#i have no recollection of making this I just opened my drafts and found it

[give-bucky-his-boyfriend-back]

Superneightural

[pedropascallme]

Celebrity Crushes

Pairing: Damien Haas x gn!Reader

Summary: "He had never said it was for a video, though maybe at this point you should’ve been able to guess that being asked for a list of three top choices was for this series."

Warnings: Brief mention of being drunk but otherwise none :)

AN: Hi guys!! I wrote this in 20 minutes so it’s…rough around the edges….but you’ve been so sweet and patient with me while I get my shit together now that I’m back from school!! I have many many WIPs that I plan on publishing soon that will have much more substance than this, but I still hope this helps hold you over for another week or so <3

You delayed your own emergence from sleep. Your bed was comfortable, warmer than usual, maybe thanks to the open blinds that let sunlight dapple the room. It was so easy to fall back into the snug embrace of slumber as you stretched against your sheets. You rolled over, eyes still heavily lidded and blinking to avoid the light as you felt around for your phone on the nightstand.

You yawned, stretching again; you let your back arch off the bed, feet poking out from beneath your blanket as you let your ankles crack—a quiet, congenial noise, and an even more satisfying feeling.

There were several messages waiting for you when you unlocked your phone.

Ang: UM??

Ang: New games vid????

Ang: 😵‍💫😵‍💫

You: What?

Ang: Dude🫠

You: What??

You: Isn’t it a Shayne guesses

You: I just woke up

Ang: Hold on

They were not the messages you’d been anticipating on a peaceful morning off from work. Angela’s texts woke you up immediately, her words burying themselves in your head as adrenaline took hold, muscles tensing, and you felt something pull at your stomach.

Had someone said something? Had you said something? Had you been somewhere you weren’t meant to be? Did it even involve you? Was she simply acknowledging something fucked up or funny that you had played no part in?

You held your phone in a vice grip, white-knuckling it and waiting to hear how exactly the new upload pertained to you—if it pertained to you—and whether you’d still have a job or any friends by the end of the day.

You felt a soft buzz on your fingers and snapped your attention to the screen, hoping to see Angela’s name.

Court: Was the new video planned or…

You: What is happening

You: Angela texted me too

You: I literally just woke up

Court: omg🥹

You felt hot. Not in the cozy way you had been when you woke up, but in a burnt cheeks and stomachache way. This was not something you had ever woken up to before, it was not at all routine, and you worried that your time at Smosh was up based solely on the manner in which your friends were texting you.

Another buzz. Kiana this time.

Kiana: I told Spencer not to keep it in the final cut

Kiana: But it’s really cute actually

You wanted to throw up. Shakily leaning back in bed, you tried to type out a response to Kiana that would help you wrap your mind around what exactly it was that you should be worried about.

Another buzz alerted you to Angela’s late reply, and you abandoned the message you had been drafting for Kiana.

Ang: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzUs87BMpsc

Ang: 26 minute mark & then watch to the end

Ang: 🥴🥴🫶🏻

You had been right. It was another installment of Shayne Guesses, but you had no recollection of sending in a formal submission of…

“Can I identify someone, based on their top three celebrity crushes?”

Your heart jumped to your throat.

If this was going where you thought it was, you’d send in your letter of resignation by tonight.

You found the timestamp Angela had sent you, and immediately grimaced, folding your body into itself. You wiped a hand over your face, as if rubbing your eyes hard enough would make this all go away, leaving you to wake up fresh and unabashed.

“Ok—ok, I can work with this,” Shayne’s eyes darted over the screen, shouting a laugh when he took in the options given to him. “So Pedro Pascal—expected—Cillian Murphy, and he looks younger there. Is that what he looks like now? No…”

“No, that’s from like, 2000-something,” Spencer responded off camera, “I did not choose that picture.”

“Ok, 2000s Cillian Murphy, Pedro Pascal, and Damien Haas.” Shayne paused to stifle a chuckle. “This is the second time you’ve broken your own rule!” He stared pointedly at Spencer.

“Bro, that’s Shez from Fire Emblem!” Spencer argued, still out of frame, and Shayne bit the inside of his cheek.

“I mean,” Shayne looked at the list of names in front of him, “I feel like, you know, maybe it’s not…maybe it isn’t super obvious to people watching, but I think it’s a pretty easy guess for anybody in the office.”

“So what’s your answer?” Spencer asked.

“Oh, come on, like you need to ask,” Shayne crossed his arms before triumphantly declaring your name. “Final answer, look—” He clicked to the next page, and there was your headshot.

Your headshot.

Because Damien was one of your celebrity crushes.

One whom you worked with, and were friends with, and hung out with, and ate lunch with.

You felt your eye twitch.

You paused the video in a huff, too mortified to follow Angela’s instructions and watch it to the end.

You might’ve laughed if you weren’t so besides yourself with embarrassment. You were deeply confused as to how that list had even made it into the upload when you hadn’t sent it in.

You racked your brain, trying to remember if you’d drunkenly sent an email, or given an ok when you were only half awake.

You could recall, vaguely, a text exchange with Spencer a few weeks ago, where he had asked, out of the blue, about your top three celebrity crushes. And you gave your answers, sent a few googled pictures, all in good fun, to your friend.

He had never said it was for a video, though maybe at this point you should’ve been able to guess that being asked for a list of three top choices was for this series.

You: Charles.

You: What happened to confidentiality.

Spence: I CNA EXPLIAN

Spence: CAN

Spence: EXPLAIN

You: 🤨

Spence: LISTEN

Spence: I THOUGTH YOU KNWE

Spence: I THOIGHT IT WASSON PURPOSE

Spence: I THOUGHT HE KNEW??

Spence: BECAUSE HIS??

Spence: Please don’t kill me I have a family.

Spence: And I’ll buy you lunch.

You: You’ll buy me lunch for a month.

Spence: A week

You: Two weeks

Spence: Deal🤑

Spence: I love you❤��❤️

Spence: And I’m sorry I went over y’all’s heads

You weren’t mad.

Honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to be genuinely angry; it was hard to be mad at one of your dearest friends over something that was so clearly a misunderstanding. Especially when it had no real bearing on your career or public image.

This just meant that people would now be fully aware that you had the hots for a coworker.

And said coworker would also be fully aware of it. You tried to push down the shame.

You: Accepted

You: I love you too❤️

You: I want Thai tomorrow

Spence: Would you settle for shirt?

You: I'll kill you.

Spence: Don’t you have another smosh man to bother🧐

You smiled at your own reassuring words, and Spencer’s acknowledgement of his fuckup was equally as helpful in improving your mood, as was his casual banter. For a moment that was enough to make you forget why your stomach was still in knots.

It could be argued that it was an open secret, it certainly seemed as though your friends were more shocked to see your list make it into the final cut of the video than they were to see the list itself. You counted on your fingers: who had you told, who figured it out like a child's simple jigsaw puzzle, who had asked point-blank after seeing you interact with Damien.

You ran out of fingers.

Still, you felt that you’d been cautious enough about it, to the point that Damien himself, at least, hadn’t seemed to figure it out, despite the amount of time you spent together, and the large portion of that time that you spent with a dopey grin on your face and a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Maybe he hadn’t seen the video. Maybe he’d never see the video. Maybe he wasn’t even planning on being online today at all.

Or maybe you could change your name and disappear for a while.

Maybe you’d be in the clear.

You took deep breaths, trying to settle your brain and your heart and the shakiness of your hands.

And then Damien’s name lit up your phone screen, and the results of your impromptu meditation were immediately gone, thrown out the window with your composure.

Damimen: Very interesting list

You: I’m so sorry

Damimen: What?

Damimen: Why?

You: I didn’t mean for you to find out this way

You: Very publicly on a Wednesday morning

Damimen: Who said I was just finding out?

You: Shut up

You: I’m good at keeping secrets

Damimen: I know

Damimen: Angela and Chanse aren’t tho

You: Oh god dammit

Damimen: Which is why I knew not to tell them anything about my list

Damimen: And I mean

Damimen: Stuff that I'd generally like to be kept under wraps

You: So the launch codes are safe?

Damimen: Are they safe if they're with me?

Damimen: 🤯

You: MR PRESIDENT!!

You: Wait

You: Joking aside

You: What are you talking about

You: Wdym “not telling them about your list”

Damimen: Did you not watch the whole video?

You: Got kinda distracted

You: Needed to make Spencer fear for his life a little

Damimen: ???

Damimen: Watch til the end

Damimen: And then come over?

Damimen: If you want?

You furrowed your brow, questions still unanswered, but pleased that he wasn’t upset with you.

You found your way back to the video, clicking forward again until you saw Damien’s headshot and then rewinding to see his list.

Pictures of you.

Three pictures of you. Pictures he had taken when you were together; at the ren faire, getting coffee, in the office.

And now the texts from everybody remarking on how cute the video was made sense. They hadn’t been referring to your list, they’d been referring to Damien’s more than forward response that worked in tandem with yours.

“Not a lot of variety to this one,” Shayne laughed into his hands, “I don’t really have to guess cause there’s only one name left on this list, but even if there wasn’t…This is Damien. Yeah, no, this is Damien. Final answer.”

“How do you know?” Spencer pushed.

“Well I mean, I, y’know, I received these pictures from Damien when they were taken,” Shayne spoke as if it should’ve been apparent, “But also. Come on. I know. See,” he clicked to the next page, where Damien’s name and picture appeared. Shayne raised his arms in triumph.

Your mouth fell open and your lips curved up into a subtle smile.

If you hadn’t been obvious, you’d certainly been oblivious.

The pictures of you that Damien had taken lined up on the screen paired with Shayne’s assurance in his answer, the knowing chuckles from off screen, it all made your heart skip. You felt it sinking from your throat and back into your chest where it belonged, thrumming contentedly.

Damien’s handle on your heart didn’t worry you. If anything, it relaxed you, made you feel safe, collected despite the rollercoaster of a morning you’d had. The discovery of a crush requited made you feel giddy; young and in love.

You: On my way

You: Gimme 20 minutes

You: And send me those pictures

You: 😘

Damimen: 🫡🥰

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Uh.... Apparently I wrote this in the middle of the night but also I have no recollection of it. The things I found on my drafts are so funny lol. Enjoy??? And on another note, gonna finish my others requests this week, I promise! 🥺🤞

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, domestic fluff, I think, soft!Sebby, nudeness, kidnapping but reader doesn't care anymore.

That night, as the moon shone in the starry sky, Sebastian prepared a hot bath for his beloved. The scents of herbs and flowers filled the air, he had even lit several candles of different colors to create an even more comfortable atmosphere. Sebastian was perfect in every way, even though the beginning of your relationship was turbulent, everything had now improved.

Carefully he adjusted the water temperature, making sure it was perfect and exactly how you like it. His beloved mate deserved the best after such a stressful day.

With a calm smile on his lips, Sebastian entered the room he shared with you. There the demon's heart leaped inside his chest, something he would never have believed possible before. You were sitting in your armchair, with a tired expression and your eyes heavy with sleep. Sebastian approached silently, wrapping you in his strong arms.

"Bassy?” You opened your eyes, holding back a yawn but settling comfortably into his arms.

"Shh, go back to sleep darling, I'll take care of you now." He whispered in your ear as he carries you to the bathroom. And you gave yourself to your loved one's care without question, trusting him completely.

If it were a few months ago though, Sebastian thinks with grace, you would force your eyes open and fight against his touch, fight against everything he would do because you used to fear him. Sometimes you still would evade him but now just to tease him and to see the expressions on his face. "It's priceless", you often say.

With skill and delicacy, Sebastian undressed you, revealing the soft skin he adored so much. He let your body sink into the hot water, listening to your sleepy sighs of delight with a smile. Tenderness adorned every movement he made, washing every inch of your body, his fingers gliding gently across your skin, massaging your tense muscles and making you let out soft giggles.

You are such a precious little thing. Giving yourself over to him and his sick love, a love that consumed and consumed and never stopped growing. A love that took away everything you knew, but gave you everything you needed. Sebastian didn't care if it was unhealthy or selfish, he only cared that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

He loved every detail of you, every imperfection that made you unique in his eyes. In other times this feeling would have been a source of shame for the demon, but now it was something he was proud of.

When the bath came to an end, you woke up as the heat of the water left you, but you were soon wrapped in the soft, fluffy towel. Sebastian took you back to the bedroom, humming as he sat you down on the bed and dried every part of your body.

You smiled. "You know you didn't have to do all that."

Sebastian rolled his eyes at your statement. What kind of lover would he be if he couldn't do that? Instead of answering you, he inquired. "What do you want to wear to bed?"

Normally you would wear your pajamas, but for the last few days you have been sleeping in one of his shirts. They were long and had his signature scent even after they were washed, they were comfortable just like you had said after this became a constant occurrence. The look on your face already responded and Sebastian promptly presented you with the white shirt, helping you put it on with the same delicacy used when he bathed you.

You pulled him closer as he reached to fasten the buttons and left several small, noisy kisses across his face. If he was a human, you knew that at that moment he would have blushed due to the expression that inhabited his face at that moment.

He helped you lie down right away, kissing your forehead. The candles were extinguished, the covers were placed over you to protect you from the cold, he walked away to put the towel to dry and when he returned your eyes were already closed. It was difficult not to feel drowsy when all that surrounded your small house were wide woods that stretched out immensely.

"Sleep well, my beloved mate," Sebastian whispered, caressing your face very, very sofly.

The demon also changed his clothes before joining your side, pulling you closer until your back was flush against his chest and resting his head in the crook of your neck. As sleep enveloped you completely, Sebastian smiled, watching your nose curl and your eyebrows twitch, listening to your sighs and snores and feeling your heart beating.

Demons don't usually sleep, but they can if they want. Before you, Sebastian used to think all of this was beneath him. But now that he has you, now that he has experienced love for the first time, he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him too without thinking twice.

[thedevilsoftruth]

Iniquitous ~ Loki x fem! reader

Summary: You are a maid for the royal family of Asgard, but little did you know of how much your prince really likes you.

Warning: Smut with plot? Heavy, heavy, smut. Filthy, rough sex. Arrogant, narcissistic Loki, Slight non con, Dom! Loki, Sadist Loki, knife play, blood mentions, heavy degrading ( Loki calls the reader a whore/slut ) over simulation, bondage, oral ( fem receiving) Loki being obsessed with the reader, drugging. Minors dni

This is the darkest thing I have ever written. The ending is actually really freaking sad, and I had the sitting in my drafts for so long because I just didn’t like it. Anyways, here she is, enjoy!

Word count: 6k || Read time: 20+ minutes

Gif from lokihiddleston

Night came down on Asgard with the full, bright moon above illuminating the dark sky. Loki wondered the halls of his " precious " home, the castle which resided the royal family including himself. Although he was King Odins son, he never felt as though his father or mother gave him the attention he truly desired. It was always his brother who seemed to be the favorite. It was always his brother who seemed to be blessed with the most luck. His brother was always in the league as for whoever would get the throne next. But when it came to Loki, it seemed all he brought to the table was chaos and mischief, always fighting with his brother over anything.He truly thought he wasn’t able to meet anyone who seemed to have the slightest care for him. Until you came to him. You were kind and gentle with him, you were the only person who really seemed to care

 The moon shone above the kingdom and casted a ghostly, yet beautiful glare of light through the windows of the building, filling in the dark spaces. Lokis green eyes moved to see through his brows as his head hung low. He had partaken in evil, but not this kind of evil.  Something about the moonlight, or maybe the fact he was carrying your unconscious body in his arms was filling him with some sort of twisted lust. These halls he had wondered for decades he had met many different people and tried to feel love through that, nothing seemed to work out well and he found himself falling into a certain depression. But tonight he knew he would never be the same, as he was going to feel some sort of comfort through his lechery. 

His eyes darted back onto your sweet face in his arms as he recollected the things that had happened before this very moment. The shouting, the anger.’

 " I wasn't trying to seduce her, brother. what is this nonsense you speak of? " Thor asked him in distress and confusion, throwing his hands up as his brows knitted together. 

Loki looked down at his hands, not wanting to make eye contact with his disappointment of a brother.

  " I saw what you did to her, she's not yours. " Loki utterd, clenching his jaw tightly as his fingers curled into fists. 

  " I never claimed her as mine, brother. if you would just listen to me- " Thor argued back desperately, only to be cut off. 

  " why should I listen to you!? You tried to kiss my beloved, I saw it with my own two eyes. " Loki raised his voice, his fingernails digging so deep into his skin he could feel it leaving marks. 

  " It was just a greeting, brother. All I did was kiss her on her cheek, I meant nothing else. " Thors voice became quiet as his nose burned as if he were going to cry. He felt hurt as well, he never wanted to fight like this with his brother but unfortunately not eveything went the way he wished. Loki shot his brother a deadly glare. 

  " if you touch or talk to her again, my brother, I will make you wish you never crossed paths with her. " Loki growled before turning his heel and walking away to look for you. And then that was it. it only took him an ambush, but oh he had you now. 

He finally reached his chambers with your inert form in his arms, using his magic to thrash the door open and close. 

 Once inside his chambers he set you carefully on his bed,sitting between your legs as he awaited your consciousness to return. Your face twitched and your arms jerked slightly through your sleep and Loki admired the sight. He leaned in and pulled your hair in your face over your ear so he could place a tender kiss on your cheek. 

  His fingers went up to your chest to touch the collar of your shirt and then.. 

  Your eyes opened as you awakened, your lashes fluttering against your soft skin as your head hurt too much to sit up. You groaned as your vison somewhat cleared from being so blurry, and Loki vaguely came into your vison. 

" mmm... Loki? " You rasped and blinked rapidly trying to clear your vision, but still couldn't quite focus on his face properly. what was he doing there? 

" shh, my love. " he hushed you in a gravely tone as he leaned in more to connect your lips with his, kissing you softly and patiently. You groaned into his mouth, pulling away confused. 

" what are you doing? "you questioned him, your voice weak and small. the room spun and your head felt like it was bashed into the ground repeatedly. He simply hushed you again. 

" worry not, darling. you and I have a lot to talk about, my love. " he spoke softly as he combed your hair back with his slim fingers. you tried to remember what happened before this moment, but everything was so foggy and your body was just so exhausted. Your brow raised, curious about what he had to say. He gave you a gentle smile and raised your hand to kiss your soft knuckles. 

" I've been watching you for a really long time now. I'd say you've got some kind of hold on me. " he said with a chuckle, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone lovingly as he stared down at you with soft green eyes. your brows furrowed harder.

" what do you mean, ' watching me? ' "you questioned the sly god as he towered above you. He grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers with his. 

" You're so wonderful. " he sighed as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and let go your fingers, slowly slipping off his jacket from his shoulders and tossing it like it was nothing. you were confused and in pain, and to be honest you were quite scared. You closed your eyes tightly and tried to remember what happened last. All you could remember was finishing talking with Thor and then going off into the halls to finish cleaning the common room before someone grabbed you from behind and covered your mouth, but who was that? 

" Loki, please be more precise with me. I'm beginning to get scared. " you spoke with a wobbly voice as your eyes opened, your body starting to feel less numb. He lifted his head from the crook of your neck and his expression softened into a fake pout. His thumb traced over your cheek before trailing to your plump lips and running sideways over your wet bottom lip. 

" aww, so pathetic. " he mocked through a chuckle as he lowered back down again to kiss your wet lips. You whimpered against his skin as he bit down harshly on your lower lip, making you yelp and jerk your head back. 

Lokis hand lowered down to his belt, pulling out a pocketknife and rising his hand to your face with the unopened knife in his hand. 

" look at you, so pretty and vulnerable. are you going to cry? " he taunted in a high voice, pressing a button on the pocketknife and making the blade pop out. Your nose burned and your vision became blurry with tears. This was it. There wasn't even anything you could do about it, you were weak and powerless. 

" please, Loki. I'm sorry if I did anything- "  your voice was shaky as you stuttered your words, hoping he wouldn't do anything bad fo you. 

" oh darling, " he began in that same husky tone. " just keep begging like that. I love you so much. " his warm hand went on the side of your neck to support you as the blade of his knife grazed the skin on your face harsh enough to draw blood, making the tears you held back to come pouring out of your eyes. You cried out in agony as he pressed harder against your cheek before quickly pulling the knife out of your bloddy skin. He bit his lip at the sight of you crying and it only made him more lecherous. He set the now bloody blade on the nightstand next to the bed, his legs repositioning between you to straddle your lap, making sure you didn't go anywhere.

Lokis eyes darted back at you, his energy prurient and randy. His tongue darted out of his two lips and he hunched over to lick the blood off of your soft cheek. You stared in horror as he lifted his gaze to yours, your very own blood all over his lips like an animal. 

Your breath became short and uneven as he licked the blood that coated his lips. your head was throbbing and your thoughts were racing, how did you get yourself into this situation!?

 You were just a simple maid working around the palace, you had talked to Loki a lot but you would have never though he would think of you like this. you were a mere peasant and he was a god and a Prince. And yet here you were. As much as he disgusted you, you felt some sort of weird liking for the way he was touching you. you knew it was wrong, but it truly was tempting to just give in.  

Your eyes painfully cluttered open, and when they did you wished they didn't. Loki was naked from the waist down and your shirt was off of you and hanging off of his shoulder. How did that happen? You gave him wide eyes and sat upright, backing away with your arms covering your almost bare chest. 

" magic comes in handy sometimes. now come here, darling. I need you. " He voice was low as he beckoned you closer with his right hand, his left grabbing your arm and sliding you underneath himself like how he had you earlier.  He pinned you beneath him as you felt his hardness press against your center, making you gasp softly and turn to face the other way. You felt guilty with how easily you were letting him just take you. 

" I don't want this. " you whispered through a quiet sob as his fingers fiddled with your bra strap. He panted against your exposed skin, his breath hot and making your body shiver. 

he gave you another fake pout. 

 " You know, I've longed for this moment for a really long time. I like you a lot. I don't know what I would do if you said no. " He said, his tone of voice low and somber as he held your hand in his own and against his cheek. He gave your hand a small peck, his gaze not leaving yours as he gave you a pleading look. you shook your head, tears streaming down your wet face and soaking the green silky sheets beneath your shaking form. 

there was a moment of silence. you were afraid to close your eyes, but you couldn't keep them open much longer and you so badly needed more tears to come down. You could feel him moving in between your legs, though you couldn't see him.He dropped your hand and now you could feel his hands underneath your long skirt, lifting it up to drop all the way down to your hips. 

 Your eyes fluttered open to painfully meet his sultry gaze. He looked at you through his raised brows with a smirk, his hands sneaking under your thighs to prop your legs around his now nude body. He was beautiful. 

He was vile, but good lord he was a very charming man. As you stared at him, his smirk grew. It was like he knew what you were thinking. 

" Don't fight it, " he whispered as his cold fingers slid your undergarments off of your pretty little legs with a singular swift move. He bent down, his form towering over you and casting a shadow over you. The room was dark, but the moon shining through the window illuminating him. he looked like he was under a spotlight or like he was twinkling like a star in the night sky. he looked so handsome over you, it was just so sad how he got you in the position. He gave your lips a quick peck, his slim fingers going up and under your back to unbuckle your laced bra. He propped you up on his lap, sitting you upright as he slid your bra off your shoulders and tossed that aside as well. Your breasts were now exposed for him to see and he chuckled as you hugged your chest with embarrassment. He chuckled. 

" aww, don't hid yourself. what's the point if you don't have anywhere to turn anymore? " he breathed against the back of your neck, his huge cold hand running up and down your bare back. " so sad. " he laughed, kissing your shoulder tenderly. He looked back at you with that smug face.

" you belong to me now. All I need is you right now, so don't try to leave me or things will end up very bad for you. " he uttered, his tone licentious as it echoed in the large space. He laid you back down on your back on his king sized bed and pinned you down by your wrists   on the silky sheets. 

" I want you to say you need me. Say it. " he demanded, his hot breath fanning over your cold body. You gulped as your last tear rolled down your cheek, not wanting to say anything or oblige to his orders. But he was so beautiful, how could you not resist? His eyes were mesmerizing. Your throat burned.

 " I need you, Loki. " you said, your voice sounding guttural. he chuckled gravely, his grip on your wrists tightening. You even said his name. There was nothing that turned him on more than your pathetic body underneath him like this, especially when you spoke to him like that and obliged to his orders so easily. But he was getting bored now, he needed more excitement.

 Loki pressed his erect tip against your enterance, making you yelp in surprise. His face lowered down to the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. His nose grazed against your skin, trailing up to the back of your ear and making you quiver. 

 " Such a good little whore. Now say it louder." He said, slowly sliding an inch of his lubricated tip into your wet entrance. You whimpered quietly and your hips bucked up as you bit your lip hard. 

  " Please. I need you, Loki! " you supplicated desperately yet loudly. You writhed underneath him as he pulled himself out completely, leaving you empty and cold. You whined at his teasing, he was testing you. You closed your eyes tightly. 

  " Please! " you were only saying it the first time, just to be safe but now you actually meant it and it was driving the both of you crazy. He chuckled against your skin at your precious reactions, his voice sending vibrations through the room and your neck. He hummed as he lifted his gaze and grinned. 

" So obedient and eager. " He growled that last part, his index and middle fingers sliding up from your wrists to pin your palms down, his other fingers clenching around your wrist. With that, he wasted no time to shove his length into your tight hole with one harsh thrust. You bit your lip harder, trying your utmost hardest to not let your moans slip out.

 " Such a whore.I guess it wouldn't matter if you wanted me or not anyways. " he muttered under his breath  as he continued his pace against your quivering form. His thick erection slid in and out of your slick walls that clenched around him. He was perfect. Every thrust he gave sent you inches to heaven. You truly felt like you were being penetrated by a god.  His big muscles flexed every time he slammed into you and you couldn't help moaning louder each time. 

His lips hovered above your ear, his lips grazing the sensitive skin on the side of it as he moaned and groaned with his rough movements. 

Loki grabbed your hips to hold you in place as he rammed into you harder, his shaft twitching deep into your sopping cunt.

" So good. Just so good for me. Do you understand what you are doing to me? " he murmured against your ear, his words sending shivers down your entire body. Your lips trembled, sliva dripping down your chin as you slightly shook your head. Your parted lips let out breathy little moans of pleasure in sync with his pelvic thrusting. 

Loki took his hand off of your hip and rised his  thumb to touch your tremoring wet lips. He leaned his face in with yours, your noses merely touching and his pace slowing. His thumb fell on your bottom lip and slowly grazed the soft skin before grabbing your chin roughly with his other fingers, forcing your mouth agape. 

" Don't close your eyes or look away from me. " he whispered, his voice gruff but smooth. he let go of your face and pulled himself out of you entirely, making your eyes shut and making you whimper desperately. Loki hummed at your reaction, his other hand that was pinning you down going onto your chest as his second now wondering your thigh. 

" Loki... please.. " you mewled, your hand gripping his shoulder weakly as he stared down at you with an intense gaze. He smirked, his hand that was on your chest beginning to graze your hard nipple. You but your lip to try and hold back your sounds of pleasure but it was difficult when he was teasing you like that. 

" Look, " he started, his hand fondling your stimulated breast. " at me. " he ordered frimly, making you shake your head in response as your tear filled eyes darted towards his emerald ones. he chortled at the sight of you. 

" mmm, good girl. " he cooed in a praise as he gave you a peck your wet lips, reaching for the drawer of his night stand for something as he kissed you passionately. You whined quietly and squirmed underneath him. It was so hot and uncomfortable, all you wanted was him inside you again.

" Hush, my love. " he whispered into your mouth as he pulled out something from the drawer that made a loud metal clanking. You we're too scared to look at what it was as because you had a feeling it was something bad. Loki pulled away to fix his attention on something else, but you wouldn't allow yourself to look at what he was doing. He looked back at you with a dangerous gaze. 

" Sit up, pet. " he spat, making you nod your head frantically and sit upright with your quaking body. Loki smiled innocently at you as he held up something in your vison. It was a pair of handcuffs. He unlocked them from each side, his eyes still fixed on yours seductively. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to do. That disgusting smirk on his face never left. 

Loki grabbed your wrist and cuffed it to the bedpost, straining you from making too much movements. The god clicked his tongue and slid his body down yours, making his way to your naked legs and never taking his gaze from you. He trailed kisses from your stomach to your lower abdomen, earning tiny moans from you in the process.

 Loki lifted the back of your thighs and placed them on his shoulders so he could bury his face in between your legs like the hungry animal he was. His face lowered down to your drenched womanhood, his lips coming in contact with your throbbing cunt. Your head threw back as his hot breath fanned over your desperate sex, his lips abrading your wetness.

His tongue glided up and down your folds repeatedly before stopping at your pulsating clit. He looked at your piteous form through his brows, humming against your clit as he did so and making your legs jerk with pleasure. 

You felt so pathetic and vulnerable like this, underneath him as he ate you out like the greedy slut you were. 

His tongue lapped around your throbbing clit , sucking gently while circling the ring that was throbbing painfully in anticipation of him. He took a hand off of your thigh, rubbing in over your lower abdomen as he gave your bud a kiss. He licked the tips of his middle and index fingers and dipped their bases into your entrance, inserting them in and out slowly and making your body shake from shock. 

You screamed and thrashed beneath him, your legs jerking and your bound hand clawing in the air. You heard a deep rumble from Loki, the vibrations traveling to your inner core and causing a new wave of blissfulness to course through your entire body. Your thighs clenched around his face tightly, making him growl and take his fingers out of you, seizing your thighs roughly. 

" stop fucking squirming! " Loki snarled lowly as he glared at you through his brows.  You were panting heavily but you kept your eyes averted in shame, looking anywhere but at him.

His large hands gripped onto either side of your hips, holding you tightly in place as he lifted his head up out of your heat. He licked his lips and leaned in to give you a sloppy kiss as he positioned his hips in between your legs comfortably once more. He wasted no time to slide his thick length back inside you again, his large hands gripping your waist as he pumped in and out of you roughly like he did before. 

 Your hands curled into fists in the air, your hips shaking wildly at the feeling of him stretching you out completely. You couldn't hold in any of your moans. you wanted more of him, wanted every inch of his whole being even if it was wrong.  

Loki had never felt such intense emotions until now. It had been what he longed and what he utmost desired. When he first met you it was like your hearts were binded together, like you guys were meant to be with each other. And now he had you. All underneath him and moaning like the sad being you were. He had to admit, it was the one of the best sexual experiences he's had. But it wasn't enough, he needed more. 

Loki pulled you in for another kiss, his pace becoming faster as his memeber pushed deeper into your core, making you cry into his mouth. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue gliding against your bottom lip as his hips rocked against yours. There was a loud wet sound coming from your sex's rubbing together, echoing through his room along with both of your moans and groans of pleasure. He didn't care if it was loud, he needed satisfaction. All he cared for at the moment was sweet release. 

Lokis hand went up to curl a fist around the locks of your hair tightly as he slammed almost every inch of his length into you, his pace erratic and his breathing ragged. You were a fever, and you were taking over him. But every touch was too much for you, hitting every nerve in your system. Loki pulled away from your lips, leaving you to feel cold without the cordiality of his lips. 

" You're so damn gorgeous like this. " he whispered huskily as he moved his dominant hand to grab the headboard of his bed, his hips rolling back and forward with such force that made the bed slam against the wall repeatedly. Your moans were gasps and screams now, your back arching like a cat in heat as he gave you his all. Your free hand gripped the green sheets beneath your sweating body as your bound hand tugged as far as it could in the handcuffs desperately. 

" Ha— Loki! " you screamed his name as your mind cluttered with pure lust and desire. You felt a burning in your abdomen, letting you know you were close. 

  With on swift move, Loki was able to push every inch of his shaft into the deepest and sweetest part of your core. He repeatedly hit your sweet spot and growled lowly as you screamed and moaned in sync with his thrusts.  Your nails dug into the sheets, your whole body tensing up as he pounded into you relentlessly. With bucked hips, you grinded against his pulsating length to help reach your peak as he drived into that same spot over and over again. And it worked. 

With high pitched scream, you came undone all around his full length, your body convulsing violently with waves of ecstasy that washed through your whole being. 

Your chest  heaved up and down as the warm liquid discharged out of your body. Once you caught your breath, you finally turned your head to meet Loki's gaze. He stared lovingly at your disheveled appearance as you panted underneath him. He took his hand off the headboard and used it to swoop your hair back and kiss your sweaty forehead. 

" Good girl.  " he praised in a whisper against your skin, his voice croaky and guttural. " look at you, you've made such a mess underneath me. "  he cooed, his fingers running through your hair softly. He hummed softly as he gave you another kiss on your forehead, his hand slipping off of your head and down to the side of your jaw. 

" I just need you to keep being a good girl as I go another round on you. "he said with a wicked grin plastered on his handsome face. He hadn't even pulled out of you yet, either. You let out a soft cry and you covered your face into the sheets, knowing he was just going to being more torture. 

Loki  began kissing your cheek and moving to your jaw, leaving his lips lingering there for quite some time before he moved back to kiss your neck. 

" I want you to beg. " he purred against your skin, his long lashes fluttering against your skin. He finally pulled himself out of you,  sending an ache straight through your core like a fire. You winced in pain and his hand brushed your hair. His gaze drew back to the nightstand next to the bed. he was able to reach the top drawer from the bed and he pulled out a tiny sliver key from the cluttered drawer. He used the key to unlock the handcuffs, your arms falling down limply next to you with a red swollen wrist. 

" Stand up. " Loki demanded, spanking your ass hard enough that it burned and was sure to leave a mark. You whimpered and stood up shakily, feeling lightheaded due to all the moving around. You felt exhausted, your legs wobbling underneath you as you used the nightstand for support. Loki shifted behind you and wrapped his arms around you. 

" you know, I didn't quite like that interaction you had with my lovely brother Thor earlier. " He whispered against the crook of your neck as he gave you sloppy wet kisses around your skin. He nibbled at your skin and his hands rubbing your warm stomach. You let out a small moan at his touch, f a mixture of pleasure and discomfort coursing through you as his hot breath sent shivers down your spine. 

" I'm sorry if I did something that upset you, Loki. Thor was simply greeting me- " Your voice was small, but cut off before you could finish. 

" I didn't ask for your inexact excuses. " he growled, moving your body against the cold wall. He moved your arms behind your back and held both your wrists together with one hand. You felt your ragged breath returning. Your mind was cluttered and you were exceedingly overwhelmed. You gave him a glance over your shoulder.

" You think me a liar, Loki? "  You asked curiously, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. But you hadn't been lying to him, he was your prince and you were supposed to be loyal to him. 

" Never forget that you're mine, y/n. not Thors, not anyone else's, mine. " He tone incensed and almost like a growl as his grip on your tightened. You nodded your head, feeling your knees about to give out underneath you.

Loki's bare chest rest against your back, his wet tip twitching against your soaking entrance that had just been covered in your hot cum. He bent down and placed his lips right next to the sensitive nub of your ear.

" Now take me again like the piteous slut you are." He growled, entering you again and watching you scream in agony and pleasure. Every touch was enough to make you spill out, it was like he was working magic against you. As much as you hated it, you knew you loved it. As much as you just wanted to stop comprehend what was going on, you just wanted to be oblivious and simply drown in the rapture of the moment. Everything around you was hot and dizzy as he worked you into a frenzy, making your body jolt wildly against his.  Loki loved seeing you writhe like this in his reach in ecstasy and pain. It was so intoxicating; it was just his own little fantasy, which was intensely satisfying to him because it was all he could think about for days. He felt himself just about to reach his full satisfaction, his breathing becoming labored and his fingernails digging into your skin as he thrashed into you. You couldn't help but moan his name while feeling that burning sensation return in your core. His movements became jerky and a bit out of rhythm, he could barely take it anymore and it was getting hard for you to continue to hold on as well. He whimpered and pulled out, turning you around to come face to face with you as he pushed you back down on his bed. 

He wasted no time to get back inside you again, rocking his hips against yours like an absolute mad man and immediately hitting your sweet spot like it was nothing.  You gasped loudly in response, your hands tgrabbing around his shoulders as your eyes rolled backwards into your head.  The feeling was overwhelming and absolutely blissful. He groaned your name with urgency as his long desired orgasm came over him so intensely he couldnt stop moaning. The white liquid coated the deepest parts of you and you felt yourself reaching peak as well, only adding to the mess. Your entire body was trembling and twitching, still incapable of comprehending what the hell had just happened. Loki ran his fingers through your hair again and the gave your forehead a kiss. 

" so obedient, you are. you know I could hit that spot without even trying. " he spoke through a chuckled as he magicked his way back into his clothes. He gave your forehead another kiss before standing up and walking around the bed. He threw you a white lacy robe. where did he get that from, you wondered as you felt the silky fabric. 

" Get dressed. " you heard his voice speak as you turned away from him. You did as such, wrapping the comfy piece of clothing around your stilly shaky form. You were surprised that you could still move... barely. The second you tied the robe closed you fell off the bed due to immense exhaustion. Loki shifted in front of you and squatted down on his knee, bringing your hand into his own so he could help you up. 

" ah.. Loki, my head hurts. " you groaned, rubbing your temples to see if that could help you at all. Loki hummed emphatically amd brought you back into his warm embrace. His hand ran up and down your arm soothingly. 

" I know, darling. here, you should drink some water. " his voice was soft and sweet as if he genuinely cared. He even conjured you a cold glass of water and handed it to you while giving you that warm smile that said he cared. 

You sipped the water slowly, but you quickly realized that you shouldn't have given him yourself like that. 

" oh god, " you felt even more lightheaded now. it was like your heart skipped a beat and your world completely stopped moving in that very moment. Loki innocently titled his head in confusion. 

" what is it, dear? are you feeling worse? " he asked, his hands rubbing your shoulders comfortingly. You shook your head and shuddered you shoulders to get his dirty hands off you. 

" it all makes sense now. " you spoke with a wobbly voice through sobs, placing the glass he gave you down on the floor. Tears streamed down your cheeks and Loki simply stared at you worriedly. 

" what is it you speak of, my love? " He asked again, you looked down at your hands that lay limply in your lap.

" you drugged me. "  you choked, your voice coming out as a whisper.

" I...what? " his words seemed stuck in his throat as his eyes widened in disbelief. you stood from his lap and backed a few feet away from him.

" Dont act as if you're innocent, you know what you did! " you yelled through broken ugly sobs. He continued to look at you with wide eyes as if he had just been told something utterly absurd. 

" Darling, I would never do such a thing! " He said, his heart dropping because he knew something terrible was coming up. You looked behind yourself and picked up Lokis opened pocketknife on the nightstand that was still covered in your blood. 

" Then how did I get into your room? why do I remember someone coming up behind me while I was folding laundry and pressing a cloth against my mouth before I blacked out? " Loki stared at the knife and then back at you. His expression became serious and he stood up as well. 

" you dare threaten me with that!? " he spat,  taking a step towards you with a menacing aura. You shook your head again and continued to sob. 

" Just admit to it, Loki! " you cried desperately, backing up towards the door. 

" so I finally get my happiest moment with the woman I love and now she's threatening me with a knife? I guess I just can't be happy! " he said with watery eyes, now making you feel bad. you never wanted him to be sad, only wanted to see him happy but he did do terrible things to you. 

" I thought you loved me too. " his voice was barely above a whisper as a tear ran down his cheek. You shook your head, your tears only purring down even more. 

" Loki please just- " he grabbed your arm and pulled you flush against his body. 

" if you loved me you wouldn't be pointing that thing at me. But I guess you don't. " his voice was brittle, his grip around you tight before it released.

" and if you loved me, you wouldn't have drugged me! " you barked back, the whites of your eyes now having a tint of red from all the crying. Loki inhaled sharply and his face scrunched up angrily. 

" Do not talk to me that way! " Loki shouted, raising his hand threateningly and making you flinch.  There was a long silence, a loud silence. It was like time had slowed down, almost to a standstill. You lowered the knife and your crying slowed down. You wondered how you had gotten yourself into this situation. All you did was be nice to this man before. you cared for him for years and you were there for him during rough times. And yet here you were. You had supposed this was an example of how easy it is to be manipulated, and that hurt a lot. Loki stiffed his shoulders and breathed in sharply. 

" You know, you should be grateful for what I did for you. "  he said in a low tone, looking directly into your face and staring deeply into your eyes. Your mouth slightly fell agap in astonishment and you couldn't believe how twisted truly he had become. The only Loki you ever knew was kind, loving, and caring, always so gentle. Now there was none of that.

Your nose felt like it was on fire. 

" So if you're not going to be grateful, " he pushed you out of the way from the door and you stared at him anxiously. 

" I'll just leave you here. " and with that he was gone, all the doors in the room shut and locked completely. Your tears returned, and this time worse than before. 

" no, no, no, no, Loki! " you spoke with heavy, desperate tears streaming down your cheeks as you banged your fists on the door. 

" no, don't leave me! " he probably couldn't even hear you anymore, and that terrified you. Your body slid down the door and crumbled up into a ball when it hit the floor. Your face was so wet with tears, it looked like your were dunked into water. Everything was a blur now. You were all alone.

[modevernon]

rainy days # chwe vernon

pairing: vernon x gn!reader genre: f2l, comfort warnings: cursing, mentions of food word count: 1.25k

ever since autumn fell into your hands like a stale, unwanted gift, vernon had been acting strange. well. ‘strange’ was difficult to define. vernon was, by nature, pretty strange.

rather, he ceased to act in his normal, strange way, and that was what bothered you — where were the out-of-the-blue “fried chicken, my place, shrek” text invites? where had those gone? where were the absurd, vine-reminiscent tiktoks and goofy screenshots of infinite challenge? where were the multitude of beanies strewn across your house? where, and when had he taken them back? where was he?

yes, seasonal depression existed. but he had explicitly told you, as you were munching on a cinnamon roll for breakfast three months ago, that fall was his favorite season. and yes, you two had only started hanging out this year, so it wasn’t as if your friendship had ever been set in stone. but even so, you didn’t deserve to be ghosted, or slowly distanced from until he had erased you from his life.

and yet, you could pinpoint the day, the moment, the very conversation during which his demeanor shifted so precisely that you figured something must have gone wrong then, and maybe it was your fault.

so you ran back the dialogue to the best of your recollection: it had been a rainy saturday, the kind of humidity that simply begged you to stay inside, and vernon had been making cold hot chocolate (“so… chocolate milk?” “no, you don’t see the vision!”) as you drafted emails at your desk.

when he completed his little concoction and entered your room with a mug of it, you were enjoying a self-proclaimed break, perched on the edge of the table, scrolling through instagram.

“bro, you have to see this,” you called to him casually, hearing his footsteps approach.

he did approach — slowly. stopping before you, he placed the mug on the table. “am i your bro now?”

eyes still glued to your phone, you knocked jokingly at his arm. “sorry.”

after a beat, you looked up, as if finally absorbing all of what had been said so far. “wait.” vernon gazed back at you patiently. “you’ve never complained about that.”

he opened his mouth slightly, some unforeseeable sentence at the tip of his tongue, then closed it and glanced away. “yeah, well,” and he took a step back, “never said i was complaining.”

then you had taken a sip from the mug, and said to him that it tasted just like chocolate milk, but lukewarm, and he had laughed softly without a rebuttal, and you had showed him the instagram story you had found funny, and he had laughed again without comment, and half an hour later he had left from your apartment and the rain had kept falling and everything had seemed eerily quiet. the end.

except it wasn’t the end — it couldn’t be the end, when vernon’s pretty little face was all you could think about even as weeks, months passed without his presence.

today, you were feeling especially fed up, inhaling a cinnamon roll from the same café you’d visited with vernon in the heat of summer. it was suspiciously warm for late october, as if the weather was actively forcing you to reminisce, and it stayed warm until the sun slipped down and suddenly it was cruelly, unbearably cold — and rainy. wrapped up in blankets, you stirred your (real) hot chocolate, watched the downpour vandalize your windows, and wondered what to do with your fraught, ambivalent heart.

vernon was surprised to get a call past midnight, and more surprised that he was on his phone at the exact minute to pick up. he swiped right, forgetting to read the contact.

“hello?” he spoke first.

“hey.” vernon could tell by one syllable that it was you. he checked the screen to confirm anyway. you continued, voice inexplicable: “what’ve you been up to?”

first question, and he was already feeling guilty. “work,” he replied, with faux detachment, “kinda tiring.”

“tiring?”

“mm-hmm.”

“busier than usual?” your tone was veering from innocent to interrogative.

“yeah, you could say that.” what excuse could he give that wasn’t the reason?

“you still could’ve kept in touch, you know,” you hit back. quiet on the other end of the line. “i had to watch bottoms without you.”

“oh, that’s a great movie,” vernon blurted, then immediately regretted.

he could almost see your eyes narrow. “so you watched it on your own?”

“… yeah. on my own.”

you let his response hang embarrassingly in silence. after a beat — “do you have anything to tell me, hansol?”

oh. hansol. shit was getting real; but vernon tried to dodge the fact. “do you have anything to tell me?”

“stop acting cheeky. it’s not cute.”

“no, i’m serious. you must’ve called to say something.”

“i can’t just call to say hi?”

“that’s what you wanted to say? hi?” the words came out far more acerbic than he had intended.

and for the first time, your voice faltered. “didn’t… didn’t you miss me?”

to answer that would be to burst a dam. he felt no choice but to fall back on old tricks. “did you miss me?”

you huffed. vernon knew he was pushing your limit, but it was all he could do. now it was quiet on your end, and he was contemplating a better way to weasel out of this when the bell of his apartment abruptly rang.

perfect. “um— hey, so sorry to cut this short, but i just— there’s a friend coming over, they’re at the door—” and he walked hastily toward it. “we can talk later.” and he hung up before you had the time to reply, simultaneously opening the door to find you, drenched, no umbrella in sight, staring daggers into him.

he was so stunned that he couldn’t exclaim. you kept staring until you grew tired of it, and blinked away. with your hair dripping so much, it was impossible to tell whether your face was wet with tears or rain.

just as vernon began to take up his hand to wipe your cheek, you spoke again. “really hard fucking way to get me to ask you out.”

his hand froze. to what? “of course i missed you, hansol. i missed you so much, i couldn't do anything else. i missed you so much, i ran here while it was pouring, and you know i hate going outside when it's like this. i missed you so much, it’s been driving me insane! what the hell did i do that was so wrong?” your voice was breaking, fracturing. “can’t you tell me?”

the way vernon stood made him look like a film on pause. only his eyes trembled, ever so slightly, drinking you in with excruciating care because heaven knows how much he missed you too.

before he could think of what to say back, his body moved reflexively into yours, arms wrapped around you, head buried in your neck. you were so cold against him, so tense with emotion that his embrace left you melting.

“i thought you didn’t want me,” he breathed, still enveloped in you, “the way i wanted you.”

you sighed, somewhere between relief and exasperation. “why would you assume that, idiot?” it wasn’t really a question. “someone who’s usually so slow to act.”

at that comment, vernon peeled — slowly — away from you to face you again. “i’ll be fast this time,” he vowed, and you tilted your head in puzzlement. “you’re asking me out? my answer is yes.”

a/n: excuse my like two month hiatus. kung chi pak chi summoned me back.

[pharaohbean]

invitation

original upload: june 22nd 2024 on ao3

summary: "'Dan Heng knew the dark well. Dan Heng did not like the dark. And so Dan Heng screamed out into the void for someone to save him.' Dan Heng's thirst for knowledge (and duty as the Archivist of the Astral Express) gets him into tough situations that even he can't pull himself out of. However, they will always be a shooting star nearby."

tags: Dan Heng/Boothill, Dan Heng/Trailblazer, March 7th/Stelle | Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Inspired By Poetry, Pre-Relationship, I Wrote This Instead Of Sleeping

warnings: none

author's note: "i churned this out at 1am all of a sudden after three separate drafts. what the f--- inspired by a poem (did you know literature is my worst subject)"

Dan Heng was not unfamiliar with the dark. However, he wished that that wasn't the case.

Years, decades, maybe even a century—his time spent in the Shackling Prison had not been kind to him even in the simplest of things like keeping time—spent in captivity, even before he emerged from his egg, had made the former High Elder harshly familiar with the darkness and the horrors it brought. Perhaps only because of the pain he’d suffered at the beginning of his life could he now stay calm in his current situation.

He dragged himself off of the stone brick ground, moss covering the Eras-weathered pathway, with Cloud Piercer rammed into the ground and acted as his pillar. His memories were muddled as he desperately tried to remember how he’d gotten in such a position—why unconscious (dead? Unsure, it was dark) bodies were scattered behind him, why no one from the Express was with him, why—

A flash of bioluminescent sea green had him whipping his head around. Bright blue-green serpentine eyes, dozens of pairs of them, crawled out of the abyss and lit up as they approached him.

They did not look friendly. They were not friendly, Dan Heng remembered that much. It was one against an army, and well—

The Imbibitor Lunae was infamously known for not going down without a fight.

As Archivist of the Astral Express, it was Dan Heng’s duty to make sure that any and all info in the Data Bank was as up-to-date as possible. With some worlds like Jarlio-VI, that simply wasn’t possible—the Space Anchors may have been deactivated due to unuse, or never existed in the first place. But if Dan Heng could fact-check it himself, he would.

It was on one of these solo expeditions—to a low-end yet vibrant planet named Alladonia, an entry just needing some brushing up on—when Dan Heng heard something that caught his interest.

Four men were planning an expedition to a nearby set of ruins—only revealed to them through a cryptic message delivered by an even more cryptic member of the Garden of Recollection—and were talking about hiring a Pathstrider to guard them. Apparently only one of them was a Pathstrider and a Pathstrider of Harmony in your group wasn’t very useful if none of you could fight.

His curiosity piqued, Dan Heng approached the group and asked them about their expedition. Their leader revealed that during their day-to-day life, the Garden of Recollection gave him a very strange… poem? Riddle? And that it would lead him to immeasurable power if they got there first. Dan Heng sighed inside—of course it did—but his thirst for knowledge would not be deterred. So he offered his services, simply wanting to document anything he found there and maybe a little money to cover lodgings and whatnot. The men, overjoyed, agreed.

The journey to the abandoned city was long but mostly uneventful; soon, the group had arrived at their location. Upon reciting the riddle (Dan Heng was half convinced it was a poem with the leader’s emphasized pauses at odd moments) the large stone doors cleverly disguised as mere sides of a cliff opened wide, casting light down into the city carved into two sides of a ravine, but still not enough to illuminate its lower levels.

The five of them had ventured down and down, exploring every little nook and cranny for any info they could find. The riddle/poem was not very helpful in what came next, so they brainstormed on a large platform in the side of the ravine—a town square of sorts, Dan Heng surmised. A large stone bridge crossed the ravine, where a dark river sat gently flowing.

And then the large glowing lizards appeared suddenly, soundless in the dark and attacked their near-defenseless group group and—

Oh. Dan Heng was falling off the bridge now into the river below.

It was warm and cold.

He felt like he was back inside of his egg, tightly insulated from the outside world, and yet the biting cold of the Shackling Prison(?) still seeped through, stabbing him in places he could not reach.

He tried to move his body, open his eyes, do something , but nothing responded to his calls. He screamed and yelled and begged and nothing escaped his lips; tears would fall, never to be seen since they could not be freed.

Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw a shooting star come rushing towards him—a blazing sign of hope and promises. It reminded him of the sight in Penacony, when those people from all over the galaxy had been called together just to provide a moment’s disturbance for the fatal counter-strike.

Dan Heng knew the dark well. Dan Heng did not like the dark. And so Dan Heng screamed out into the void for someone to save him.

When he finally managed to stir, he took into account all five of his sense at once:

Wrapped around his body was a thick, slightly scratchy blanket that made him feel tightly secure—like his egg or his bed at the Express. He could feel flickering heat near him, its warmth caressing his face.

Saltwater (or polluted water, unsure) hung on his tongue; he swallowed on reflex, trying to clear the mildly disgusting taste from his mouth.

The scent of fish wafted into his nose, bringing back memories of times before—good and bad, from hauntings of the Luofu to photographs of the Express.

The crackling of a burning fire filled the empty silence, reminding him of the whirring of the Archives; soon, the fire was joined by the rustle and jangle of metal shifting around and click-clacking across stone bricks to be by his side.

Finally, Dan Heng peeked his eyes open to be met by the warm, hazy glow of the fire and a body crouched next to his. Metal body, no shirt, black and white hair, and eyes that were always targeting someone or something .

“Boot… hill?” Dan Heng mumbled, brow furrowing. His vision blurred and his head swam as he tried to sit up. “Where…?”

“Take it easy there, partner,” Boothill’s mechanical voice said, a hand on Dan Heng’s chest coaxing him back down. “You’ve had quite the adventure, judging by your state.”

Dan Heng tried to think for a moment, but was knocked off his train of thought by a cup of water at his lips. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of drinking the river’s water, and Boothill’s laugh echoed through the place.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it! It’s not from that dirty old river,” the Galaxy Ranger reassured him. Dan Heng hummed hoarsely, then gratefully gulped down the offered cup—slowly, with each long gulp, his mental processes returned to him one by one.

Once the cup was finished, Dan Heng watched as Boothill rifled through a bag on the side, then looked around his surroundings. It seemed that Boothill had set up camp in one of the many lifeless homes, nondescript outside of their unique carvings on the walls.

“What happened?” Dan Heng asked quietly, his eyes flicking back to Boothill. The cyborg looked at him with a wide-eyed expression and something akin to a frown before shrugging.

“Got me beat, partner—I only just got here.”

“Why are you here?” Dan Heng immediately asked, then winced at the bite in his question. The Galaxy Ranger moved to sit next to him, watching carefully as Dan Heng sat up slowly. He pulled a cooked fish off of where it sat near the fire, and the Vidyadhara accepted the food graciously.

Boothill hummed, staring off into space for a few moments. Then, he began to speak:

“Yer a High Elder, aren’t you? Of the Vidyadhara.”

Dan Heng paused mid-chew, anxiety and panic flooding through systems. He quickly swallowed the torn piece and stammered out, “H-how did you know?”

Boothill looked back to him, and his gaze softened to one of… pity, almost. “We’re both Pathstriders of The Hunt. I’d be foolish to not recognize someone like me.”

Dan Heng looked down to the food in his hands, battling against the flood of memories that tried to breach his defenses. He had fought that battle against Dan Feng back while they were still on the Luofu; he was uninterested in fighting it again. “…I gave up the title of Imbibitor Lunae many centuries ago. At least… I tried to.”

Boothill hummed for a moment. “We’re both Pathstriders of The Hunt… and I heard someone like us crying out in despair.”

“Then we need to help them;” Dan Heng went to stand up, ignoring the throbbing in his entire body, “they could still need out help—“

He was halted by Boothill’s hand on his cheek, stilling his movements. The metal plates were cool against his warming cheeks, but not bitingly cold. The cool of a fan on a hot summer's day. Without realizing it, he’d leaned into it ever so slightly.

“I heard you ,” Boothill murmured. “I heard you begging for someone to save you and I came as fast as I could.”

“—Why?” Dan Heng blurted out after a beat, his mind muddling with every passing second. He couldn’t keep up with everything he was learning today. The thought of the motionless bodies of the other men crept into his mind, and then the lizards and the fight and the fall and the coldness—

Dan Heng was swept into Boothill’s arms suddenly; the blanket around him was left behind and his head rested on the junction between his neck and his head. Only then did Dan Heng realize he was shaking.

“You were amazin’ in that dream, y’know? Both of them. You put up a fantastic show for your friends and everyone else and even had me enraptured in your part of the show. It had me fooled, I’ll admit.

“But it’s over,” Boothill’s voice dropped to a mere comforting murmur. “It’s all okay. You can rest now.”

Dan Heng just sat there, petrified in the confusion of emotions flooding him. The cool grasp around him squeezed just a little tighter, and that was all it took for Dan Heng to bury himself into Boothill further.

Dan Heng did not like the darkness—in fact, Dan Heng hated the darkness, fearful of it even.

“It was too dark,” Dan Heng muttered into Boothill’s neck, his voice rising in hysterics as he continued to speak. “Reminded me too much of back then. It was cold, too cold, and too dark and I couldn’t do anything and—“

“Shh.” Boothill tugged the half-sobbing dragon into him ( if that was even possible, Dan Heng’s mind faintly commented). “You’re okay now. No more darkness or cold.”

“…I saw a shooting star. Near the end. It- it reminded me of when you summoned all those Galaxy Rangers in Penacony.”

“I guess the speed at which I flew over here could be compared to a shooting star,” Boothill commented, making Dan Heng snort a little in reply.

Silence lapsed between the two of them before the dragon breathed: “…I’m tired.”

“Well, your Express friends are on their way. You can get some rest before you go back with them.” The cyborg replaced Dan Heng back in the little sleeping bag he’d put him in; Dan Heng rolled himself into a cocoon immediately, much to the Ranger’s confusion and amusement.

Dan Heng glanced at him one more time, his eyes sparkling (with tears? just from relief?) as he quietly asked:

“Will you stay with me?”

Boothill understood immediately. The unspoken words between two Pathstriders of the same Path. Two hunters with too much in their pasts that always came back to them.

“As long as you want me.”

Dan Heng smiled weakly, humming in response to a hand ruffling his hair, then dozed off—not truly sleeping, but letting his mind shut down. Somewhere down the line, behind blurred and foggy memories, he felt arms pick him up and carry him a long way, never letting go until they’d arrived at the Express. Once he felt the familiar aura of the Express encircle him once more, Dan Heng truly allowed himself to fall asleep.

Dan Heng was not unfamiliar with the darkness. He did not like the darkness and was always afraid of returning to it.

But this time, no matter where he went in his dreams, a shooting star was always following after him.

And that— and he— lit up the darkness.

[lilac-set]

@shenny100 im so sorry, you sent us an ask for an ask game like a month and a half ago, i didnt notice it in the “activity” thing apparently, and only today i was digging through tumblr settings, noticed that an inbox actually exists, and saw your ask. Started answering it, closed it for some reason, and the draft didnt save and now it isnt in our inbox anymore, i dont know what happened

Thanks for the ask!

🍄 how’d you get your system name?

We have a bunch of them honestly, most of which arent public on tumblr, but we’ll talk about them anyway :3 mostly because lilac has the least interesting story, which is simply that we all like lilacs. We do like them a lot though, like a lot a lot, almost to the extent of worshipping them, but not quite (/serious). Its also convenient that lilacs have four petals, and we’re a system of four, so theres that. The “set” aspect comes from the fact that we’re a set of quadruplets. Our discord name is also a flower, im not gonna post it publicly but youre welcome to ask, we chose that flower for the gender vibes. And then our actual irl collective name, not public either, came to be in an interesting way, before we knew we were plural. We chose it in high school, we were changing our first name for gender reasons, and 🪨 made a list of names he liked. The next day i (🔥) found the list, took off the ones i didnt like, and added some others I thought were worth considering. The next day/later the same day (no idea) he looked at the note again and reversed my changes. We went back and forth like this multiple times before either of us realized it was futile, he left a note in the note not to make any permanent changes, to add whatever i want at the bottom but not delete anything, and just reorder the names in order of preference. We would keep the note and keep revisting and reordering them until one consistently floated to the top and wasnt being moved back down, so after a while all four of us had had in opportunity in front to vote on names, changes quit being made, and our name was decided. So thats the name we all collectively and individually went by and continue to go by, we all got attached to it and really identify with it, our individual names that we use are technically middle names so that we could each keep that name as a first name. It was kinda validating, our rationale at the time was just that our preferences must vary depending on our mood or whatever and for some reason we have no recollection of other moods. After we became aware of each other like 5 years later it was immediately apparent what had been going on, but we hadnt really internalized it, ya know? So when we were choosing our individual names we went with the same method, keep an open note and adjust the order every day based on preference, and we were surprised that individually our preferences are consistent lmao

[serephinastardust]

Prologue or just a backstory for my villain?

I'm trying not to get hung on naming things, since naming these leads to me backstorying the hell out places and important symbols. So in this draft, I just put [Instert name or insert explanation] for things I'll take care once I finish the whole story. Please enjoy this 1st draft for my Villain story, is it good enough to be a prologue or just backstory for her character portfolio?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What the hell just happened?

I had found myself face down on the ground with a migraine to rival all migraines and my body hurt like hell. What was it that I was doing?

I slowly breathe through the pain and sit up while trying to make my brain work. I had never felt so not, me, before. Let’s see, I came home from the [insert academy name] with all my research. I was using the ancient texts to determine whether if God glyphs or runes could be made. I nod my head in acceptance of my research hypothesis.

My research had said only certain glyphs or runes combined would in theory give a god a glyph. [Explain God runes/glyphs and explain what runes Elystria chose for the harmless experiment]. My research suggested that failure would just be a benign shutdown of the ritual and the runes and glyphs fizzling away. So why do I hurt?

As I’m recollecting my research and the ritual I decided to perform at home, I finally feel well enough to get up and take a nice long shower. Outside of me flying into the wall and possibly getting a concussion, my experiment room isn’t any worse for wear. Which is a relief since all my research happened to be in here.

Slowly, I make my way over to the door and deactivate the runes of protection that prevent any experiment effects from escaping, and slowly make my way up the stairs. I wonder what I should have for dinner with the girls to….

Trying to decide on dinner after my long hot shower I open the door and it feels like my soul has left my body. My home was gone. What the hell?

I stared wide eyed, taking in my surroundings which were me looking at my neighbors and their homes. Am I dead? Is this a dream? This has to be a nasty nightmare, some sick joke.

I try to take a step forward, but I can’t feel my body. I also realized too late that my vision was going black and the last thing I remember was the floor coming up to greet me.

Beep, Beep, Beep…

What the hell is that constant noise? Is it [insert name] alarm? I don’t remember her ever needing one, why would she need one now?

Slowly I allow myself to come to full consciousness, groaning I mumble something incoherent. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. I could barely get any saliva in my mouth to allow my mouth usage.

Well, this is a new side affect of a good night’s rest.

Finally, I got my eyes open and am immediately dumbfounded. Why the hell am I in a hospital room!? The balloons say “Get well soon”, “wish you were here”, “sorry for your loss?”. Why the hell would I get a balloon like that? I didn’t have a death in the family.

My memory is super jumbled though, and I can’t remember much, but what’s worse, my girls aren’t here. My…. Girls…

And that’s when my memories come back to me in full force. The experiment, my destroyed home, no debris or anything to show exactly what happened to my home. What the hell happened!?

The beeping on the heart monitor starts speeding up now, as the memories wash over me, wave after wave. The shock of what fresh. As I’m near a panic attack, my room door swings open, and some nurses come rushing in. I look at them, in a panic, I need answers. I try to start vocalizing my questions, but my dry mouth betrays, and I start to frantically look for some water so I can ask my questions. I need to know.

But just as I’m fighting one nurse to try and find water, my eyes flick to the other nurse as she injects what I assume is a sedative into the IV Drip. Sadly, this was a battle I couldn’t fight. Sedative drugs are powerful. And with no choice, I had to let the darkness take me again.

Slowly, I begin to come to consciousness again. My body is still aching from the aftermath of my experiment gone wrong. The sterile smell of antiseptic hung in the air making me feel nauseous, but I feel the presence of people moving through the room. Probably the nurses or doctor. But whoever they are they are talking in hushed tones, probably hoping not to wake me. Weak and still a tad disoriented, I strain to listen in with my eyes closed and willing the heart monitor to not betray my conscious status to the room.

“How is she holding up?” a deep male voice speaks as he comes into the room.

Is that Dr. Marlowe, what’s he doing here? I wouldn’t have expected a room visit from him of all people.

“She’s stable for now.” A female voice says, I can’t be sure if she’s a nurse or doctor though. “She’s emotionally distraught and keeps attempting to ask about her family, but we know as much as she does at this point. We’ve had to sedate her a couple of times now, as she started to fight to get up, not giving us a chance to speak. “

“Well, I suppose, she’s unaware the authorities are doing an investigation, but haven’t been able to turn up anything. Both the mundane police and the [insert department name for magical police].” Another female voice continues.

Dr. Marlowe lets out a long weary sigh, at least I assumed it sounded weary. “I can’t even imagine what she might be going through, even unconscious. I know those idiots have been here trying to catch Elystria conscious enough to answer questions. Have they let anything slip on having leads?”

Both women both denied getting any additional information on leads for the investigation. “We do know they’ve been working this case near twenty-four seven for the last month. Looking for anything, magical or not. The only thing not destroyed was the room she was in prior to the house’ destruction, but she had powerful protection runes on that, and none of the magical detectors can detect anything more than the protection magic.”

Dr. Marlowe’s voice starts to get closer, and his voice gets a touch softer, “The head of her department said the whole situation is complex. From the fire that erupted and went out within a couple of seconds to the structural damage, which there is no structure. Who knows the time frame required to solve this. She loved her family so much.”

“For now, I have prescribed her sedatives, as needed, which will allow her mind time to process and heal in an unconscious state. And we have a psychologist available for her, if anything, just so we know her mental stability better. For all I know, we might need to observe her in the psych ward for a while.” This time, I knew it was the doctor that spoke. And honestly, her talking to Dr. Marlowe like I might not be able to take care of myself pissed me off.

“I gotta head back to the [insert academy name] and see if any of my contacts can dig into this. At this point I’m even going to try those at the Institute of Paranormal Research. I don’t know much on Elystrias’ experiments, but no stone should be left unturned.”

I wait and listen as all three sets of footsteps leave the room and open my eyes. If there’s one thing I know, I can’t stay here another day. To hell with some mental doctor trying to tell me I’m mentally unstable. And I’m confident that’s exactly what every person would say I am at this point.

Why would my experiments need the Institute of Paranormal Research involved? Is it possible my work is combination of both magical and paranormal when trying to do something with God in the name?

I shake my head, that’s a question for a different day. But my instincts tell me I can’t Dr. Marlowe or this Institute he mentioned. I don’t even want to know what it is he’s getting into. I need to figure out what caused my hypothesis to be extremely wrong. Slowly and carefully, I unhook myself from all the machines, I put some runes on them, that will dissipate when someone enters, to make it seem I’m still hooked up.

I then make my way over to what I assume is the closet and pray someone put some clothes in here for me to change into. I hold my breath as I open the door, and sigh in relief as I see a couple of outfits. I could have easily used runes to change the hospital gown, but as an illusion, that would have been extremely uncomfortable.

Knowing I’m on a time limit I quickly get changed and use a glyph to change my whole appearance. My hair had turned black and silver and my eyes amethyst. I was shocked, but the public would be shocked too if they saw my conspicuous looks.

With one last look at my inconspicuous new appearance, I leave the hospital. I vowed then that if I couldn’t find what went wrong that day. I would become powerful enough to challenge the gods themselves for answers.

[pizza-portal]

heyyy! Another request if it’s not a problem! You being either Zak’s daughter or Dan’s sis and being the biggest tease ever for lando, like constantly looking at him, touching him, brushing your hands against his body, bumping into him ‘accidentally’ until he finally gives in and let’s you seduce him👀

Idk i just need more lando content, and ive noticed not many people write smut which is awful😩

Tease

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: teasing, SUB!Lando, 🤠riding, unprotected sex (avoid the dread, cover your head)

Y/n Brown was off limits. She was nice to look at and even think about. But, if anyone touched her, they would feel guilty for laying their hands on Zak’s only daughter.

Lando couldn’t help himself though. The moment he met her, his hands got clammy and he stuttered over his words way too much. She took notice of it too. He was cute, no doubt. Shy and awkward around her. There was no possible way that y/n could think about Lando the way he thinks about her, right?

Until, it started getting hot at races. She would wear shorter skirts or denim shorts. Not to mention, the tank tops and crop tops that showed off her breasts and curves. Lando’s eyes were nowhere but her. He was in a trance every time he saw her, trying to not to let the blood flow to his central.

It didn’t help with the way she talked to him. She was sweet yet so seducing. She would lay her hand on his chest for a brief moment, and he swore his heart stopped. She would bite her bottom lip whenever he talked. She would mess with her hair or the clothes she was wearing. He was a complete mess around her. But, he couldn’t give in. Not with her being Zak’s daughter.

So, at the British Grand Prix, heat sizzled off of the floor and the sun squeezed sweat out of everyone. Everyone complained about the heat on the Silverstone track, but Lando didn’t care. All he cared was seeing her in a mini skirt and some graphic t-shirt. He had been feeling uncomfortable in the seat of his car due to the blood flowing nowhere but his middle. He was almost finished with practice and maybe he could go back to his motorbike and relieve himself with the thought of her in the mini skirt.

After getting out and grabbing his things, y/n stood beside him. “Hey Lando,” she smiled. Lando’s eyes grew wide while he quickly used his random t-shirt to cover his pants. He swallowed a lump in his throat, looking down at her.

“Hi- Hey. How are you doing? You doing alright?” His words became a big jumble that struggled to flow out smoothly. Y/n just hid her smile.

“I’m alright. Just a bit hot,” She responded. Her teeth ran over her bottom lip before she asked her next question. “Do you mind if I go back to your trailer with you? I kinda need to cool down.” Lando’s first response was yes. He wanted to be so close to her and to be wrapped around her finger like a ribbon. But, the logical and professional side of him said no. He shouldn’t be so close with his boss’ daughter.

“Please?” Y/n added.

“Yeah,” Lando blurred before he could think about anything else. She smiled.

“Do you need help with your things? I can carry your shirt-”

“No!” Lando was quick to cut her off. “I can carry it. I’m really good at carrying it. I, uh, I’ll carry my t-shirt… and stuff.” Y/n just smiled, enjoying the sexual nervousness she implanted into him.

Lando led her to his motorhome, trying his best to act as if it was as normal as possible. He let her in first, as a gentleman should, before following her. The air conditioner soothed their melting skin. Y/n sat in the couch, taking in the cooled air. Lando had shoved himself in the bathroom, changing out of his fireproofed and finding a good way to hide the excitement in his pants.

After adjusting his jeans, he started moving around his clothes for a shirt. He shoved his fireproofs around before looking around on the floor. He had tried to recall if he had brought a shirt with him… and there was absolutely no recollection. He cussed under his breath, preparing himself to walk out without a shirt. He made sure to still look relaxed while flexing his core and biceps. He opened the door, immediately walking towards his bag with his clothes.

Y/n’s eyes glazed over Lando’s upper body. He seemed so tense and she found it so sexy. She stood up, already knowing how to tease him. “Hey, you look like you need a massage,” she said sweetly. Lando held his breath. His hands shook while looking for a good shirt. He had probably passed three shirt by now, but his brain could focus on clothes. She touched his back lightly.

“You seem… hard,” she mentioned. Lando’s eyes widened while he quickly turned around. Had she noticed?

“No, no. I’m not hard. I, uh-” he tried to find some sort of excuse.

“Do you need a massage?” She smirked. Lando swallowed. Her hands lightly touched his abdomen before climbing up to his pecs and then his shoulders. “Yes or no, Lando?”

Lando had completely broke to the girl in front of him. His mind decided to forget her last name and her relation to his boss. All he could focus on was her. Lando dipped his head down, his lips immediately finding hers for a small kiss. It was quick, making sure not to scare her off. Y/n pulled his shoulders toward her while jumping to her tippy toes. Their lips attached to one another. Lando’s hands found her waist, gripping tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Y/n moved her lips from his to kiss down his jaw and to his neck. “Fuck,” Lando whimpered while her tongue ran over his Adam’s apple. “No marks.” He reminded her. Y/n just sighed, kissing back up his neck and jaw to his lips. Her hands slid down to his pecs before pushing him to land on the couch. Each leg found their side around Lando’s hips.

As if becoming shy again, Lando sat with his arms awkwardly at his side. She grabbed his hands, placing them on her thighs. She leaning in, kissing him roughly again. “Should we be doing this?” He mumbled against her lips, as if remembering who she was.

“Do you want to do this?” She whispered. He nodded desperately while his hands voluntarily found her bum, gripping tightly onto her panties. She smiled to herself before standing up. Her hands reached beneath her skirt, slowly tugging down the last bit of cloth. Lando quickly followed, unzipping his dangerously tight pants and shoving them down his thighs. He removed his underwear next, setting his erection free. Y/n but her lip, kicking aside her own underwear and climbing back on top of him.

One hand got tangled into his hair while the other took his cock. She gently stroked his length, spreading the bit of precum on his tip. Lando hissed at the pleasure. “Please,” he whispered. She aligned him with herself before settling into it. Lando gripped her hips tightly, bring back the moan. Y/n moved herself back up, rolling her hips just enough.

It was game over for Lando. His head was thrown back while a moan escaped his lips. Y/n took the opportunity to bite his neck lightly. She continued her movements, getting faster and harder as time went. Lando’s fingertips dug into her waist, sure to leave bruises. “Fuck, y/n,” he whimpered, feeling the build up. Y/n bit back a moan while her nails dug into Lando’s shoulders. She leaned in, placing a small kiss to his lips. She tightened her walls around him and Lando couldn’t help but release. He groaned, holding her closer. Y/n slowed her pace, letting herself spill onto him. They stayed like that for a minute or two, catching their breaths and letting the ecstasy wash over them.

“I was waiting for you to give in,” she chuckled. Lando smiled, shaking his head.

“Don’t let your dad find out. He’ll kill me,”

a/n: aghhhh I loved this sm. Also may or may not have a Danny Ric fic in my drafts😮‍💨

[chiwhorei]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come. 

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget. 

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots. 

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing. 

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space. 

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.” 

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance. 

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

 You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest. 

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil. 

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.” 

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle. 

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins. 

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.” 

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet. 

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back. 

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~” 

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.” 

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice. 

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming. 

 Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding. 

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

 All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention. 

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines. 

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?” 

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do. 

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke. 

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough. 

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck. 

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil. 

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago. 

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color. 

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs. 

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into. 

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head--

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do. 

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back. 

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap.  Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome. 

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges. 

When was the last time you felt this alive? 

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map. 

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?” 

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls. 

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood. 

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.” 

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses. 

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?” 

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Could you do carol x fem!reader but like so angsty that I can cry myself to sleep even tho I’m on antidepressants and can’t feel anything but plz let there b a happy ending thank u so much love u

I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst but here's a draft I had that I edited a little to fit the request. I hope it does the trick :)

It Wasn't For You

Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong drives a wedge between you and Carol. Is the bond fixable, or are the things you both said unforgivable?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,998

You weren't sure what that emotion was that was boiling in your blood as you stormed back to your apartment. Was it worry? Were you just upset? You let it sit with you a moment as you unlocked the door. It wasn't either one of those things. It was rage. It was hot, unbridled rage. The cause of it was a certain Avenger who you had thought loved you enough to not do what she'd done. Clearly, she hadn't.

She was right behind you, stepping through the doorway before you could slam it behind you. You growled under your breath as she invited herself into your home, closing the door only once she was in. You didn't even bother turning to face her. You went straight to the bar and poured yourself a drink, not offering her one and not planning to let her touch a single drop of your alcohol. You took a sip of the hard liquor.

"Would you listen to me for one goddamn second?" She huffed out.

"I listened to you for multiple seconds, Carol. It doesn't change any facts."

"I did it for you!"

"I don't give a fuck."

Truly and honestly, you didn't. What she'd done was immoral, infuriating, and wholly unforgivable. She could get down on her knees right there in front of the bar and you wouldn't have batted an eyelash. It wouldn't be enough. In fact, you were convinced that nothing would be enough for you to forgive her. It didn't matter how much you had loved her yesterday or the day before. It didn't how much you loved her today.

"I'd do it again," she assured.

"Then I would do this again," you turned to finally face her, eyes locking with the brown ones that could usually instill a sense of peace in your chest, but today seemed to have no effect. "We're done, Carol. I think it'd be best if you left, please."

You could practically hear her heart dropping into her stomach. There was a part of you that ached to bring her into your arms and soothe that hurt look off her face. You knew better. That piece of you would fade eventually. You'd learn not to love her anymore. In fact, you could probably learn how to hate her. The boiling rage that was flowing through your very veins could assist you with learning that.

"Please-"

"I'm asking you to go," you said, firmer this time. "Please, get out."

If she'd had a tail to tuck between her legs, she absolutely would have. She didn't even bother to protest again. The expression you'd plastered on your face made it clear it wouldn't have done anything anyway. She slowly made toward the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and she cast her gaze back to you once more. You didn't dare let your features soften. You could've sworn there were tears in her eyes as she turned the doorknob and left.

You breathed out as the door closed behind her, finally daring to let tears streak down your cheeks.

*

You stared down the super soldier, neither of you wanting to speak first. He was the team leader though, and basically your boss. You knew even if he was the first one to speak, you were going to be the one spilling everything. You didn't want to, not one bit, but you knew you were going to have to anyway. You wondered if you had the strength to talk about it. You wondered if he had the strength to listen to your recollection of events.

"I just need to know what happened so when they ask-"

"Fuck, Steve! Natasha fucking died and we're sitting here having this stupid conversation," you shouted, rising to your feet, tossing the papers in front of you off the table, and moving to the window. "I have a goddamn funeral to plan!"

"Look, neither of us wants to talk about this, but we have to!"

You sighed, clasping your hands behind your back as you looked out at the compound grounds. There were agents training, running laps around the building. Sam was the one guiding them, seeming to enjoy barking orders at them. You tore your gaze away from a sight that seemed to have lost its beauty now that Natasha wasn't there alongside the Falcon, chuckling with him as they watched the new recruits huff and puff.

"It was me or her and Carol chose me," you finally gave. "I was what would have been fatally outnumbered and Natasha was down. She was in the jet. Carol could have either gone and stopped the jet from crashing, or she could pull me out and neutralize the enemy. She chose the latter. That's what happened. Happy?"

"I need your report."

"I need to plan Natasha's funeral!"

You stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. You let out the breath that had been stuck in your chest, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. It hadn't been an easy couple of days. You'd have been surprised if you'd gotten more than three hours of sleep in the last three nights combined. Somehow, though, you still didn't feel tired. You felt a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

As if losing Natasha wasn't hard enough, you were also grappling with crippling amounts of anger and guilt. Natasha should have been the one that was saved. She was the obvious choice, and yet here you stood, and Natasha was gone. The anger, though? That was all for Carol. She had promised you that her relationship with you wouldn't have affected her at work, but it had. She'd saved you when she should have saved Natasha and all of those people in the impact zone.

"Can we talk?"

Speak of the devil.

You opened your eyes, using your shoulder blades to push yourself away from the wall. Immediately your entire stance got defensive. You crossed your arms over your chest. You watched as she searched your eyes in hopes of being able to read them like she usually did, but knew it would be to no avail. You didn't want her to know anything about what you were feeling. She didn't deserve to know what you were feeling. All she deserved was to be on the receiving end of your rage.

"No. I told you we're done, Danvers. We don't need to talk anymore."

"I'm not letting you go that easy."

"You don't have a damn choice!" You laughed humourlessly. "You can't stop me. You don't own me, and you definitely don't own my heart."

With that, you stepped around her, walking toward the doors of the compound. You could hear her footsteps trailing behind you. You didn't bother to turn around and glance at her, or even open your mouth to tell her to go away. You just let her follow you as if she were going to get something out of you. She wasn't going to. The last thing you wanted to do was hear some sort of failed explanation as to why she'd decided to save you. You knew why. It was because she couldn't separate home and work. You never should have trusted her to be able to.

You stepped out into the sunlight, cursing the sky for being so bright and sunny when it felt like it should be dark and gloomy. A storm cloud and roaring thunder might appropriately match the way you felt inside. Instead, you were forced to pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as you headed back toward your car, feeling you could use the walk toward it instead of making it come to you- a feature Tony has insisted you needed. As you arrived though, Carol finally reacted.

"Jesus Christ, would you hear me out?" She said, anger in her voice as she grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

"Talk to me."

"I already said no. Let go of me," you demanded.

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her as she retracted her arm. You unlocked your car, getting into the front seat. You didn't even glance at Carol as you started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled out of your spot, leaving her behind.

*

It was early when you woke up the next morning, and immediately your day went different than normal. Your eyebrows furrowed when you stepped out of your bedroom and found an envelope slipped under your apartment door. It was completely unmarked. You knew the danger of anything unmarked. You were an Avenger. You couldn't find it in you to care, though. Without Carol's arms around you, you tossed and turned. Losing Natasha hurt so much more without Carol there to hold you through it. But it was her fault.

You reached down and picked up the envelope. You sliced it open with the knife that was resting on the table beside the front door. What you pulled out was a single piece of lined paper. It had clearly been ripped out of someone's notebook, the torn rings hanging off the left side. You unfolded the paper and immediately recognized Carol's handwriting inside. You crumpled it up and prepared to throw it, but then you hesitated.

She wasn't there. You didn't have to talk to her. You didn't want to talk to her one bit, but you were dying to hear her side of the story. This way, you didn't have to risk breaking and losing yourself to emotion in front of her. You uncrumpled the paper and held it out in front of you. You took a deep breath and let your gaze drift over Carol's familiar handwriting once before you moved your eyes to the top of the page.

Y/N,

I really hope you didn't throw this out. I suppose if you're reading this, you didn't.

I know you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I might not want to talk to me either. Your best friend died and it is entirely and completely my fault. I know that. It is my fault. I could have saved her, and I didn't. I just need you to know why.

I know you think that I broke my promise. I promised you, Steve, and every Avenger, including Natasha, that I would never let our relationship affect our work. It must seem like I failed to do that. I didn't break that promise. I love you. I do. But I wouldn't do that.

I knew that saving Natasha was more likely to be successful than saving you. Saving her would have meant saving those three civilians too. Not saving you, though, meant that they would have gotten away, and it meant they would have killed dozens of our agents on their way out. There were so many of them. They outgunned our men by too much. I didn't do it for you. I did it for them.

It breaks my heart that I couldn't save her. If I could have given my life for hers, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. If choosing her over you had been the right choice, I'd have done it. I promise you that.

I love you, even if you can't love me back.

- C

*

Tears spilled from your eyes as the empty casket was lowered into the ground. When a hand brushed ever so lightly against yours, you stiffened. You glanced for a moment over at the woman beside you. Those brown eyes were locked on you as well, for a moment, before turning back to the burial. You took a deep breath before moving, threading your fingers between hers. You pulled a little closer to her.

Maybe you should have listened to her. That letter you'd received yesterday had been a lot to think about. You'd been so angry with Carol because she'd closed you over Natasha and you'd been selfish enough to think it was because she couldn't separate her feelings for you from work. When you'd found out that wasn't the case, it had taken away all your reason to be angry at her. What happened to Natasha wasn't her fault.

Once the red had faded, you'd realized how stupid you'd been being. Carol had obviously been hurting and you'd been gatekeeping pain because you'd been blaming yours on her. The guilt stewing in her gut was probably millions of times worse than yours. She'd had to make that choice out in the field. It was the right choice, you saw now, but that would never matter. You knew how that felt, and you'd pushed her away and left her to deal with it alone. You wouldn't blame her if she couldn't forgive you for that.

When the funeral ended and people started heading toward the reception, you stayed glued to the spot. You could tell Carol wasn't sure what to do. Her hand had tried to pull away to give you space, but this time it was you that didn't let her leave you. The hand that was in hers tightened enough that she got the message. You had to wonder if she'd stay to hear it. As always, though, she was better than you. Her efforts to move away stopped.

You stayed silent for a moment, standing in that position and wondering what to say. There might not have been words enough to express just how sorry you were. There might not have been anything you could say that would make her forgive you. You deserved that, though. You broke up with her. There was no obligation for her to take you back and you hadn't given her any reason to want to. You were the one who had pushed.

"I'm sorry, Carol," you muttered, knowing full well that wasn't enough. "I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish."

"I get it," she admitted. "It's okay."

She was better than you.

But it wasn't okay. What you'd done to her was far from okay. You'd taken one look at the guilty relief in her eyes after that mission and decided that she'd sacrificed Natasha for you. She was allowed to be relieved. You would have been, if the roles had been reversed. Just because you lost Natasha, didn't mean Carol wasn't allowed to be a little relieved that the love of her life survived. Now, you didn't get to be that.

"Baby... Carol, I just wanted you to know that I read what you wrote and I'm sorry for how I'd reacted. I'm sorry I didn't stop to hear you out before that and I'm sorry I pushed you away when you were obviously hurting."

She dared to pull you a little closer. "You can still call me Baby."

You had to let out a light chuckle at that, despite the tears on your face. You wondered if you were mourning Natasha or your relationship with Carol. Whatever the case, she reached out and brushed the pad of her thumb across your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning a little harder into her hand. She got the message, opening her hand and cupping your cheek, her palm pressing delicately against your skin and her thumb continued to trace your cheekbone.

"You were hurting too," she assured quietly. "You reacted that way because you were grieving. You needed someone to blame."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"I was easy," she said, hands sliding down so they were both in yours. "I could have saved her and I didn't. Whatever reasoning I might have had, that was the truth."

"I'm supposed to love you."

"You don't love me?" She questioned.

"I do! Of course I love you, Carol. But I haven't been great at doing that recently. I should have-"

"You love me and you were grieving your friend. That's it. And I love you too," she said, squeezing your hands. "Can we stop being broken up now?"

She was standing in front of you, a tiny smile on her lips, and forgiving you. She was asking you to take her back, like it wasn't supposed to be you on your knees begging for her forgiveness. You stepped forward, taking your hands out of hers so you could instead put them on her cheeks, and pulled her toward you until your lips had met. She kissed you back immediately, her hands finding your hips. She pulled away from you.

"So yes?" She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Because Natasha got us together and breaking up for good over her casket would not be honouring her memory very well."

"No, it wouldn't," you said, leaning your head onto her shoulder. You looked down at the wooden casket. "I miss her so much already, Carol."

"I know. Me too, Honey."

Your heart felt the slightest bit lighter now. You would've given anything for Natasha to be okay. The fact that she was gone still felt like a knife through the chest. At least now, though, you had Carol to hold you at night and kiss the tears off your cheeks. She had you to do the same for her. That was all either of you could do. Now, only time could lessen the pain. Carol put her arms around you and held you closer.

Just as you went to tell her once again that you loved her, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, frowning at the number that was coming from outside the country. She showed it to you and you took the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Did it work? Do they think I'm dead?" Said the so familiar voice.

You glanced up at Carol, sure the shock on her face matched yours.

"Natasha, what the hell-"

"We've got a new mission. Are you and your lovebird up for it?"

Carol kissed your cheek and then spoke to the woman on the phone. "Absolutely."

[bubble-tea-bunny]

sweet talk

[tamaki suoh x reader]

author’s note: been rewatching ouran and found the time to write smth small. basically a really late valentine’s fic lol. i’m drafting an idea for takashi as well atm. maybe kyoya after? ;)

word count: 1,844

At this time of year, the weather is chilly, the air cold even without the presence of wind and warranting the need for a scarf to avoid a red-tipped nose and numb cheeks. Most days are gloomy, the overcast sky glaringly bright and difficult to look at. But today, it would seem the divine hand in charge of the course of the seasons has granted a reprieve, the clouds parting so the sun might wash over the grass that you and Tamaki sit upon currently, in the garden of the Suoh estate.  

The gardeners had finished their tasks this morning, as instructed by Tamaki the night before. It gave you two the opportunity to be out there alone in the afternoon. The hedges are trimmed and tidy, and the smell of freshly cut grass is strong. You inhale deeply, chest puffed, and sigh in satisfaction as the scent reaches your nose. It had been so long since you sat out in a garden, owed to the fact it had been too cold for that lately.

Tamaki chuckles at your enthusiasm and rifles through the picnic basket he’d brought with him. He pushes aside the array of deserts—cake slices, chocolate bars, fruit tarts, and more—their colorful wrappings crinkling loud enough to grab your attention.

“Where is it…” he mutters.

You tilt your head. "Where is what?”

The tip of Tamaki’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, evidence of his concentration, and when he finally finds what he’s searching for, he holds it up like a first place prize, complemented by an exclamation: “Aha!”

It’s a small plastic pouch, clear with red stripes and tied near the top with a matching, shiny red poly ribbon to keep it closed. There’s what you assume to be candy inside, in various colors, but you don’t recognize it. You’re still just as clueless, but you don’t need to voice your question because Tamaki can see the confusion written across your face.

“It’s commoner candy!” he explains. “Well, commoner Valentine’s candy, more specifically.”

You continue to watch, intrigued by what he’s brought, as he pulls at the ribbon to loosen it and opens the pouch, reaching inside for one of the pieces of candy. He holds up the heart-shaped treat, gripped carefully between index finger and thumb, and angles it so you can see what’s written on it: Sweetheart.

Upon realizing there’s wording on it, and that the same must go for every heart in the bag, your eyes light up. “Cute!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tamaki agrees, voice quiet as he observes the candy. The nickname is printed red though the lettering isn’t too sharp, which gives away that it was done by a machine. “Haruhi got one for all the host club members, and I wanted to share mine with you.”

When he turns to you, amethyst eyes warm like a summer night, you smile. And when he offers the bag of heart candies to you, you eagerly reach in for one. “How thoughtful!” You turn over the piece you picked out: Only You.

“Well, shall we try them together?” Tamaki inquires, and you nod. The two of you pop the candy into your mouths in unison, then sit silently for a moment in contemplation.

It’s… unique, is the best description you can come up with. The powdery, pressed substance is basically a sugar bomb that melts once it comes in contact with your tongue. But it isn’t the quality of sugar you’re accustomed to—it’s far and away from the refined sweetness of the handmade confections stashed away in the picnic basket Tamaki brought along. Still, this mass-produced goody is delightful in its own way, in taste and novelty, for you have never seen such small candies with words on them, and you say as much to your boyfriend, the last traces of the heart candy lingering on your lips which you lick away.

“They’re charming,” you remark, reaching for another piece. “For when you can’t find the words or get them out yourself.” You read what’s written on the yellow heart you grabbed, then turn it to show Tamaki: Be Mine.

Tamaki’s attention briefly diverts down to read it as well, and the corner of his lips lifts in a lopsided grin as he meets your eyes again. “Sure, they can be useful for some people, but I can get by just fine without candy telling me what to say. How could I call myself the king of the host club if I weren’t able to string together pretty words?” Always conducting himself with some semblance of dramatic flare, he puts a hand to his chest, and the sunlight reflects off his eyes in a way that makes it seem like there’s a tear or two forming in the corners.

As usual, his acting is impeccable, and you can’t contain your smile; he’s such a natural. You have no objections to his claim as king of the school’s host club, and if you’re being honest, you wish you had even half the charisma he does, that some of the skill he possesses at waxing lyrical would rub off onto you via proximity alone.

“They would’ve come in handy for me that day I confessed to you,” you admit shyly, and it’s Tamaki’s turn to tilt his head, confused but waiting for you to expound. “These candies say all the things I wanted to say to you then.”

The day you came to terms with your feelings about Tamaki and the day you actually revealed them to him were different, and the time in between had been spent in a state of conflict over whether it was worth mustering up the courage to approach him about it. There was little doubt in your mind that the president of the host club received declarations of love left and right, a routine part of his week, a clockwork consistency like that of waking in the morning and laying down to sleep in the evening. You’re a drop of water in the ocean; what could possibly make you stand out?

For all that, you figured you should confess anyway. Rejection was still an answer and it was better than nothing. At least after the gentle let down (because truly, Tamaki is, without fail, graceful in matters of love, both the reciprocal and the unrequited) your turmoil over what he may say would finally be put at ease.

Though you rehearsed over and over what you would say and how you would say it, the practice ends up being useless, and you weren’t sure why you even bothered. Once you met his kind gaze—expectant and patient, giving you the opportunity to gather the words in the stretching silence that would be oddly too long in any other context—the resolve you had slowly been building on your walk to the meeting point by the fountain crumbled. You tripped over your words at the sight of his tender smile. Tamaki just had that effect on people, and you wished he’d look at you that way always. To be on the receiving end of his affection was to bask in the warmth of a sun that never sets.

It’s a feeling you’re distinctly reminded of now, sitting in the garden on an uncharacteristically sunny day for winter and the center of Tamaki’s attention, and you think you might be set alight from the sheer intensity (due mostly to Tamaki; the sun is poor competition in contrast). He wears that beautifully soft expression, mind clearly having thought back to your confession as yours just had. But it seems his recollection differs slightly, for he presents a counterpoint.

“I thought you handled it perfectly.” He sets the bag of heart candies on the grass and braces himself with his now freed hand, which allows him to lean closer to you. He enters your bubble but you never mind it, and his touch is feather-light as he brushes your hair behind your ear.

You’re unpersuaded, however, and raise a brow. “Really?”

Tamaki chuckles and nods, blonde hair bouncing with the singular motion. “Your eyes spoke for the words you had trouble finding. I might be the one stringing together pretty poetry like diamonds around your neck”—his fingers slide lower to trace the curve of your collarbone left exposed by the cut of your blouse, and you shiver—“but you have no need for words at all, much less the turns of phrases on pieces of candy.”

“Is that why you liked me too?” you ask, remembering his own confession that had followed closely on the heel of yours. You keep your voice hushed because given how close to each other you are, there’s no need for any higher of a volume.

Tamaki hums in confirmation. His index finger delicately taps once, twice, thrice, on the hollow at the base of your throat, a sort of absentminded movement while absorbed in his thoughts, before he once more brings his hand up, cradling your cheek. “You say you’re a drop in the ocean but you’re the drops of morning dew on the roses just outside my bedroom window. My heart flutters to breathe you in.”  

You smile, bashful, and set your hand over his, interlacing your fingers. Your cheeks have darkened in a blush Tamaki would like to kiss. “Okay, I’m convinced,” you concede with a murmur. He’s so close to you now. “When I admitted how I felt, maybe it didn’t go as badly as I thought.”

This elicits another laugh from Tamaki. Instead of acting on his desire to run his lips along your silken skin (there would be time for that later), he settles for a quick peck on your nose, then reaches into the pouch of heart candies, temporarily abandoned but not forgotten. His fingers curl around two pieces and he pulls them both out rather than dropping one, but he sees the words on them before you do since his hand obscures them from your view.

“The powers governing destiny have destined our souls for each other,” he declares. “Because you and me, it’s love.”

He uncurls his fingers to reveal the candy in his palm, and you look down at them. The green one reads You & Me, and the blue one It’s Love. This prompts you to giggle. It’s music to his ears.

“What happened to not needing candy to tell you what to say?” Your tone is playful.

Tamaki shrugs, unable to hide his amused grin. “I pulled them out at random. If this is the universe speaking to me, who would I be to argue?”

You have no counter to this, not that you think there even is one. Destiny is destiny and as Tamaki feeds you one of the hearts and you bite into it, the sugar once more dissolving on your tongue, you can only thank those powers which make the world turn for conferring their blessing upon the two of you in such a deliciously sweet way.

[heliads]

How to Move On

Based on this request: “A ghost!Luke Patterson x alive!reader but she is older. Like in the 90s they were but then he died and she got older. An angst story please :)”

masterlist

When he was alive, Luke Patterson lived five houses down from one of the cutest girls he’d ever seen. It still surprises him that he has to tack on that first part to describe anything that happened in his life before, like if he shuts his eyes hard enough he’ll find himself back in the 90s, when he had a pulse and a heartbeat and people could see him if he walked out onto the street.

However, an unseen blade cuts a little too deep whenever he thinks about his current situation, so Luke allows himself to fall deeper into the memory instead of returning back to reality. She’d lived five houses down, right? Or was it four? Luke has hardly been brought back as a ghost for a few weeks before he’s started losing his grasp on the details that bound his life. They’re all slipping through his fingertips, gone now in recollection as well as his ability to return to them in person.

Yes, five houses down- he’s certain of it now. Whenever he wanted to sneak out of his house to go visit her, Luke had to climb out of his window and weave through two backyards before he could risk returning to the sidewalk for another three houses. Five houses down, that’s right. Luke curses himself mentally, not wanting to forget another detail. He’s already lost the girl, he doesn’t want to lose the few figments of her in his memory. A ghost of her for the ghost he already is.

If he managed to sneak out of his house and make it down five houses, as he so often did, Luke could then toss small pebbles at one moonlit window. It usually only took two or three of these interactions before the window would be hurriedly unlatched, a beaming face peering out at him. Luke would allow himself a second of staring, admiring the way the moonlight cast the girl in a bone-white halo, then haul himself up into the room.

From the second his feet touched down on the bedroom floor, Luke would be in safe territory. He still took precautions, of course, keeping his voice down and his movements quiet. However, Y/N L/N always seemed to have a secret oasis in the form of her room, and he was never once caught. They both made sure of it, and if he and Y/N worked together, they could achieve any goal so long as it was worth it.

Y/N L/N. She was the one he’d left behind, one of the aches that hurt the most. He’d been lucky enough to win her love, either through some complete misunderstanding or maybe the fact that he’d finally done something right in his life, but he had her nonetheless. Or, he’d had her until the day he’d died, leaving behind nothing in his wake but grieving parents and the girl he’d sworn to stay with for the rest of his life. Well, his promise had come true in one sense, although Luke can’t help but wish there was another way around it.

To be completely honest, even as Luke dreads forgetting any detail of his past girl, he might fear thinking about her even more. It’s not that he wants to lose the picture of her smile in his head, or the way she’d reach for him when she was cold, it’s just that to think of her in any sense is like a knife stabbing him through the ribs, reminding him that he’ll never get her back. If he tries to push her from his mind, he won’t remember the way she’ll never be with him again. Isn’t that better?

Luke already knows the answer: no, not at all. Even this one slip in his memory, the faltering knowledge of how far apart their houses were, sends a jolt of worry spiking through him. Luke wouldn’t consider himself forgetful, maybe just a little absentminded, but the fact that he’s already starting to forget his past life worries him. However, to keep Y/N’s picture cherished in his mind means reminding himself of everything that he’d lost, of finally confronting all the memories he’s been holding back for so long.

Eventually, Luke finds himself in the studio, searching through the boxes and crates of stuff that had eventually made its way into dusty corners and spiderwebbed cracks of the room. Julie’s mom had been kind enough to keep at least some of Sunset Curve’s possessions, and so Luke ransacks these sparse belongings now. At last, his hand emerges triumphant, carrying with it an old photo album. It’s thin, spine scarcely thicker than a small paperback, but for the way he looks at it its pages could be lined with gold.

Luke pauses a second, steeling himself before flipping open the front cover. Instantly, he’s hit with a wave of memories. These first few photos had been taken a year or so before he died, when he had first started dating Y/N and everything seemed like he was living a dream. There are Polaroids from their first few dates, snapshots of festivals and boardwalks and everything a couple of teenagers could afford when they were young and stupidly in love.

Luke studies these, then the next couple of pages, and then the next. He must have been more distracted than he’d first thought, because he doesn’t notice Julie Molina enter the studio until she’s practically standing on top of him. Julie clears his throat, and he startles, doing his best to quickly close the album. For some reason, it doesn’t feel quite right to so openly share his memories of Y/N to anyone within eyesight.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there. Are we practicing?” Luke asks. Julie laughs, her smile a tad incredulous. “Not yet, but I’m a little worried as to why you were so quick to hide that book. What, are you trying to keep secrets from me?” Her eyes assure him that this question is purely an excuse to tease him, but Luke can’t find it within himself to smile back. Instead, he sits back down on the floor of the studio, gesturing listlessly to the empty space next to him.

“Not entirely. It’s just- well, I found this old photo album, and it’s kind of hard to not regret leaving everything behind. The current day is good, don’t get me wrong, and I love the band, but-” Julie picks up on his train of thought even as Luke’s voice trails off. “It’s not what you’re used to, and you feel bad about everything you could have had. I get it. I’m surprised you’ve adjusted so well, to be honest. It can’t be easy to leave your entire life behind.”

Luke lets out a quiet sigh. “Exactly.” After a moment’s consideration, he picks up the photo album again, opening the cover and passing it to Julie. She accepts it, glancing at him one last time to make sure he’s alright with baring his soul to her. A soft smile traces its way onto her face as she sees the photos of him and Y/N, grins so bright they could practically light up the world. “Who is this?”

Her finger lingers over a photo Luke had taken of Y/N. She had been wearing a Sunset Curve shirt, one of their first attempts at a logo. They’d long since changed the design, but she had said something about how her boys were so official and taken the first draft t-shirt nonetheless. Y/N had worn it to many shows since then, until the design faded into nothingness and she’d been forced to get a new one. Luke’s voice softens. “That’s Y/N. She is- she was my girlfriend. Back in the 90s, at least.”

Luke hates the way he has to say that, like she’s died instead of him. She was his girlfriend, they had known each other, they are each utterly different now and there is no getting back what they’d once had. Julie glances over at him, sympathy radiating from her gaze, but then she turns back to the photo, frowning over it in something that almost looks like recognition. “Wait, you said her name was Y/N? Like Y/N L/N?”

Luke sits bolt upright, melancholy thoughts completely forgotten. “Yes! How did you know that? Do you know her?” Julie’s excitement starts to bleed away from her, as if she knows something that ruins the dream she had been so thrilled to share. “Well, yes, but she’s not Y/N L/N anymore. She has a different last name now.” Luke picks up on what Julie is unwilling to say, and his stomach sinks a little. She has a different last name because she’s married, because she’s moved on.

Even as he thinks this, Luke feels annoyed at himself. Of course she’s moved on- he died 25 years ago. There’s no reason she would never love again, and even if she did, Luke would never want that for her. She was so bright, so happy, that the thought of herself locked away in mournful grief like his parents seems so utterly wrong that if that happened she might as well have died with him. Still, Luke doesn’t like thinking that there’s someone else out there receiving her smiles, hearing her hopes and dreams late at night the way he had once listened to her.

Luke must have gone silent for too long, because Julie is looking over at him again, pity written in every line of her face. She thinks for a second longer, then stands up, holding out her hand to him. “She still lives near here, actually. A few streets down. Do you want to go see her?” Luke stares at her, then rushes to his feet. “You mean it? You know where she is?” Julie nods. “Only if you’re willing to see her.” She’s right to worry- seeing Y/N again will mean finally coming to terms with everything Luke had left behind when he’d died, a final piece of proof that Y/N will never be his again. Still, if he hides away from her again, Luke will spend the rest of his ghosthood wondering what she might have been like and who she may have become. So, he nods, and allows Julie to lead him from the studio and down the blocks to Y/N’s house.

Even without Julie’s directions, Luke would know their destination even before she points out Y/N’s front door. He sees her in every corner of the building, every flower and tree planted in the yard. She’d always wanted a brightly painted front door, tall trees in the backyard so she could have a little shade on the summer days. They’d once planned what their future houses would look like, always choosing one for the two of them. If Luke sees traces of his ideas in her house now, does that mean Y/N still thinks of him? Or that she’s already forgotten that it was his voice suggesting those changes and not her own, that he’s already faded into the last few corners of her memory?

His feet stall in the driveway, but at an encouraging look from Julie, Luke forces himself to walk up the final few feet to stop in front of the front door. He reaches forward and rings the doorbell himself, although he can do no more once the door swings open. This will be Julie’s part- Luke can do no more than watch the woman in front of him with wide eyes.

She still looks like her. Is that a strange thing to say? She’s taller now, her face more lined and weary as if she’s had a lifetime of problems to deal with ever since Luke left her days. It makes sense that she looks older- the last time Luke saw her was 25 years ago, so she’s probably in her forties now. Still, there are traces of the girl he’d known in every movement, every step. When she looks questioningly at Julie, Luke can see the way she’d looked at him to ask when and where Sunset Curve would be performing so she could make sure to arrive on time. The gesture is so truthfully her that it practically hurts to see.

Julie’s eyes dart to Luke, as if trying to gauge his reaction, then she focuses her gaze firmly on Y/N. “I, uh, was cleaning out my mom’s old studio. I found something from the band who used to practice there- they went by the name of Sunset Curve? Your name was on one of the photos.” It’s a duplicate photo strip from a photo booth on a long-since demolished boardwalk, an excuse for the visit. Still, it’s enough to make Y/N’s eyes widen, and she looks at Julie as if she’s punched a hole right through her chest.

She gestures for Julie to follow her inside. Luke drifts in after them, staring at the photos lining the walls, the backpacks flung in a corner of the room. So she has children, a family. How long had it taken her to move on from him? She smiles in every family portrait he sees, but did she ever think about the boy she’d left behind? Would it matter that much to him if she did?

Julie hands Y/N the photo strip now, and tears glisten in the woman’s eyes as she looks at herself and Luke, decades younger and what feels like centuries happier. Julie, thank everything, is unwilling to let Y/N leave without asking her about the boy she’d left behind. “Did you know him well? The boy in the photos?” Y/N glances up sharply at Julie, startling as if she’d forgotten there was a girl in front of her, too drowned in the memories of the past to remember reality. It’s a familiar feeling to Luke, and it stings to see it on this older Y/N too.

“Yes, I did. Very well, in fact. I loved him with all of my heart until he died along with his bandmates.” She laughs quietly, the sound broken through with utter misery. It twists Luke’s heart like a blade. “I almost didn’t make it through the funeral. I was sitting next to his parents, and we were sobbing like we’d never smile again. He was everything to me, and I had no idea what to do when he was gone. I wish you could have met him- he was always so quick to a smile or a laugh. I never told him how much I liked his smile. I wish I had.”

Luke stumbles as if he’s been punched. Tears are pricking at his eyes, and he swipes at them angrily with his shirt sleeve. Why should he have to cry now, mourn everything he’d lost? Hasn’t he been through enough? Y/N swallows harshly. “It’s easy to get lost in the past. I graduated high school without him, went to college without him. I didn’t think I’d ever have to live a day without him, and suddenly I had an entire future completely empty of anyone like him. There are days when I almost think I see him in a crowd, and days when it gets easier. In the end, I think he’d want me to move forward, even as hard as that may be.”

Julie glances over at Luke once more, scarcely a second away from tears herself. “Yeah, I think he’d want you to be happy. That above all else.” Y/N sighs, the sound cutting through Luke and almost sending him to the floor. “Thank you for the photos, Julie. You take care of yourself.” Julie smiles. “I will. Thank you too.” Luke, sensing the imminent goodbye, takes one last furtive glance around the house. What if he had been there, present in every family photo and every line in her journals? He wishes nothing more than to have that option, to be able to go back, but he can’t.

So, he allows himself to follow Julie back out into the sunshine of the afternoon, and when the door closes softly behind him, he doesn’t look back. Julie is silent on the walk back, as is he. Luke heads for the studio, and he stops before the photo album before glancing up at the walls around him. If he tries hard enough, Luke thinks he can see her in every corner of the studio. There she is on the couch, laughing as she pretends to smack him with a pillow. There she is next to him on the piano, listening to his latest song. There are hundreds of her in the studio, hundreds of memories. That’s all he has left of her. Just memories and nothing more.

Julie returns to find him later, and it doesn’t take long for her eyes to cut across the room, landing on the photo newly pinned to the wall. There are two figures in it, a boy and a girl grinning madly as they reach for each other in a dusky night. Both of them are long gone now, dead and aged even as their photo-selves smile on. If Luke looks back at the photo now, keeping that image burned into his mind, he never speaks of it again.

requested by @charliegillespiewife​

jatp tag list: someone who i would not leave behind if i died in the 90s @underc0vercryptid​

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 2 - Back From The Looking Glass

Author's Note: The second chapter rough draft and second core cast intro for Empty Names. The previous chapter can be found here. Masterpost with table of contents here. Word Count: 3,043 Content Warnings: Violence/combat in the form of a wizard duel. What might qualify as mild body horror as a part of said wizard duel. Frostbite. Probably nothing in here that would be worse than a PG-13 rating. Once again, if anyone reads this and sees something that I should have included a content warning for, let me know and I'll go back and add it. Here goes my first attempt at writing a fight scene.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

“I hate anime,” Ashan grumbles to himself for the second time that day.  

No, that was not quite fair.  He had some vague recollection of enjoying some show or another as a child.  What was it called again?  Something with magic cards and a girl on roller skates.  An interesting concept for quick casting of spells, but unlikely to be practical with its reliance on bound spirits.  There was also the one with the talking hamsters.  That one had been fun.

Perhaps it is not so much anime itself as anime conventions that bother him.  Even after being back on the world of his birth for a few years now, he is still not used to the sheer density of the crowds.  And the novelty of convention goers stopping to ask him who he is supposed to be wears thin quickly.  Even worse are the ones who mistake him for a favorite character and ask for a picture.  And while he is used to being mistaken for a woman - and even finds amusement in it so long as the mistake is not repeated after correction - the well-intended compliments mistaking his white robes for a dress are beginning to test his patience.  

All that is secondary though to the fact that such concentrated escapism and suspension of disbelief makes for a Masquerade breach waiting to happen.  Coupled with the sheer number of cosplayers making it easy for outsiders to blend in, it was no wonder that there is nearly always an incident at these events.  

An incident like one in one hundred event pamphlets listing an event in a room that the other ninety-nine in one hundred mark as not being in use.

At last, he finally extracts himself from yet another group wanting a photo - this one with costumes unsettlingly similar to his own raiment - and waves them off with a practiced smile.  Almost always best to play along and blend in.  Alone in the crowd once more, he double-checks the pamphlet.

Room 322.  2:00pm. Get Isekai’d!: An interactive panel to kickstart your magical journey to another world (without being hit by a truck).

Just around the corner and several minutes to spare yet.  

Turning said corner feels like stepping into a new building.  Empty and unadorned, save for two doors flanking the terminus of a dead end hallway.  Through some quirk of acoustics the constant background noise of the crowd fades to a distant murmur after only a few steps down the hall.  Even the lighting is perceptibly dimmer without the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main concourse.  Room 322 has no sign outside to proclaim the event yet the door remains cracked open enough to catch a glimpse of the small audience already seated inside.  

After a quick glance to verify no one else is coming down the hall, Ashan stretches to touch a finger to the top of the doorframe and begins tracing esoteric symbols.  Wherever he touches, the surface takes on a glassy sheen.

Tapping the center of his work a final time, his breath mists in the air as he makes a quick chant with no literal translation.  The drawn symbols shimmer in response then fade, now invisible to the untrained eye.  

He blinks, observes his ward, finds it satisfactory, and rubs some warmth back into his hands before stepping into the room.  

The room is a small one by convention standards.  Only a few dozen plastic chairs lined up facing a small stage set against the far wall.  Less than half the chairs are occupied, making for a lower attendance than Ashan had feared.  Good.  Fewer people to worry about getting hurt.  

Up on stage a tall man in a turtleneck that strains against his bodybuilder proportions paces in front of a freestanding wooden door with a polished white stone inset into the top of its frame.  The stage rattles with the weight of his every step.  As Ashan takes a seat near the front the presenter checks his phone then walks over to a podium with a laptop.  A projector comes to life and throws the title of the panel across a screen next to the stage.  

As the presentation begins, Ashan only halfway pays attention to the words being said or the slides on the screen.  Watching for signs of hostile spells and workings takes up too much of his focus for that.  And besides, the history and greatest hits of a genre about normal people going on adventures in other worlds can only hold so much interest for one who has actually lived it.  Although in his experience the real thing involved significantly fewer women of dubious proportions in impractical and revealing outfits.  

Twenty minutes into the scheduled hour-long panel, Ashan begins to wonder if this is simply a case of a magically-inclined nerd using his abilities to skip out on paying the panel booking fees.  True, the presenter’s body is obviously modified, but it would hardly be the first time a new mage transmuted himself in an ill-conceived attempt at “improvement,” and he has not really done anything incriminating yet.  Still, the “interactive” portion of the panel’s title is worrisome and the door’s function remains forebodingly elusive.  

“Show of hands: who here wishes you could get away from this life and start over as a hero in a new world?”

The sight and sound of a score of hands going up around him jolts Ashan’s focus back to the speaker’s words.  

“Well then, do I have the chance of a lifetime in store for all of you.”  The presenter saunters over to the door in the center of the stage and leans on the frame.  A murmur of anticipation goes through the crowd.  With a theatrical flourish, the presenter knocks four times and the door swings inward.  

The door does not come out from the backside of the frame.

On the other side of the doorway everyone in the audience can see a trail coming out of a forest and meandering over rolling grassy hills.  A castle can be seen in the far distance, white walls gleaming in the sunlight.  A breeze blows into the room carrying the scent of flowers.

Several people gasp.  Others start whispering, asking what is going on.  Someone starts clapping at what they think to be a clever trick.

“Yes, yes, it’s amazing, I know,” the presenter says.  “And to answer the question I’m sure you’re all asking yourselves right now,” he steps in front of the door and begins walking backwards, “this is very real.”  To drive the point home he steps to the right, disappearing out of sight entirely before coming back into view from the left before coming back through the door and walking a circle around it on stage.

“So, who wants to go first?” he asks with a smug grin.

Hands shoot up.  Chairs get pushed back as audience members jump to their feet.  The questions of what is going on get louder.  A couple of people with stronger survival instincts start edging toward the door.

Ashan sighs, gets to his feet, and calmly climbs onto stage before any of the over-eager fools can beat him to it.

“Now that’s what I like to see!” the presenter says as Ashan approaches the door.  “Can I have your name miss…ter?”

“My name is mine to keep,” he replies, “but perhaps you would not mind answering a few questions?  I imagine it would set the rest of the audience at ease to know more precisely what awaits them.”

“I’d be delighted.  Although I assure you all that this is perfectly safe.”

“As we saw with your demonstration, I am sure.”  Threshold wards rarely affect their casters.  “But what about language?  Will we be able to understand the people we meet on the other side?”

“Obviously.  The portal auto-magically applies the standard multiversal translator spell used by all  travelers.  Would you believe I’m not even speaking English right now?”

“Fascinating.”  Ashan mentally runs through the signs of the seven different translation practices common in this local cluster that he can recall off the top of his head.  This man is showing none of them.  “And what of the Autogenesis Principle?  Do you have any advice for those here wanting to escape their failures from physically manifesting their own internalized inadequacies?”

The presenter’s smirk falters.  “I’m not sure what fandom you’re roleplaying at right now, but that’s not anything anyone here needs to worry about.  So either go on through or get out of the way so everyone else can get their adventure underway.”

“Just one more question, if you would kindly humor me.”  Ashan places a hand on the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment.  He opens them and asks “Does this essence siphon function on infernal or necromantic principles?”

The presenter’s smile disappears altogether.  “How did you - ”

“Necromantic then.  I cannot imagine a patron willing to aid a novice who would fail to even recognize another mage in this blunder of a Masquerade breach.”

The necromancer regains his composure and shrugs.  “Okay, you got me.  But hey,” he snaps his fingers and spikes of bone erupt from the floor, barring the mundane exit from the room, “it’s not a Masquerade breach if the witnesses are all dead.  So what do you say we split the haul seventy-thirty and you look the other way.”

The room goes silent for a moment before the dawning realization of the situation finally breaks and the audience starts shouting and rushing the barred exit, trying in vain to escape.  Except, of course, for the handful of stubborn skeptics mocking them for freaking out.  

Ashan looks at the crowd pressing themselves into the bars of bone and makes a tsk sound.  He should have noticed that on his way in.  Returning his gaze to the necromancer he says “I shall never understand people like you.”

“Fine, sixty-forty and that’s the best you’re getting unless you wanna help me herd the sheep in here.”

“I shall never understand those who believe the possession of knowledge and power makes the lives of those without expendable.”

The necromancer begins to back up.  “So that’s how it is, huh?  Fancy yourself some kind of hero?”

“No one has yet been hurt.  I shall give you one chance to leave now and never try this again.”

“How very generous of you,” the necromancer replies.  The words drip with sarcasm and venom.  “With an offer like that I can only say…” he reaches the edge of the stage.  “Get boned!”

The surface of the stage splinters and cracks.  With a flick of the wrist Ashan has his pearlescent wand in hand.  An ivory spear hurtles up at him from below.  A quick looping motion with the wand and a transparent shield appears in the air.  The spear is deflected through the portal.  As are the next three after.  Ashan follows up with drawing another, larger shield over the door.  It would not do to fall in himself.

That precaution proves timely as the necromancer lets out a bellow of pain and rage and his right arm explodes into a tendril of muscle and bony spikes that darts across the stage before slamming into Ashan’s side.  He manages to get his free hand up, palm out, in time to keep the tendril from making direct contact but now finds himself squeezed between two of his own barriers.  Stabbing the wand into the barrier holding back the tendril he wills his conjuration away and up.  The tendril swings away from him and out over the heads of the audience before retracting back into a semblance of an arm.

The audience is screaming now.  Even the most skeptical have been made believers.  The bars on the door still hold.  Ashan’s breath mists in the air grown cold around him.

The necromancer wastes no words as he charges the wizard.  As he runs, his other arm shreds its sleeve as it bulks up and grows talons over its fingers.  A morbid parody of dance ensues back and forth across the stage.  The necromancer rains down crushing blows and Ashan casually deflects them with shields that flicker in and out of existence.  More spikes erupt from below and Ashan gracefully sidesteps.  The necromancer’s face twists in rage and Ashan’s remains placid.

Eventually, the necromancer grows frustrated with this game and changes tactics.  He extends the tendril of his right arm once more, sending it plunging toward the one audience member still seated.  Ashan makes a slashing motion with the wand followed by an upward flick and a wall of what looks like glass rises to cut the stage off from the rest of the room.  The tendril crumples on itself as it slams into the newmade wall.  

The fact that the seated man in the yellow vest did not so much as flinch at nearly being impaled distracts Ashan enough that the followup swipe from the left claw manages to graze his cheek.  Enough playing around to wear the brute down then.

Wielding his wand like a brush, Ashan visualizes the chains running from the floor to the necromancer’s limbs and then paints them into being.  The next blow comes to a rattling halt midair.  The necromancer has just enough time to look at his wrist in surprise before Ashan makes another gesture and the chains pull him down, forcing him to his knees.

“You have lost,” Ashan says in an even tone.  He is no longer the only person in the room whose breath is condensing into mist.  Every surface in the room now bears dewdrops from the rapid drop in temperature over the past few minutes.  Ashan resists the urge to shiver before continuing.  “And still, no one has been hurt.  Come along quietly and I imagine you can still negotiate a lighter sentence than you deserve.”

“Who the hell are you?  Some kind of cop?” The necromancer pants heavily, pausing for breath between sentences.  “How did you even know I was here?  And why is it so damn cold in here?”

Ashan cocks his head at finally hearing a question from the novice mage he might deign to answer.  “Tis but a slight twisting of thermodynamics.  Absent a local concept for ambient energy such as aether or mana, one must needs improvise.  Only the inexperienced and the foolhardy draw from their own metabolism,” Ashan nods toward his shaking opponent, “as you seem to be.”

“Oh really…”

“Indeed.  Although I would not advise such a technique to the untrained.”

“Cocky bastard, bragging about your secret techniques when you think you’ve won.”  Frost begins to form on the stage around the necromancer.

“It is hardly a secret.  And really, you should not attempt it.  Especially in your current state.”

“You know.”

The spikes of bone scattered about the stage begin to shake.

“Where you.”

The necromancer begins shivering violently.

“Can take your advice.”

The spikes rise into the air.

“And shove it?”

The spikes all turn to face Ashan.

“‘Cause I’m about to show you!”

The spikes begin to move in on Ashan, gathering speed.

The necromancer falls over with a thud and the spikes clatter harmlessly to the stage.  Ashan walks over to him and notes the white and blue patches of frostbite covering the fallen man’s skin.  He bends down and checks for a pulse.  He finds one.  Unconscious, but alive.  Beginner’s luck.

Ashan stands back up, exhales, lets his remaining conjurations dissipate, and allows himself to shiver.

A slow clap from the sole remaining audience member disrupts his reverie.

Wait.  Sole remaining?  When did the screaming stop?  Where did everyone go?  He whips around to see the man in the yellow vest leaning against the wall next to the exit door.  The bars of bone now lay shattered on the ground.

“You certainly live up to your reputation, Ashan Glassheart.”  The man stops clapping and looks around the ruined stage.  “Well, maybe a little more collateral damage than I expected, but credit where credit is due, the rookie knew what he was doing with stashing unenchanted raw material for his trap.”  He pauses to stroke his goatee in consideration.  “Or maybe just dumb luck on his part.”

“Do I know you?”  Ashan asks.

“I should hope not,” the man replies.  “I try to keep out of the spotlight.  The name’s Sullivan Bridgewood.  At my service.”  He gives a flourishing bow as makes the introduction.

“I thought the sorceress Bridgewood was a woman.”

“That would be my dearly departed wife, Void rest her soul.”

“My condolences, but that still does not explain what you want with me.”

Bridgewood puts a hand to his chest and feigns an offended gasp.  “So suspicious.  And after I helped and set all the normies free while you were giving your lecture.  Nice job on the amnestic ward by the way.  Always fun to watch them go from running for their lives to milling about confused.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“Oh, lighten up will you, I’m getting to that.”  He walks over to the stage and leans an elbow on it, looking up at Ashan.  “Have you ever heard of the individual known as Road?”

Ashan arches an eyebrow in surprise.  “The guy who runs around in purple armor fighting subway dragons and saving goth kids from vampire cults?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“From what I have heard they are a noble fool who just happens to be skilled and lucky enough to back up their reckless actions.  But a fool whose heart is in the right place.  Supposedly they used to be a big deal before disappearing several years ago.”  Ashan stops himself and gets back to the still unanswered question.  “Why?”

Bridgewood chuckles.  “Because,” he drags out the word, “said noble fool just so happens to be an old friend of mine and recently got back to town.  They’re looking to put a team together and could use a proper spellslinger.”  He smiles just a little too widely and reaches up a hand.  “So, interested?”

Ashan feels a shiver go down his back that is only partially related to the cold.

“Help me clean up in here and get this villain to the authorities in Crossherd and I shall consider it.”

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

[kippykasey]

Grace - Chapter 5: Hydra

Pairing: Howard Stark x F!Reader , Bucky x Reader [Eventually]

Word Count: 3522

Series Summary: A young nurse is recruited by Dr. Abraham Erskine to join the SSR to assist on Project Rebirth. Following her work with the SSR she is drafted into the US Army Nurse Corps in the war against the Nazis...and HYDRA.

Chapter Warnings: violence, torture, bad things because Hydra

Author's Note: Surprise?! I wasn't even expecting to get this done but I literally just finished and thought, eh why not. So here it is! Also I hate hurting my characters so this was a bit eh to write but I hope all is well!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the gifs they are either found on google or under the gif tag provided by tumblr. Any language other than English was translated using Google Translator, and translations will be posted in bolden italics after. I am not a nurse or in the medical field although I may do some research medical treatment written may not be correct.

Grace Masterlist | Snowdrop Masterlist | Masterlist

Pain. A throbbing, harsh pain echoed through my head from the temple. The throbbing beat opposite that of my heart. The second thing I noticed was how cold and damp it was. After battling with my body to force open my eyes I squint through the dimly lit room. A deep voice spoke in another language… German it was German but my head hurt too much for me to understand it. Seconds passed before I realized that I was sitting on the ground in a cell. The door opened and two men walked in flanked by four additional soldiers than the one that had been watching me.

“Ah Fräulein (L/n) glad you have finally woken up.” Miss.

“Who are you?” I cursed how weak my voice sounded at that moment. Though the man didn’t seem to find me a threat of escape as he spoke. “Johann Schmidt. You see we have a common acquaintance… or, well, had.” The grin he wore made my stomach drop and he didn’t need to verbally admit it for me to realize this is the man behind Abraham’s death.

I raised my head in defiance and although it made the pounding in my head worsen I pushed myself from the ground and stood within the cell. “You’re after the serum.”

“Ah, clever girl. You were Abraham’s assistant when he made the serum.” The second, much shorter man spoke. “Fault in your plans. I don’t know how to make the serum.” Schmidt smiled at me and it took all my self control not to shiver from his intense look. “I was hoping you would say that,” His eyes turned off me to the soldiers. “Bring sie zum Stuhl. Probiere es an ihr aus. Vielleicht wird ein kleiner Elektroschock Ihr Gedächtnis auffrischen.” Take her to the chair. Try it out on her. Perhaps a bit of electroshock will refresh your memory. As Schmidt talked his head also turned towards the shorter man.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I moved back against the wall. Three soldiers stepped towards the cell. One man opened the cell door before the other two stepped inside to detain me. I managed to elbow one in the face in my struggle but it was useless. The two soldiers dragged me from the cell, out of the room into a brighter lit hall. We were in some kind of warehouse. My eyes zeroed in on a chair that looked right out of a nightmare. Stronger hands forced me into the hard chair and held me down while I was struggling against someone’s attempts to strap me in. My struggling did nothing but get me a slap to the face. The strength of the slap disoriented me long enough for them to strap me in.

The shorter man who followed us now stood next to my head. I could see the reflection of myself in his glasses. “This is only going to hurt a lot, try to hold still.” He instructs lowering two plates down around my face. It was only a few short moments before the electricity forced its way into my head. I had no control over my body as it thrashed in the confines of the chair. An agonizing scream of pain carrying throughout the building went ignored.

That wasn’t my first time in the chair but it was the only time I had passed out in the chair. Spent 30 minutes in the chair 3 times a day, sometimes longer. After a week I had to start muttering things to myself in my cell so I didn’t forget who I was. The Nazi soldiers gave me the bare minimum to survive as far as water and nutrients goes. I cracked halfway through October. I gave the short scientist, Armin Zola, the list of what I would need before I was taken back to my cell after yet another time in the cell. I was given parchment and a pencil to write things down with but it kept coming in flashes.

Nights were the worst. Mouth dry from lack of water, eyes trained on an iron grate in the ceiling. I realized two weeks into my daily chair visits that I had forgotten my brother’s name. When I noticed it caused me to cry to sleep that night. So whenever I could I would mutter to myself facts I could remember starting with my name, rank, and where I was from. The list of facts got shorter every day. Somedays I remembered more than others. There were times all I could bring myself to do was hum Amazing Grace to myself to deal with the pain.

The first time I was in the lab I tried to escape. I was left with just one guard and I thought I could take him. I smashed a beaker using a shard like a knife. I ended up knocked unconscious, my hand bleeding from the self inflicted cuts caused by the makeshift weapon. From then on I was chained to the lab table and three soldiers kept watch. I wasn’t given anything to test the serum on. So I never tested unless I thought it would work because I used myself as a test subject.

I was unconscious for two days once from a failed serum. Others cause excruciating pain. Days came and went and I lost count of days but I knew it was still October. Yet a month was close to passing as November began to be discussed amongst soldiers around me. Pressure was placed on me to recreate the serum. Each day if I didn’t recreate the serum I was sent to the chair for the torturous electroshock. That is how I figured out I had been successful in a recreation. The serum, when tested, did nothing but make me drop to the lab floor in pain. I wasn’t even given time to recollect myself before being dragged off to the chair. I lasted longer in the chair than usual. I heard the instruction to increase the power. I don’t remember what happened after that.

It took me nearly half a day to recover, then as soon as I had I was back working in the lab. Suddenly I was pulled away from my work and escorted quickly back to my cell. “Neue Soldaten wurden gefangen genommen.” New soldiers have been captured. I pressed myself up against the bars for a chance, a glimpse at the soldiers being brought in.

It was silent as the Nazi Hydra soldiers dealt with the new poisoners. Suddenly two soldiers appeared with smiles on their faces. “Komm Mädchen. Zola und Schmidt wollen dich sehen.” Come girl. Zola and Schmidt want to see you. The soldiers yanked me up and practically dragged me to the room where the chair was. My body trembled involuntarily at the sight of the chair. It wasn’t me going in the chair, given someone was strapped in but given the uniform he was American. “Ah, here iz our lovely nurse. You’ve been asking for a test subject. Here you go.” Schmidt waved at the man strapped into the chair. The man lifted his head just barely and my heart went out to him. As soon as the hands left my arms I moved to the soldier in the chair. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“S’rg’nt Jam’s Barn’s,” His voice wasn’t clear but it was clear enough for me to understand what he said. The nurse turned to Zola and Schmidt. “I wasn’t done recreating the serum when you had me pulled from the lab. I will need time to work and he needs time to rest or the serum will kill him.” I tried to give him whatever comfort I could in those brief moments before we were pulled apart. His head rose just slightly and I caught a glimpse of stormy blue eyes as he was dragged out of the room.

I never got to return to my cell that night. As my eyes zoned in on the blue chemical mixture in front of me I felt a haze cloud my mind, it wasn’t abnormal to experience but I also felt like I was losing myself when it happened. Following my own written instructions I was able to continue my work. The only other thing I forced my mind to remember were two things.

I am First Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps. Soldier boy is Sergeant James Barnes.

The words became a mantra in the blank canvas my mind was currently in as I blindly worked by instructions of my very own that I don’t even remember writing. My body moved on auto pilot as I was taken to a crude looking examination room. In the center was soldier boy Sergeant James Barnes strapped to the table. As my mind raced to catch up with me, flashes of memories clouded my mind from when Steve Rogers got the serum, the explosion that followed, Dr. Erskine being shot. My body tensed at a passing memory of being in the chair passed through being replaced by the pain I felt giving myself the serum.

A hand pressed firmly in between my shoulder blades pushing me forward. I stumbled to the table catching myself with a hand on his arm. Wasn’t he wearing an army jacket before? My eyes landed on the serum filled syringe in my hands reminding me of what I was about to do. “First lieutenant (Y/n) (F/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps.. You are Sergeant James Barnes.. I’m sorry for what I am about to do. You’ll be okay. I’ve used it on myself. It will hurt.” My voice sounded so… robotic and monotone as I spoke to him. My hands pushing up his sleeve.

My hands worked from memory and out of second nature my mouth moved and the hymn fell from my lips. The melody of the song was the only comfort I could offer as I injected the poor man with the serum that would change his life forever. His eyes looked up at mine until the pain of the serum changing his body caused them to shut tightly. The leather restraints holding him in began to rip as he pulled against them. Discarding the empty syringe I tried to soothe him more but the second my hand touched his head I was shot with a sedative.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Steve Rogers has dressed up performing on stage like a dancing monkey to sell war bonds since he was given the serum. His first time on foreign grounds and he was performing for soldiers he should have been fighting alongside of. All to be booed off the stage by disgruntled men who just wanted to see a pretty dame.

Steve finally looked away from the rain but not quite at Peggy, “At least he’s got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.” Blue eyes finally met the face of Agent Carter. “And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know.” Her wording might have been a bit rude but the point got across. There was a moment of silence between the two but Steve had this look to him. “What?” Peggy inquired.

The man was drawing in the rain when a familiar face popped up. “Hello, Steve.” Peggy Carter approached him from behind, making him turn from his drawing to greet her, “Hi.” She mimed his ‘hi’ back before laying her jacket down to sit on while Steve asked, “What are you doing here?” Peggy looked at Rogers and let out a small sigh, “Officially, I’m not here at all. That was quite a performance.”

Rogers looked away disappointed that she had caught the horrible show that happened earlier. “Yeah. I uh, I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh, twelve.” Steve explained looking out at the drenched ground and falling rain. “I understand you’re ‘America’s New Hope’.” Peggy states watching him. “Bond sales take a 10% bump in every state I visit.” Steve comments like a robot. “Is that Senator Brandt I hear?”

“You know for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted and I’m wearing tights.” Steve kept looking down at his journal then squinting out through the rain. A horn alarmed behind them as a medical vehicle slid to a stop in the mud. Medics ran from the infirmary tent to help unloaded soldiers on gurneys. “They look like they’ve been through hell.” Peggy turned back towards Rogers. “These men more than most.” Steve looked up at Peggy knowing she had more details. “Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men were there to back up an already injured fleet, they went up against him and less than 75 returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th and 34th.” Steve slowly turned his head feeling bad for the men who were lost but his attention snapped to Peggy at the mention of the divisions involved as she finished, “The rest were killed or captured.”

“The 107th?” The confirmation had him darting out into the rain, Peggy following holding her jacket over her head for coverage from the rain. The two ran all the way to the tent Colonel Phillips was sitting in signing condolence letters. “Colonel Phillips.” Steve called for the man’s attention as he approached. “Well, if it isn’t the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?” The colonel responded looking up at the pair now standing in front of him. “I need the casualty list from Azzano.” The tone he used was definitely fitting for the role he plays on stage. Phillips however did not appreciate it. “You don’t get to give me orders, son.”

“I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.” Rogers responded un phased. Phillips pointed his pen at Peggy, “You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy.” Steve was insistent though and again requested the information he wanted, “Please tell me if he’s alive, sir. B-A-R..” “I can spell.” Phillips cut him off before muttering, “First Stark and now this.” He stood from the table and paged through the letters he just finished signing. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today that I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry. To the both of you.” Phillips looks from Rogers to Peggy and the woman knew he was referring to her friend from the 34th.”

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?” Rogers was something else, optimistic maybe. “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.” The look of disbelief that Steve sent the colonel as he spoke might have been the first red flag for Peggy Carter. “But if you know where they are, why not at least..” Phillips once again cut the man off, “They’re 30 miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe.” Phillips was eyeing the spot on the map as he talked about it, even pointing the place out directly. “We’d lose more men than we’d save. But I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl.”

The colonels' dig at Roger’s lack of status didn’t seem to phase the man but it did fuel the plan he was formulating in his head while staring at the map, memorizing it. “I think I understand just fine.”

“Well, then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got someplace to be in 30 minutes.” The colonel walked past him giving Rogers a very clear view of the map marking out exactly where he needed to go, and where he was. “Yes, sir. I do.” Perhaps the time staring at the map was the second red flag that Peggy noticed. As her eyes flickered between him and the map as he left the tent it all clicked into place and she hurried after the taller man.

“What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?” Peg asked as she entered the tent used as the changing room. “If that’s what it takes.” Steve answered not looking up from where he was struggling with boots. “You heard the Colonel. Your friend, and mine, are most likely dead.”

“You don’t know that.” Steve disagreed as he continued to get ready. “Even so, he’s devising a strategy. If he detects..” Steve cut her off as he put on a brown leather jacket, “By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” He snatched up his bag and shield and headed for the exit. “Steve!” Peggy called following him to the vehicle he tossed his things into. The rain had stopped leaving the sun to rapidly evaporate the water leaving puffs of smoke in the air. Steve looked at the brunette in front of him. “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then you got to let me go.” Steve turned to get into the jeep and started the engine before Peggy was at the side. “I can do more than that.” She told him.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Peggy hadn’t lied. She got them a method of transport much faster than the jeep. Howard Stark sat in the pilot seat flying a plane with the slight chance his fiancée may still be alive. Stark was devastated when he first found out that the 34th was attacked and that only doubled when the attack at Azzano took out the 107th as well.

“The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges.” Peggy infomed Rogers as she pointed to the map she was holding. “It’s a factory of some kind.” She gave him as much information as she could. “We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep.” Howard called over his shoulder.

“Just get me as close as you can.” Steve called back up to the pilot. He looked back over at the woman in front of him. “You know.. You two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land.” He was worried about her getting into trouble for him but she looked at him just as worried. “And you won’t?” Steve dismissed her worries, turning his head. “Where I’m going, if anyone yells at me, I can just shoot them.” There was a small click of a loaded gun.

“They will undoubtedly shoot back.” Peggy surmised. Steve turned to the shield he had been using on stage giving it a knock, “Well let's hope it’s good for something.” Steve turned back to her just as Howard called back, “Agent Carter? If we’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue.” Howard was teasing the agent, the smile on his face hidden from those being him. Peggy shifted in her seat choosing to ignore him and keep conversation going with Rogers. “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen. He’s mad enough to brave this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.”

Steve however was still not fully over the comment Stark made. “So, are you two… do you…” There was an awkward pause as Steve thought of the proper way to ask if they were seeing each other by reusing Stark’s words, “..Fondue?” Stark tried not to laugh from the pilot’s seat as Peggy simply shook her head and handed him a device. “This is your transponder. Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.” Steve took a moment to look at the device now in his hand before calling up to Howard, “Are you sure this thing works?”

“It’s been tested more than you, pal.” Howard defended seconds before gunfire hit the side of the plane. The plane shook as bullets pelted the sides, shaking the aircraft from the force. Steve stood grabbing his shield and heading towards the door. That he opened. “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!” Peggy ordered yelling over the wind rushing into the plane. “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” Steve ordered back over the noise of the wind, gunfire, and the pinging of bullets on the plane.

“You can’t give me orders!” Peggy disagreed.

“The hell I can’t! I’m a Captain!” Steve looked over at her, giving her a smile that made her weak in the knees. He grabbed the goggles from his helmet, lowered them over his eyes and launched himself out of the plane. Peggy watched him fall towards the ground before the red fabric of his parachute was visible in the night sky from the flying bullets. Howard turned back as instructed by the Captain. Now all they could do was wait.