruined,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “Like I’m not the same person I was before.”

“Listen to me,” Bucky said firmly, his thumb brushing away her tears. “You are not broken. You are not dirty. What he did—what he tried to do—doesn’t define you. And it sure as hell doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Her lip quivered as she met his gaze. “You mean that?”

“Every word,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She melted against him, the weight of weeks of guilt and shame finally lifting.

“You’re my everything, Y/N.”

For the first time in weeks, she let herself believe it.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope this is what you were wanting, Hun. It’s a bit heavier than my usual stuff so, I really tried to capture your request as best I could. 🫶

Requests Open!