#inhuman x reader

[valentine-cafe]

A panna cotta please?

(Top male reader)

I know Pasquale just dropped but he is literally soso … Thinking about him losing a bet against reader, who is a rival racer, or whatever you want because I don’t mind, and this results in messy sex??

˖⁺. ﹙ inhuman racer rival x top male racer rival reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . you're a fucking coward !! 🍒 :  illegal racer ˖ kinetic energy manipulator ˖ inhuman ˖ punk﹙verse 781 pasquale. ﹚

you're one of his rivals in racing and you just won the race and gods, he resents you like the pest, seems his body have different reactions though,

cw: insults to pasquale's name/mom, usage of the word boytoy, these two definetely are not normal about one another, threatening here and there if you squint, cum, anal, rough fucking, degredation, handjob, messy sex

Cheers roar across the crowd.

But not for the usual winner of the races that attend each and every time one was arranged.

Pasquale stood a few feet away from you, arms crossed and jaw clenched. His teeth ground into one another like their life depended on it. While eyes bore into the back of your head.

He'd always pledged loyal to fair races, yet something about you winning made something inside of his gut rot like it never had before.

Oh he hated you. Hated the stupid smile on your face, the hooded eyes that moved to gaze at him from afar and the little shrug sent his way was almost enough to make him walk over and start a fight with you.

But what would it matter in the end? You won, and it was a fair race. He didn't appreciate it though. It was a close race between you, Satyan and him. He got in 2nd, while Satyan ended up being third. Having left the celebration already.

'doesn't blame him with all of your awful boasting.' the racer thinks to himself. Judging you from afar the same you had before the race. Spitting into his face you'd win with the insufferable amount of confidence you seemed to have in yourself

"Yeah, was a close race and all." Your loud laughter twists at the angry coil in his stomach, his eyes turning to look somewhere else, until he hears the next sentence you spout from the filthy tongue in your mouth.

"Turns out Moretti's engines just weren't suited good enough for this one against mine."

With no time spent, the man's attention turns straight back to you. Vision snapping over to glare into the pair of eyes that guide the rest of the crowd's gazes over at him.

"You're real smart-mouthed." He huffs, tilting his head. Some of his supporters and own crowds gathering behind him, glaring back at the traitors that left for you and continue to cheer. Ah of course, the supports of winners. Never the loyal ones are they?

Jump, shift, walking across the street. You make your way over ot him swiftly and with a smug smirk, stopping halfway and looking around at all of the car lights lighting up the place. Taking in the excitement of the crowd, the sound of loud music blasting.

"Yeah? What about it?" You snicker. Hands haphazardly thrown into the pockets of your leather jacket. "Mama's boy was always the quick fused one no? Town whore's son and all"

Perhaps it's the rivalry, or stupidtity. None are certain for sure. But you hit the soft spots on purpose, all for what? You're not slipping away or out of this one as smoothly as you did back on the lane.

Some surrounding expected a punch, the throw of an arm, a headlock or a sprint towards you. Yet the man remained where he had been standing this whole time. An eyebrow quirked. Old insults never hit as well as newer ones.

"If you want to talk shit about my mom." He starts and flicks a piece of dirt off of his shoulder. As the other hand adjusts the red tinted round glasses covering his eyes. "Then do it in front of my face, in private. Vigliacco del cazzo." ( Fucking coward )

Silence befalls the surrounding circle of crowds, as well as you. It seems the response wasn't as fun to throw pointless insults back at him.

"Yeah, thas' what I thought." He snorts, slow in his steps as he makes his way over to you, walking and talking.

"Loud when a crowd is around, but the second we'd be alone in a room. Would you say the same?"

You quirk your eyebrow at his words. The countless of talks that spread across the usually serene italian town, of Pasquale Agresta Morretti being strong and gladly taking a good punch if he had to, were never jokes.

What would you care, it'd feed into his adrenaline addiction. Spouting a few more boasts and insults would surely start something.

Start heated kisses when he pulled you into his car to speed the both of you home.

Start your hands gripping and trailing down his body, grunting against his lips while grinding your hard bulge down against his.

"You're fucking pathetic." He bites at you. Yanking at your hair while you jerk him off, only to earn a loud groan when you yank at his leaking dick and pump a good few shallow thrusts onto it with your hand.

How can you not laugh at the jab?

You're the pathetic one? Are you the one who's getting jerked off against your bed. Pinned and helpless below him?

"Degrading yourself? That's adorable." You grit through your teeth, collecting slick and pre from his drooling tip for an easier entrance. Not that he'd be hard to get into. His body was opening for you like you'd never seen. Pretty ass fluttering for you and dick spewing like you were the most welcome sight on this earth.

Swiftly yanking his hair backwards. His head tilts back, throat emitting a mix between a grunt and a groan.

"That's my job though. You fucking town pass-about boytoy." You grunt into his ear, when your dick slams inside of him and starts fucking away.

His eyes widen, body jolting at the gasp he let out followed by the sensations of your hard dick fucking him out.

"S- Fuck-" Whiny noises spill in quick succession like the pace of your hips, smacking you ballsdeep each time to make the symphony of your skin a little louder.

So what if you wake some of the people in his house up. You won against him in the race, you get to fuck him however you like with his bratty attitude.

With your hand slapped across his mouth to prevent him from throwing his petty insults at you. The angle shifts and before he knows it he is getting fucked missionary, dick slapping against his abdomen and spilling cum, while yours works magic and thrusts into each nerve that sends him seeing stars.

"Fw-mnhgh nhgh!" Small noises of what'd remind you of distress become loud moans in your hand in one second after the other as he orgasms.

Already? Can't even hold it in for a little longer? Isn't that sweet. That gives you more things to bully him about next time you see each other. You know he gets the thrill out of it. And if you can get the satisfaction of riling him up all over again. You've your race yet again, haven't you?

Sure you like winning over him in a lot of stuff, but this?

Oh this is fucking heaven.

"Gonna fuck you until you've soaked your fucking bedsheets. You'd like that wouldn't you pretty boy."

His brows furrow at your comment, hips bucking upwards and back arching. He hates that you're turning him on like you're the switch to a light.

Poems have been written about it. His fantasies filling them up just as you are now, creaming his insides with hot ropes of cum when he squeezes down on you with purpose to see you falter just a little bit.

And you do, the unexpected pleasure hitting you like a truck. Mouth fallen wide open as joined by your eyes.

"F-Fuck fucking hell pasquale—"

Instinctively your hand reaches down for his dick. The one that had previously covered his mouth now fucking away at the throbbing cock.

"Y-You ah~! Look 'o f—fucking pathe-tic!" He manages and grins.

"Yeah, you take this as your little consolation price for not winning, huh?"

"S-Shut thefuck u-u-up- anghh!!!"

Without a doubt, if you weren't sure before you are now. This man is about to get ploughed so bad and you're feeding into his adrenaline addiction. The night is long ahead, but it doesn't seem like neither of you will be stopping.

[c-y-g-m-c-o]

Inhuman looking characters have no right to be so damn fucking hot

[sugarwarachan]

voice kink - ft. hitoshi shinsou

it follows him around still, the stigma of his quirk. it normally doesn’t bother him, but when shinsou is in bed with someone, he’s careful with what he says, preferring to keep his mouth shut and announce his pleasure through grunts and sighs

that changes with you. you love his voice and its ability to command you, a level of trust he’s never had with anyone. he can voice every filthy thing he wants to do to you without reserve, without fear of judgment

the first time you tell him to use his quirk on you, he’s manhandling you onto the counter, one hand around your throat, "open wide, pretty" before he stuffs two fingers in your mouth

he wishes the fucked-out, glazed-over expression on your face didn’t make him as hard as it does, but fuck, the way your tongue laves over his fingers and sucks, the way you say "more, ‘toshi" can you blame him for tightening his grip?

laying you out on his bed, he’s whispering a litany of praise and degradation that makes you squirm, "go on, spread your legs for me, sweet thing, let me see how messy I already got this slutty pussy," has the nastiest little smirk when you whine and grab at his hands

"what’s the matter, pretty girl? needy for me, huh?" coats his fingers with your slick, relishing in every noise that falls from your mouth. "all this just from my voice?"

literally won’t put his cock in you until you’re trembling, big hands holding your hips down as he teases his length between your slippery folds—"beg for it"

[konigsblog]

tw: stepcest, noncon/dubcon, age gap (20s-50s), pet play, creepy-stepdad-könig, pervy-könig, fem!reader, daddy issues (kinda?) gross&mean men :(.

stepdad könig would love to treat his dumb stepdaughter like an animal, to put you in your place.

whenever your mother is away, your stepfather has full control over you. you're so easily manipulated and influenced; you'll listen to whatever he says and preform it eagerly, just to make him happy in the hopes of getting some validation from a male figure in your life. stuff that consists of you being humilated and taunted, embarrassed and degraded like you're worth nothing, that your only job is to be good for your perverse, greedy, selfish stepfather.

he even has a cage in the basement, something your mother doesn't know about. she's away on a business trip for her work, unaware and fully trusting of her husband to leave him with you. he'll collars you, putting you into the dog cage and locking it there. if you're hungry, he'll treat you to his special. just open your mouth, let him cover your eyes-- oh, and relax your throat a little, schatz!

you're always on edge around him. you know exactly what he's like, his disgusting and deranged needs for his college stepdaughter.

fighting sleep in the dog cage in fear that he'll sneak down and take advantage of you when you're unexpecting and easy. he's done it before. you were awoken to the feeling of pain down between your thighs. feeling sensitive and raw, you opened your eyes, hearing heavy breathing. unable to see who it was, you listened... and when you struggled against him, a familiar voice whispered beside your ear, in an attempt to soothe you. “it’s alright, liebling.-- let your stepfather take what he deserves, prinzessin...”

you can only shake and sob when you're underneath him. it's humilating — humilating to sit in a bath while he watches from above, scarily and eerily perving on you. his hands never leave, the reach lower ��til they're pumping inside you. and when you're quiet, he pets you like an obedient dog, a good dog learning. he always brushes aside your worries selfishly for his own gross, disgusting needs...

“relax, my dear. let me fill this pretty pussy..-ja, you take it so well, no need to panic, my girl.”

[mimisplayground]

Traveling Buddies ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ (Vash x fem reader)

Warnings: Monsterfucking :3, inhuman vash, loving sex ngl like making love…, biting (briefly), NOT MUCH ITS A SOFT ONE LET ME KNOW IF U WANT A ROUGH VER :3, made with 1998 vash in mind but really can be read as either!!

—————

Going along with Vash after that one night. You never brought up how inhuman he looked that night, and you felt he almost appreciated it. When all was said and done you were laid out next him, panting like a dog.

When your vision had cleared, the man laying next to you was the same he looked when he brought you to this rundown inn. The next morning when you woke up, you stared wide eyed as you watched him pack his own stuff and yours as well.

You maybe vaguely remember a conversation along the lines of “wanna follow you everywhere Mayfly, wanna bring you with me” as he pounded you so hard you were walking with a limp.

And then next you knew you were out in the deserts of No Man’s Land, riding along with Vash and digging through a sack to give him a donut as he rode. Looking off into the distance as you continue along the path set by Vash. He seemed to know where he was going. On the breaks where you would stretch your legs and drink water in the heat were marked with a soft peck on the lips from Vash. Sharing the canister of water and a small meal that wasn’t very good. The end of the break was always signified with a deeper kiss from Vash where you felt a familiar inhuman rumble deep from his chest.

Coming to the next town was a multiple day venture, leaving you tired and worn out. Sighing in relief when you were able to eat a full meal and wash up.

Settling into the inn’s bed and ignoring the kisses you feel at your neck for a moment before eventually allowing Vash to move his kisses down to your chest. Letting him suck at your nipples as he purrs softly.

He was more open with his inhuman nature this time. Glowing before your eyes get blurry. Working you open on his fingers and letting you see his cock, that seemed to sprout from a…flower of sorts? You couldn’t bring yourself to think about that much. Watching as a tapered and ridged, and almost bioluminescent blue, entered you slowly. Listening to Vash whine in a double toned vocal. You finally get to see the exact ridge that rubs against your clit on his harsher thrusts.

Feathered wings encapsulate you both, leaving you unable to see other than the faintest glow from inside of you where you are both connected and the glow from Vash and his skin all over.

“Mayfly…” Vash groans in your ear “love you, need you so bad. Gonna make me a good man…” He sighs, loud clicks coming from him that you can now identify as a sound of pleasure. He wasnt human, there was no way you were making things up in your head.

He was too fast with his thrusts, bumps that you can feel the whole time as your thighs tighten around him and you claw the only human flesh you feel on his shoulder as you silently scream. Vash rubbing small circles on your clit as you come undone with him, listening to the trill and buzz that comes from him take over your mind again like nights prior. Whining when his teeth sink into your shoulder possessively.

Laying with him and his unusually cold body, wings craddling you both in tight together as clawed fingers run up and down your side. Humming and purring like an engine as he traces your face and leaves kisses all over you.

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x agent! Inhuman!reader

Type: enemies-ish to lovers series

Summary: Calling yourself an Avenger would be overstatement, even if you have been joining them on missions quite frequently lately. Calling them your friends would be an overstatement also. Calling you and Steve Rogers friends, now that would be an insult to the entity of friendship – though unlike him, you have enough self-awareness to admit that he isn't the only one to blame for that. Most of the time anyway.

However, the Avengers need your abilities and so you and Steve tolerate each other – or at least you’re trying, your back and forth visibly annoying your colleagues and exhausting you both.

And then you’re thrown into a situation where mere tolerance isn’t an option. That should end well, shouldn’t it?

Characters to appear: Steve Rogers, ‘reader’, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, mentions of Phil Coulson, Daisy Johnson and few others

Setting: slight AU 'cause everyone lives thank you very much, no Civil War or further, references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D without a fixed timeline

Warnings: besides canon-typical violence, this series deals with topics which might be trigerring for some people - please, read with caution and resposibility

Playlist 🎵

STORYLINE:

Prologue 

Part 1 

Part 2 

Part 3.1 // Part 3.2

Part 4.1 // Part 4.2 

Part 5 

Part 6.1 // Part 6.2

Part 7

Part 8

Epilogue 1 // and 2

Extras (maaaybe)

Number of parts/chapters is estimated. Did I add one extra already? Yeah, but shhh

Dividers by firefly-graphics, moodboard by me - and created for the vibes, for it does not necessarily reflect the reader's appearance.

Taglist open 🥰

[brokenpieces-72]

Stray

Task force 141 x dog! reader

Author note: in this story, you are 100% dog. Not a hybrid (unless we’re talking mixed breed), not a half human half dog. You are a full on dog. Think Lassie or Littlest Hobo. With that in mind, enjoy.

Let me know if you want to added to the Taglist.

The 141 are taking some time straightening out the base, doing general tasks. Ghost is fixing up some jeeps, changing the oil, making sure the engine is working properly, and loading it up with the proper gear. Soap is doing some inventory stuff, after going through weapons he was asked to help in the kitchen, assisting with meal prep. Gaz has a similar task but it was more based on an accident from another soldier who spilled a couple storage totes of ammunition. He had to sort all of them with the soldier’s help. Price was having to go over some files and paperwork that Laswell had sent over to review and fill, as well as writing some reports.

You wander on to base by sheer accident. You overhear noise and strange smells in the garage. The bay doors are open for Ghost’s safety, as he does need to turn on the engines from time to time (carbon monoxide). You wander in and sniff around curiously, while Ghost is under a vehicle lying on a creeper. Your nose picks up his scent, but it’s very faint from all the stronger ones. Instead you find the toolbox more interesting than the oddly masked man in the black t shirt and overalls. You find an odd metallic tasting stick and bite down on it to pick it up. For a while you try chewing it before getting fed up and shaking your head around. The tool gets out of your grip and flies across the room, hitting the metal walls. The loud bang startles you and you bolt from the garage. The lieutenant rolls out from under the vehicle, to inspect the sudden bang. He looks over and sees the torque wrench across the room. Once he gets to his feet to retrieve it, you’ve long since bolted out of there and into another part of the base. Eventually you smell something else. Food? You notice a couple soldiers hauling cargo towards the base kitchen. Not wanting to be spotted you follow them and duck behind the crates waiting for the soldiers to leave before slipping inside. Once you see an opening you wander in and sniff around looking for what you’re sure is meat. At this point though you would take any scraps, your mouth visibly drooling. At this point Soap has been getting the meat cooked and you smell the remaining juices on his hands. You’re tucked behind an island counter, watching him work away. Soap finishes prepping the steaks and gets them seasoned and laid on foil for them to cook later. You still smell those mouthwatering, delicious smells of prepped steaks as he walks to another spot in the kitchen. Then you hear running water, and small something else. No no no, the smell is disappearing! Where did the meat go? Did he wash it down the sink?!

Soap finishes washing his hands and goes to another part of the kitchen where a couple of soldiers are sitting around an emptied box with a few other boxes with potatoes inside. Soap is glad he wore his comfortable cargo pants today cause the chairs were not gonna be comfortable to sit on for long periods. He got a new apron, discarding the old on in a bin. It didn’t hold the same smell, to your disappointment. But those potatoes would do. You just needed to get them away from the boxes. You’d learned from experience that kitchen staff don’t like when you take their food, even when you beg nicely. Soap puts a new apron on, not wanting to get wet stains on his grey shirt, if he missed the box.

You wait patiently, which isn’t really patient. It feels like forever that they’re peeling potatoes but you know more people might come, and you’re really hungry. This would have to be a grab ‘n grub. You eye one potatoe, and it goes into soldier’s hand. Okay not that one. That potatoe then, nope another soldier took it. Dang it. They kept grabbing them before you could lock on to a proper target. Screw it, you’re hungry. As soon as Soap takes out the potato from the box, locked in conversation with the others you make your move. You bolt out of the hiding spot, and snatch the food from his hand, just getting his fingers a bit. Soap looks down, only seeing an oddly shaped mass coming towards him out of the corner of his eye. He isn’t fast enough though to stop you from getting your target, and snatching it from his hand and running off out of the kitchen. You do knock over some boxes and cause a soldier to stumble while Soap is still reeling from what just happened.

Finally you’ve got some food! Your tail is wagging while you’re bounding across the base with joy, looking for somewhere to eat. It’s a little difficult as your stunt got you in a some trouble, so soldiers are looking around to figure out what happened. Nothing to high security but it’s clear you’ve cause a bit of a disturbance and you hear the soldier barking and shouting to figure out where you are. While he’s outside you best go inside and you find another door open, this one leading into the big building. You duck around corners and into rooms as you look for a safe spot. Soon you find one just outside a storage room. The potato is nothing compared to the meat Soap had been making but it would suffice. You continue eating, chewing away until you notice a couple men leaving the room. Not noticing you laying on the floor with a potato you go back to it until you hear someone sighing inside the room. Thankfully you’re able to finish your potato and lick up the rest before peeking inside and noticing Gaz sorting cartridges. They were pretty much everywhere with one right by your paws at the door. Gaz was sitting on a bin collecting groups of cartridges and putting them in groups to oraganize back into bins afterwards. After a good stretch you pick up one of the cartridges in your mouth and bring it over to him. Gaz looks up surprised to see a dog, but pleased seeing what’s in your mouth. When he tries to take it though you pull it away. You offer it again, but pull it back again.

“Come on dog, give. Drop it.” He orders. You don’t and instead step back bouncing with your front paws, and wagging your tail. Gaz gives in and stands reaching for the cartridge and you pull it away again, nearly making him trip over the other ammo on the floor.

“Oi! Come here.” He says, but you’re running off again in no time, making him give chase. By now he knows you’re not a K-9 so he wants to avoid damage while he can. You figure it’s all a game though. You keep running and eventually run past Price’s office who by now hears Gaz calling after you to drop the ammo. He gets up and peeks out of office, seeing only your fluffy tail as you round a corner, while Gaz slows outside his office.

“Kyle you want to tell me what’s going on?” Price asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Cap’n I-“ Kyle starts, but soon is cut off by a ticked off Scottsmen further down the hall.

“Ya bloody food stealing mongrel!” Soap shouts. Kyle and Price exchange a look before heading in the direction of the Scottish anger.

They find soap cornering you with the cartridge still in your mouth. You know you’re in trouble now. You finally drop the cartridge, ears going flat and whimpering.

“Sergeant?” Price asks. Soap doesn’t take his eyes off you, keeping you in the corner.

“We’ve got a rogue dog.” The sergeant calls back.

“Yeah I can see that, ease up on it Soap.” The Captain instructs. You whimper in the corner, barking at Soap now. You just wanted to leave now. You didn’t like someone keeping you cornered, and yelling at you.

“Soap let up.” Kyle insists. The sergeant steps back and as you continue to cower in the corner, giving a few more scared barks. Price shook his head. Clearly a stray that had wandered in by accident and was just hungry and wanting attention.

“What do we do with it captain?” Kyle asks. You look up at the burly man who is asking himself the very same question. Price sighed and stepped closer putting his hand out for you to sniff. There’s more whimpers at first, but you give a small sniff.

“You’re okay… you’re okay.” He says softly, and reaches out to touch you. You whimper again but his gently hand in your fur calms you down. It’s not everyday you get someone willing to pet you, or rather show you kindness. You keep your eyes on the captain letting him pet you. In the process Price was checking your collar for any information. Nothing. The collar was pretty rugged and in leather.

“I think this one needs a bath. Don’t need anyone getting fleas.” He says.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @H0n3y_L3m0n @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846

[mrsrookhunt]

♟ Monster Rook Hunt 🪦

Rooktober part three! Tempting @v-anrouge in again lmaooo

Three classic monsters, one extra-extra double pickles Rook.

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Vampire!Rook

Congratulations on winning your way into this man's heart and onto his dinner table.

You're so gorgeous to him.. you make him blush, you make him stutter and gasp, you make him feel his heart flutter and his mouth water.

Absolutely thinks you're more like a creature he can't hunt, a full meal he can only have a snack from, and it is vaguely annoying to him. It's like gardening, but with the extra requirement of cuddling the plant after picking the fruit from it.

But Rook is nothing if not a man dictated wholly by his not beating heart.

Depending on whether he was born a vampire or turned, how he treats you will be different.

If he was born as a vampire: You're a snack, that's all he's been taught. He may treat you kindly but he won't fully understand human needs and love. He'll probably attempt to love you the way other vampires show love. Enjoy those blood bags he set in front of you with wide eyes and a besotted smile, waiting for you to make the first move on your shared meal.

If he was turned a vampire:

"MY LOVE, MY LOVE, I HAVE BROUGHT YOU A GIFTTTTT" and it's a 4-course meal of all his favorite foods as a human he hopes you can enjoy the same.

So extremely and extraordinarily attentive. You may be his meal, but you're also his lover, and he treats you with every bit of love and affection he's been preparing for 350 years to give.

And he's also definitely turning you into a vampire. Don't worry, he'll keep an eternity filled with his antics.

Werewolf!Rook

Very in-touch with his wild side (what's new).

You may or may not have met him at a gas station in the woods when you threw an apple core into the wooded area next to the pump, and a shaggy golden wolf came bounding back to you with wide eyes, a wagging tail, and the apple core in his mouth. Your first game of fetch. Call it a date; that's what he did anways.

Your idea of cuddles is different to his. You may like to lay on his chest and watch a movie. He may like to completely tangle all of your limbs together and bury your face in the crook of his neck, because, Rook. Don't worry maybe you can hear the movie playing.

All of your meals are hand-hunted by your one and only. In human form, he's out hunting, a good thing, since otherwise he's harassing you with incessant French. In wolf form, he just wants to lie down on the bed and be docile. Is it a show so you're not afraid of him? Maybe. I guess it's an excuse for you to stay with him for a few years forever to find out.

He would love if you were into gardening. He takes pride in hunting food for you, and would be thrilled to use some home-grown herbs to make a meal you could both be proud of.

He's very rugged. It's a fight to make him wear nice clothes. If it's not practical ripped up and some hand me down from GOD KNOWS where, he doesn't want it.

Also, shaving. I hope you enjoy stubble because he will not be getting a clean shave. He can tell you he's 'just shaved', but you wonder how many nanometers of hair he even took off.

More like a golden retriever than a wolf. If it weren't for his superb hunting skills he'd be a disgrace to the werewolf community altogether.

And we could talk about how many kids he wants but let's keep this PG

Mummy!Rook

Snuggles? Snuggles.

Rook can't speak very well like this. But he can certainly show you the depths of his affection with body language alone.

You should be honored he came back from the dead just for you. You should probably be less honored that the museum has warrants out for your arrest now because, apparently, you can't take a mummy home, even with his consent.

Have you eaten? Have you?? He keeps trying to shovel food in your mouth with every passing moment that he's allowed in your fridge. Something about 'eating like royalty'. You don't know, honestly. The gauze makes it hard to hear him.

From what you've gathered, he was a highly-revered huntsman in his time. Not high enough to be buried in a pyramid, but high enough to be buried with great respect to his body.

You're not sure what brought him back, honestly, his love for you, your being unsure of whether he was a real mummy or a replica, some cheesy artifact bringing him to life ...we'll never know. His desire to prove you wrong may or may not have been at 100%

Did I mention he loves snuggles?

Do NOT try to remove the wrap. It's not for security reasons. It will not harm him to remove it. HOWEVER HE WOULD RATHER NOT UNDRESS UNTIL MARRIAGE THANK YOU.

Try suggesting he put on clothes over his wrap. It's not comfortable. It's like when you have long sleeves and you try to out a jacket over them. But if it's comfortable for him... just buy two sizes larger and try to ignore it.

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Part two coming soon!

Suggestions for monsters are more than welcome!

-Oct. 16th, 2023

-Kaori

[scribbledghost]

hiii I really like your inhuman vessels, it’s kinda different from what we usually see and I like it so much!!

I was wondering how the inhuman vessels would react if reader was depressed or was going through a tough time?

hope you have a good day <33

I'm glad you asked, because I really needed to write about this today.

Got kinda long, so I'll put it under a cut.

I like to think they all can tell what's wrong without you having to really explain. Telepathic connections have their perks, after all. So when your melancholy and ache and pain creeps into their own subconscious, they're all on high alert almost immediately.

Who comes to you first really depends on what they can sense you need right now. Vessel appears if you need a soft, gentle presence. II appears if you need someone to offer solutions and practical advice. III appears if you need someone lighthearted who can make you laugh. And IV appears if you need a distraction, someone to tell you stories or pull you up to dance with him.

Granted, that's just who finds you first. All four of them will eventually make their way to you.

Their primary objective is making sure you know how loved you are. How much you mean to them, how much better their existences are now that you're in them. I can see a lot of cuddling happening here, either in a big pile or just one of them holding you while the others stay close. If you cry during this, that's okay. They'll be more than happy to keep you close until you're ready.

If it's a low mood, they'll stay like this and bring you whatever you need until you feel better. If it's something more chronic like a depressive episode, they'll switch tactics just a little bit.

If it's long-lasting, they'll help you do anything you need help doing. Need a bath? They'll gladly carry you to the tub and help. Need food and water? They'll bring it. Need some sunshine? They'll gently help you outside for a quick walk around the garden.

I headcanon that Sleep found Vessel when he was at his lowest, so he's very well-versed on how you're feeling and how difficult it is to overcome. The others understand as well, for Sleep tends to gravitate towards those who are desperate, but Vessel knows depression a bit more intimately I think.

It's not an uncommon occurrence for one (or multiple) of them to sort of... siphon off your pain and take it upon themselves. Vessel is particularly prone to doing this. All of them know it's important to let you feel what you feel, but none of them can stand seeing you so upset. The least they can do is take some of your mental pain for themselves, if just to take some of the edge off for you.

Overall, their paramount concern is taking care of you during your tough spot. They won't leave you alone - at least, not if they can help it, and not for very long if they can't - and at least one vessel is always with you if you'll allow it. Granted, they still have standard worshiper duties to attend to in the name of Sleep, but they'll do everything they can to ensure it can be done with only 3 of them so one can stay with you. More than once, Vessel has filled in for III or IV during musical rituals, and all of them have taken over the others' tasks so they don't have to go anywhere.

Whatever you need, all you need to do is ask (either out loud or by projecting your want to one of them telepathically). They will all move heaven and earth to get you whatever you desire, if only to see you smile.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ let me love you darkly, slowly ” : 

﹙ top outlaw male x bttm male aristrocrat reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 9819 alessio x male reader !! 🍒 : ﹙  outlaw  ˖ serial killer ˖ inhuman��illusionist  ﹚

the infamous aristrocrat serial killer has your family on his hit list. but it would seem that you are different. will you take his hand and run with him? so that he may love you darkly, slowly.

﹙ cws ﹚: dark romance ˖ explicit content at end ˖ mentions of parental abuse ( towards reader ) ˖ violence ˖ death ˖ penetrative sex ˖ hand job ˖ rough sex ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ alessio uses clones of himself in sex | wc : 0.7k

﹙ receipts ﹚: a dark little piece for our favourite outlaw <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Usually, the infamous ace of spades’ knives are always willing and ready to sink into the vulnerable flesh of his next political victims. You were no different, until you were. A precious dove to fly into his life, that he had thought a hawk at first sight, judging by the image of your family across the city.

The youngest son of a famous aristocrat. Whom Alessio had pursued with intent of seduction before death. Yet your heart was made of something more beautiful than gold. Nothing like your father’s. Each smile that graced your lips was a blessing to him, he’d been ashamed of targeting you.

One may wonder why he went for you first and not the man that brought you into this world. Well, the very reason for that is that your entire family were on his list of undertaking, and he decided to go one by one, random pick. And you so happened to be the one the wheel landed on.

Your name was quickly wiped from it, with the blood of your mother splattering the paper. The note he left on her desk wrote:

“Farewell, to the two-faced wench, who advocated hiking medicare prices.” The pencil scratched across her signature, then got stamped with the ace of spades in Alessio’s quick escape.

He’d taken you with him that night. Held your hand tight in his as you ran away from the burning estate. Perhaps it was the unhealthy amount of childhood discipline and reprimanding you had earned as you grew up. You did not really care for the deaths of your family. Your father beat you bloodied and bruised, and your mother tormented you at any possible moment she could.

Your siblings were none the better than them, growing into their toxic behaviour and mannerisms. You refused to let your soul sour the way theirs had. It wasn’t hard to tell right or wrong. It wasn’t hard to really understand what the man you were running away with was doing.

It was no secret, you should have been long gone by now. And you were announced so by the public after the burning of the cold place you called home. With no trace of the family found below the rubble.

Instead, you now occupied yourself with the people of the lower city, aiding the poor and funding your saviour’s organisation with all of the money you had inherited. How they got a hold of it, you weren’t so sure. You didn’t bother questioning.

You found yourself falling for the man that was your executioner turned saviour. A part of you questioned your own morality.

But what was morality when compared to his kisses? What was the meaning or black and white when his hands fixed to your waist and held you so tight against him? Right and wrong be damned. It felt all the same in his arms.

By night, you often found yourself in Alessio’s bed. The air getting knocked out of you when he fucked you from behind. His hand squeezing away at the base of your dick to pump ferally at it. His dick pounding your pretty ass open and eager for him.

“That’s it—” You gasp out in unison to the grunt in your ear, hole and walls fluttering around him. While his arms cage you against the dark bedsheets.

The sight of your bodies intermingled, dimly lit, with a sheen layer of sweat covering your skin, flutters your tumm, as a hand reaches down to direct your face upwards. Helping you watch what he’s doing to you.

“This pretty ass ‘s all mine— All fucking mine-” Rough hands split your legs apart and images of him begin to appear all around you, to touch you, praise you, kiss you.

His powers are incredible in bed. Your head gets loopy by the feel of one of his clones sucking down hard at your throbbing tip. You barely get to process that he yanks yet another orgasm out of you. Cum squirts out on his hand which he brings up to lick away at.

“My pretty little dove,” he groans from above you. Swarming your blissed out face with rough hands to cup your cheeks. His movements hardly halt. Long, hard strokes shake your trembling body.

This. This feels right. Him inside. Him on top of you. All over you. To hell with wrong. You’d take the grey if it meant his warm hands. His intoxicating lips.

“Please.” You quiver.

Alessio can all but grin. His pretty little aristocrat. Now all his.

“Say it again baby,” he hums. “Beg. It suits you far better.”

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[ickyarson777]

Many Eyed Vessel Fic Thing???

This title will change later I promise.

Anyway! I did some thinking about This Post and I’ve decided I’m gonna go all out and write a fic about it. This prompt is something I think about all the time, so I was very excited to receive it to say the least :)

That being said, I have no idea how any of this is gonna play out. Right now I’m thinking kinda slow burn entities-to-lovers type of thing??

Here it is though!! I promise if you like it, I’ll do my best to keep up with writing, and please, let me know what ya’ll want!! I’m here to please ;)

Chapter 1, 2

Tried to stay as gn as possible, no mentions of y/n or names, readers is just called ‘human.’

Word count: 2,132

Content warning: Maybe a bit of dread, spooky horror type stuff. Bit of violence, not anything horrible at all.

I glance around me as I walk through the quiet woods. Rays of light filtered through the leaves of the trees behind gradually being drowned out by the darkness of the shadows ahead of me.

I had traveled to a new city, and decided to take some time to explore the smaller nearby towns. London was great, but it was nothing compared to the smaller communities that were just outside of the larger city. The town I was in was smaller in comparison, greatly so. A couple of small neighborhoods, a few streets of shops, convenience stores and restaurants. On one side however, there was a forest that wrapped around half of the town.

Anytime I was in a small town like this, I always took the time to learn the local rumors. Any scandal, or story going around. As I was making my rounds through this small town, I’d heard tell of the forest containing monsters, creatures. Things that were definitely not meant for the human eye. Angels, demons.. it had me absolutely captivated. I needed to know more. So of course, after a good night's rest, I packed a backpack of supplies, put on some thermal wear, considering it was a chilly, bleary fall day, and made sure I had food and water to last the day.

And then I drove out to the edge of the forest, and began walking.

Immediately the air turned colder. I had this sense that I definitely shouldn’t be here, that something definitely didn’t want me here. Multiple something’s at that. It was exhilarating.

I stepped farther in, glancing around slowly. The day was already dark, but the canopy of branches were so tightly woven above, the forest seemed to be bathed in midnight, though I knew it was barely a quarter past ten in the morning. Luckly, it wasn’t dark enough that I couldn’t see, so I continued on.

It wasn’t a quiet walk, branches and leaves snapped and crunched beneath my feet, and I could hear birds singing their sweet songs. For how terrifying the image of the dark forest was, it was still peaceful here, even if I did have a small feeling of dread brewing beneath my subconscious.

I walked further in, approaching a small stream, and stepped through. The water wasn’t deep, barely reaching the middle of my shins at the deepest. I could feel the temperature of the water through my boots, which I was very glad to be waterproof. Freezing cold, of course it would be in weather like this. I crossed to the other side of the stream, and whatever sense of peace I’d had before was ripped away from me.

For a moment, I hesitated, unsure if I should continue. I glanced around, trying to steel my nerves. ‘Calm down,’ I thought to myself. ‘You hear a couple rumors about monsters in the woods and you’re scared straight. What kind of explorer are you if you can’t walk through the woods by yourself..’

I shook off the fear and continued walking. I came to a clearing, where the trees opened to reveal the sky above, still overcast with dark clouds. I’d checked the weather before coming out here, there wasn’t supposed to be any rain, but looking at the sky now, I wasn’t so sure. I take a deep breath and keep walking.

At this point, I’m maybe half a mile in, knowing forest monsters, they’re sure to be a bit further in than that. I think aloud while walking, about anything and everything, home, my family, my friends. I’ve been studying abroad for a couple months now. As an anthropology student, traveling has been an incredible experience for me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss home.

Eventually, a couple miles into the woods, I begin singing to myself. Nothing particular, and everything at the same time, I sing nursery rhymes and lullabies, and find ways to rework the words, making myself laugh. I counted on like this for another half a mile before I realized suddenly that there’s no longer any sounds around me. The birds have gone quiet, and the wind has hushed entirely, the rustle of the leaves above me silent. I pause for a moment, glancing around me carefully.

Suddenly a horrible, piercing screech sounds and I’m filled with an absolutely overwhelming sense of terror. I make a split second decision and decide to walk in the direction of the horrible sound.

As I come closer to the location of the sound, I begin to notice there’s a slight path that’s been worn into the ground here, and I come up on a large rock formation. Not quite a cliff but not just a boulder either. It looks easy enough to scale, and I silently assume someone might’ve already been doing just that, seeing as the slight path seems to end here.

I take a breath, tighten the strap of my backpack, and begin to climb. Quickly enough, I reach the top of the formation and glance down below me. I stare in horror at the thing I see before me. The thing was at least eight feet tall, and covered in a thick black substance. It’s face could’ve been white, but it was now stained, smeared with whatever covered the rest of it. Its eyes, mouth and nose, or at least what I assumed it was, were nothing but dark empty sockets. It’s body was large and bulbous, segmented, almost like the thorax of an insect, and decorated in skulls, mechanical limbs jutting out at odd angles, and there were many of them, spindly, covered in grime and gore down to the jagged needle-like tips. It clutched a battle ax, dark and covered in rust and dirt.

“What the fuck,” I whisper into the air.

In a split second the thing whipped its head towards me, its empty eyes taking me in. I take a step backwards and almost fall from my perch on the rock, forgetting where I stood.

It begins stepping towards me on its multiple long spindly legs, slowly at first, but then it begins picking up speed. I watch it, safe from its grasp high above it on the rock, but then tense as it shoots one of its legs out into the rock, embedding itself there. I stare in horror as it begins to climb.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” I say out loud, panicking slightly.

I turn and begin descending back down the rock the way I’d come. At the last couple of feet, I let go, dropping to the ground just as the thing makes its way over the top. It doesn’t even bother climbing back down, just throwing itself off and continuing its pursuit, I watch, terrified for a moment before turning and running. I don’t even bother trying to remember which way I’d come from, running in zigzagging patterns, trying to throw off the monster. I can hear it, the metallic grinding and groaning of the half organic half machine thing that was hot on my trail.

I wasn’t even looking where I was going, vision slightly blurry, eyes stinging with sweat that fell into them occasionally. I hear the thing even closer to me now. I gasp out in shock as I hear a sharp whirring sound pass my ear, knowing it was right on top of me, trying to grab me. With every fiber of my being, I pushed myself to run faster, lungs burning and adrenaline coursing through my veins. And then BAM! I slam into something.

I glanced up quickly, thinking I had run into a tree, but realizing a tree would’ve hurt a bit more, and probably wouldn’t have grabbed my arm, and pulled me behind it.

The hands that grabbed my wrists left dark black stains on my skin. I pause for a moment, letting my vision clear. The figure now stood in front of me, facing away, towards the monster. He’s tall, much taller than me, wearing a black cloak and black pants. One shoulder of his cloak is covered by a stark white pauldron, lined with deep red and encrusted with rough gold ore at the curve of his shoulder. He raised a hand towards the monster.

Quietly, in a dark, melodic voice, the man breathed a few words in a language I didn’t recognize. before him, the monster stared, twitching and writhing in its place, swaying on its many legs. It took a gentle step forward, lowering itself and pressing its face into the palm of the man's hand, before turning, lurching forward and walking away from us.

I stand there, taking heavy, shaking breaths. The man doesn’t turn to face me until the monster is out of sight, and when he does, I gasp.

His body is completely covered in black paint, there are streaks running through it, lines of sweat showing pale skin underneath, his chest is broad, toned, but not overly muscled. His hands are large, the paint of his palms, light and mostly missing, though the lines of his hands are deeply stained with dark paint. There are silver rings on many of his fingers, the edge of them tarnished from the paint, like the chains on his chest, stretching across his chest, underneath the cloak is a leather strap, perhaps holding the pauldron in place. He was beautiful, by all accounts, but his face left my jaw slack. The paint covered him up to his upper jaw, if there was more paint, I couldn’t tell as the top half of his face was obscured by a mask. Stark white, a huge contrast to the black on his skin, beautiful and intricate deep crimson lines swirling and curling along the bottom edge of the mask, forming a crescent around his mouth. Six holes in the shape of eyes line the front, dark black and almost sleepy in shape, dark red lines, perfectly symmetrical in shape crossed over under and above the eyes or the mask, forming a sigil or sorts.

I notice my mouth is open, and snap it shut quickly before opening it again, trying to think of something to say. Luckily, the stranger beats me to being the first to speak as words fail me.

“Are you hurt?” He asks simply, voice soft, reverberating through me and sending a shiver down my spine.

Slowly, I shake my head, still staring in awe. “Uh.. what.. what was that?” I ask softly.

Rather than answering my question, the stranger turns, beaconing me to follow him. “The people of the town don’t venture into these woods, you’re not from here.” What he says should’ve been a question, but I can tell he’s stating it as a fact. “You seem well prepared, well traveled in your own right, but that’s no reason to wander into an unknown wood.”

I follow after him, unsure of where we’re going. “I’m studying abroad,” I tell him, struggling slightly to keep up the pace with his long legs. “Heard some of the locals mention monsters in the woods, and I wanted to see for myself. Clearly… they weren’t lying.”

He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “What is it with humans always putting their noses where they can’t protect themselves?” He says it softly, almost in an endearing way.

‘Humans?’ I think to myself.

Before I realized it, we'd approached the stream I’d crossed when I first arrived.

“This is not a safe place for you,” the man says softly. “You are incredibly lucky to have escaped that creature with your life. Leave this place please, and do not return. There are… worse, more terrible things than that one in these woods.”

I turn to face him, ask him what else there is, but he’s gone. Not a single trace of his existence, no rustle or crunching of leaves underfoot, no thud of footsteps on the forest floor. For all I knew, I could’ve played the whole situation off as a psychotic episode. But I knew better. The dark handprints around my wrists and the blood that dripped from the small cut on my ear told me all the truth I needed.

I turn to walk to my car, opening my phone and pressing the call button. The phone rings for a moment before my mother picks up.

“Hello?” She says.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, opening the door and tossing my backpack into the back seat. “So you know how I said I was passing through this small town? I think I’ve changed my mind. I might spend a little while longer here. Something about it…” I mutter glancing into the trees, almost convincing myself that I can see him, blending into the dark shadows of the woods. “Something about it just captivates me.”

~~

OK!! Short little thing to get the story started, let me know if you want more!! I whipped this out in like 20 minutes, and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

[suusoh]

let it be known if i had it my way i would give johan 0 rizz. absolutely none. nada. negative.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism ✨delusions✨

Gun Park: Mass murderer? NO. Grumpy and soft? YES.

Goo Kim : Crazy, sells his soul and you for some cash? NO. Fun, slightly chaotic, loyal to you and soft? YES.

Samuel Seo : Unhinged and mentally unstable? NO. Easy to fix, and soft? YES.

Vin Jin : Asshole that kicks puppies? NO. YOUR asshole and soft? Yes.

DG: Calls security on you? NO. Shares everything with you including his past and soft under that hard exterior? YES.

Ryuhei Kuroda: Sexual harassment? NO. Simp and soft (not in the way it matters)? YES.

Eli Jang: Tragic figure that puts Hostel above everything? NO. Happy family with you and Yenna, and soft soft soft? Yes yes yes.

Johan Seong: Slaps you away? NO. Follows you around like a lost puppy and soft under his edgy demeanour? YES.

Jake Kim: Sweet and soft? Well... yes. Sweet and soft. (Delusion off the charts with this guy.)

...Seong Taehoon: Kicks you in the face? NO. Find you adorable and not cringe? YES.

[sungielvr]

Nervous Young Inhumans

6장

Warning- Panic attack, my girl be going through it omg

W.C. 6.9k

The sun spilled lazily through the living room curtains, golden beams dancing across the mess of limbs and blankets on the floor and couches. The soft rise and fall of breaths filled the quiet space, the boys still tangled up in a collective heap from the night before. Felix was curled up with his head on Jisung's stomach, Minho was propped awkwardly against Chan's shoulder, and Jeongin was somehow on the floor, half-tucked under a blanket Changbin had draped over him in the middle of the night.

The apartment was serene, peaceful—until the faint creak of a door broke the silence.

Seoyoon stepped out of her room, rubbing her eyes and yawning as she shuffled toward the kitchen. Her plan was to grab some water and slip out for her usual morning jog, but the sight in the living room stopped her dead in her tracks. She blinked at the scene before her, her heart giving a funny little squeeze.

All eight boys were sprawled together, snuggled up like a pack of puppies. Felix’s soft snores mixed with the occasional mutter from Jisung, who looked like he was dreaming about something. Chan’s head was tilted back slightly, his face peaceful, while Minho’s arm was loosely draped over his lap. Even Seungmin, who normally kept to himself, had his head resting against Hyunjin’s shoulder.

It was… adorable.

Seoyoon stood there for a moment, caught between wanting to laugh and feeling like she’d just stumbled into some kind of Hallmark movie. She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, but it wasn’t enough to keep her presence unnoticed.

“...Yoonie?” came a sleepy mumble. Chan stirred first, his eyes half-lidded as he blinked at her. His groggy voice sent a shiver down her spine—deep, husky, and far too attractive for this early in the morning.

“Oh, uh, good morning!” Seoyoon stammered, suddenly very aware of how oversized her joggers and hoodie looked on her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Seoyoon?” Jisung’s voice piped up next, though it was muffled since Felix’s head was still on his stomach. He squinted at her before breaking into a sleepy grin. “Morning, Yoonie. Did you come to join the cuddle party?”

Felix stirred at that, sitting up and stretching with a small yawn. “There’s room,” he added with a mischievous smile, patting the small space between him and Hyunjin.

Seoyoon laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”

One by one, the boys began waking up, groaning and stretching as the reality of morning settled in. Jeongin blinked blearily at Seoyoon, his cheeks still squished from the pillow he’d been sleeping on. “Morning, noona,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning, Jeongin,” she replied, her voice softer now, touched by the warmth in his greeting.

“Wait, why are you up so early?” Changbin asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders.

“Just heading out for a jog,” Seoyoon said, lifting the water bottle she’d been holding. “But I didn’t expect to find all of you like… this.”

Minho smirked, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. “This? You mean cozy and adorable? We know.”

Seoyoon rolled her eyes playfully. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Chan chuckled, his voice still carrying that deep, morning rasp. “We must’ve fallen asleep talking last night. No one wanted to move, I guess.”

Hyunjin yawned dramatically, stretching his arms above his head. “Blame Chan. He got all sentimental about Seoyoon and kept us up.”

Seoyoon’s cheeks flushed instantly, her wide eyes darting to Chan. “What—what do you mean?”

Chan raised his hands defensively, though the corner of his lips twitched up in a small smile. “I was just telling them about how strong you are. That’s all.”

“Strong?” Minho echoed, a teasing edge in his voice. He turned to Seoyoon, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made her stomach flip. “I mean, she does have that quiet, mysterious vibe. I guess that’s kind of hot.”

“Minho,” Seoyoon said, her voice an octave higher as her face burned. She looked anywhere but at him, but her eyes landed on Chan, who was watching her with an amused expression.

“What?” Minho continued, leaning back on his hands. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jisung piped up, though the grin on his face betrayed his words. “I think she’s terrifying. In a good way.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Seoyoon said, her tone flustered as she waved her hands. “You guys are impossible.”

Chan chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

The air in the room shifted slightly, a teasing yet charged energy lingering between her, Chan, and Minho. Seoyoon’s heart raced as she stumbled over her words, her brain short-circuiting under their combined gazes.

“I—I need to go!” she blurted out, gripping her water bottle like a lifeline. She turned on her heel and practically fled to the door, her face burning.

Behind her, the boys erupted into laughter, their voices echoing through the apartment.

By the time Seoyoon returned from her jog, the apartment was buzzing with activity. The boys were moving around the space, getting ready for their respective schedules. Jisung was in the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl while Felix brewed coffee. Hyunjin was leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone, and Seungmin was in the living room, folding the blankets they’d left behind.

“Welcome back!” Changbin called from his spot on the couch, where he was tying his sneakers. “Did you run a marathon or something?”

“Something like that,” Seoyoon said, her voice still tinged with embarrassment from earlier.

Chan appeared from the hallway, freshly showered and wearing a fitted black T-shirt that did nothing to calm her racing heart. “We’re heading out soon,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes lingering on her for a moment too long. “Do you need a ride anywhere?”

“I’m good,” Seoyoon replied quickly, avoiding his gaze as she headed to her room. “Thanks, though!”

As she closed her door behind her, she leaned against it and let out a long breath. Living with eight boys was proving to be far more chaotic—and far more distracting—than she’d ever anticipated.

As Seoyoon shut the door to her room, she dropped her water bottle onto the desk and sank into her chair. Her mind was still swirling from the chaotic energy of the morning, but there was a determined glint in her eye. If she was going to go through with this OnlyFans idea, she had to start somewhere.

She opened her laptop and began brainstorming. How do I keep this anonymous? she thought, chewing on her lip. After a few moments of deliberation, she grabbed a notepad and scribbled down some ideas.

"Stage name… something flirty but subtle," she muttered to herself, tapping the end of her pen against her chin. Her first few ideas were discarded as being too obvious or not unique enough. Finally, she wrote down a couple of options that felt right: VelvetMuse and LunaShade.

"Now for social media," she whispered, pulling up her browser. She created a new X account, carefully crafting the bio to sound alluring without revealing too much about herself: "Your favorite late-night muse ✨ | Come find me where dreams are made..." She smirked at the cleverness, feeling a rush of excitement at the anonymity.

She followed up with a few flirty posts to set the tone: "Ever wonder what goes on behind closed doors? 👀✨""Can’t sleep? Maybe I’ll help you dream instead… 💋"

Her heart raced as she hit “post,” a mix of nervousness and exhilaration coursing through her. It felt empowering, like she was reclaiming a part of herself she’d kept hidden for so long. She spent the next hour setting up other social media accounts, choosing images and captions carefully to keep her identity concealed.

apartment in warm, golden hues. Seoyoon was sprawled across her bed, pretending to scroll on her phone when she heard the door swing open and the usual chorus of voices fill the space.

“Yoonie, we’re back!” Jisung’s cheerful voice rang out.

“Come out and say hi, noona!” Jeongin called, his tone teasing as usual.

Seoyoon sighed and sat up, stretching before heading to the living room. As soon as she stepped out, she was met with Minho’s sharp gaze.

“Hey,” Minho said, his voice calm but pointed as he approached her. “When was the last time you ate?”

The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated for half a second too long. “Uh… I grabbed something earlier, before my jog,” she lied, her voice unsteady.

Minho’s brow arched, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting the urge to call her out. “Really?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Because you didn’t eat breakfast with us, and I didn’t see you grab anything when you got back.”

“I-I… I ate some fruit,” she stammered, avoiding his gaze.

“Fruit,” Minho repeated, his tone skeptical but not harsh. There was a long pause as he studied her, and the tension in the room became thick.

Before he could push further, Chan stepped in, placing a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “Let it go,” he said softly, his tone firm but understanding.

Minho let out a slow breath, his gaze softening slightly as he turned back to Seoyoon. “Fine,” he said, his voice gentler now. “But I’m making dinner, and you’re eating. No excuses.”

Seoyoon nodded, guilt gnawing at her chest. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Minho moved to the kitchen, pulling ingredients out of the fridge with practiced ease. The rest of the boys slowly gathered around, the atmosphere lightening as they began chatting and joking.

“Hyung, what are you making?” Felix asked, peeking over Minho’s shoulder.

“Stir-fried noodles,” Minho replied. “With chicken and veggies. Something simple.”

“I’ll cut the veggies!” Changbin volunteered, grabbing a cutting board.

“I’ll handle the sauce,” Seungmin added, rolling up his sleeves.

Seoyoon hovered near the counter, unsure of how to help. Hyunjin noticed her hesitation and nudged her playfully. “You could set the table,” he suggested with a grin. “Or supervise Minho. Make sure he doesn’t burn the noodles.”

“Hey!” Minho protested, glaring at Hyunjin. “I’m a great cook.”

“Sure, sure,” Hyunjin teased, dodging the towel Minho threw at him.

Seoyoon smiled, feeling the tension from earlier melting away. She grabbed plates and utensils, setting the table while listening to the boys banter. Jisung and Jeongin were arguing over who got to taste-test first, and Chan was trying (and failing) to keep the chaos under control.

When the food was finally ready, the group gathered around the table, laughter and chatter filling the room as they dug in. Minho kept a close eye on Seoyoon, making sure she actually ate, but he didn’t press her further. Instead, he handed her a plate with a small smile and said, “Eat up. You’ll need energy for tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Minho,” she said softly, her cheeks warming.

As the plates were cleared and the leftovers tucked away, Seoyoon found herself being ushered into the living room by Jeongin, who was sporting his signature shy smile. The other boys trailed in behind them, chatting and debating over what movie to watch.

“Something scary,” Hyunjin suggested, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “I think Seoyoon might appreciate some jump scares.”

“I’d prefer not to die of a heart attack tonight,” Seungmin deadpanned, flipping through the streaming service’s library.

“What about a rom-com?” Jisung piped up, plopping down dramatically on the couch. “Yoonie might like that better.”

“Or,” Chan interjected with a smirk, “we compromise. Let’s do a thriller—enough suspense to keep it interesting without it being too over the top.”

The group agreed, and a suspenseful psychological thriller was chosen. The lights were dimmed, and the living room filled with the cozy hum of muffled chatter as everyone found their spots. Seoyoon ended up wedged between Jeongin and Jisung, both of whom seemed content with the arrangement.

As the movie played, Seoyoon noticed Jeongin’s subtle movements. At first, it was just his knee brushing against hers, a soft touch so fleeting she thought it might have been accidental. Then his arm rested just slightly closer to hers on the couch’s armrest. His breathing seemed steadier, but there was a faint redness blooming across his cheeks whenever the screen flashed brightly, illuminating the room.

Seoyoon didn’t say anything, but a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. She leaned back into the couch, allowing the proximity without comment. Beside her, Jisung was far less subtle, laughing at the tense moments in the movie to diffuse his nerves.

When the credits rolled, the group broke into conversation about the film, dissecting the plot twists and characters.

“That was so predictable,” Minho scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “I called the ending halfway through.”

“Sure, Mr. Genius,” Felix teased. “You also screamed when the door slammed shut.”

“That was a cheap jump scare,” Minho retorted with a smirk.

Seoyoon giggled at their banter, shaking her head. “I’m just impressed everyone stayed quiet during the big reveal. I thought Jisung was going to explode.”

“I was invested,” Jisung defended with a grin, his dimples showing.

no one was in a rush to leave. Instead, they stayed sprawled across the couches and floor, the atmosphere shifting into something softer and more personal.

“So, Seoyoon,” Chan began, leaning forward slightly, “we’ve told you bits and pieces about us, but do you have any questions? About… you know, how we make things work?”

The question caught her off guard, but the sincerity in Chan’s voice encouraged her to open up. “I guess I’ve been curious,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “How does it work, exactly? Being in a poly relationship with so many people? It seems… complicated.”

“It is,” Minho answered first, his voice smooth and confident. “But it’s also really rewarding. The most important thing is communication. If we didn’t talk about how we’re feeling, what we need, or what’s bothering us, it wouldn’t work.”

Felix nodded in agreement, his soft Australian accent adding warmth to his words. “We all have different dynamics with each other, and that’s what makes it special. It’s not like everyone feels the same way about everyone else—it’s more about finding a balance that works for all of us.”

Hyunjin chimed in, his tone light but earnest. “And honestly, it’s not just about romance. We’re a family, first and foremost. We look out for each other.”

Seoyoon listened intently, her gaze flickering between them. “That makes sense,” she said softly. “But what happens when someone… I don’t know, feels left out?”

“That’s where the communication comes in,” Chan said. “We’re not perfect, and there are times when someone feels a little disconnected. But we make it a priority to address those feelings. No one gets left behind.”

Jisung grinned, nudging Seoyoon playfully. “You’d be surprised how much effort we put into making sure everyone feels loved. We’re like an army of affection.”

The comment earned a laugh from Seoyoon, and she felt a warm blush creep up her neck. “It sounds… nice. A little overwhelming, maybe, but nice.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone,” Seungmin said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “But it works for us. And who knows…” He trailed off, giving her a teasing glance. “Maybe you’ll get used to it.”

Seoyoon rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You guys are something else.”

As the conversation continued, the teasing grew more playful. Minho leaned against the armrest, his gaze fixed on Seoyoon with a mischievous glint. “So, Yoonie,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “if you did join a poly relationship, who do you think you’d click with the most?”

Seoyoon’s eyes widened, and she immediately waved her hands in protest. “Oh, no. No way. I’m not answering that.”

Chan chuckled, his dimples deepening as he leaned back in his seat. “Why not? It’s a harmless question.”

“It’s a trap,” Seoyoon said, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“Maybe,” Minho teased, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “But I think we all know you’ve already got your favorites.”

The room filled with laughter, and Seoyoon felt her face heat up. “You’re all impossible,” she muttered, hiding her face behind her hands.

“Impossible but lovable,” Felix quipped, flashing her a wink.

Eventually, the group began to wind down, everyone splitting off to get ready for bed or finish up last-minute tasks. Seoyoon retreated to her room with a smile on her face, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

But as she closed her door and glanced at her laptop, the reminder of her secret project brought a mix of excitement and apprehension. She took a deep breath, resolving to take things one step at a time. For now, she was content with the warmth and chaos of the boys’ company. The soft glow of Seoyoon’s laptop illuminated her face as she leaned back against her pillows, scrolling through her freshly made X account. Her heart skipped when she noticed the surge of notifications. Hundreds of likes, retweets, and comments flooded her posts.

"You’re stunning. Please post more.""You’ve got a goddess vibe. Can’t wait to see what you do next.""Are you real, or are you just here to torment me?"

The attention was exhilarating, overwhelming even. Seoyoon hadn’t expected this much interest so soon. She bit her lip, a small, guilty smile forming on her face. The anonymity of it all felt like a shield, giving her the courage to lean into the idea further.

"Muse." The word echoed in her mind again. She wanted to embody it—become a figure of inspiration, desire, and mystery. Her heart pounded as she reached for her phone and set it up on her tripod.

She picked out a simple outfit: a cozy oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder, paired with thigh-high socks. It was alluring but still soft, still her. She posed in front of her bed, trying out different angles: one with her hand brushing her neck, another with her legs tucked under her, her eyes casting a smoldering look into the camera.

The shutter clicked repeatedly, filling the quiet room. Seoyoon adjusted the sweater slightly, letting it hang a little looser, and leaned back against the headboard. Just as she was adjusting the camera for one last shot, there was a knock at her door.

Her blood ran cold.

“Seoyoon? You awake?” It was Jeongin’s voice, soft and hesitant.

Seoyoon scrambled to grab her phone and tossed it face-down onto the bed, her heart pounding like a drum. “Uh, yeah! One sec!” she called out, her voice a little too high-pitched.

The door creaked open before she could stop it, and Jeongin stepped in, his head poking around the corner with a sheepish smile. He froze when he saw her, his eyes darting from her flushed face to the disheveled state of her sweater.

“Oh, um…” Jeongin cleared his throat, his ears turning red. “I just wanted to let you know we’re all going to school together tomorrow. Chan-hyung said he’d give you a ride if you wanted to join.”

Seoyoon pulled the sweater back up over her shoulder, trying to appear casual despite the panic bubbling inside her. “Oh, uh, thanks for letting me know,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

Jeongin’s eyes lingered on the tripod for a moment, then flicked back to her. “Were you… taking pictures?”

Seoyoon froze, her mind racing for an excuse. “Oh, uh… yeah! Just… um, for my X account. You know, like a personal blog thing.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow, his curiosity evident. “A blog thing? You mean like… aesthetics or outfits or something?”

“Yeah! Exactly!” she lied, her hands gripping the edge of her sweater nervously. “Just… artsy stuff. Nothing big.”

He nodded slowly, though the slight tilt of his head suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, that’s cool. I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing. You should show us sometime.”

“Oh, no! It’s really not a big deal,” she blurted out, waving her hands. “Just something I’m doing for fun.”

Jeongin chuckled softly, the sound easing some of her tension. “Alright, alright. I won’t pry. Just wanted to let you know about the ride. Sleep well, Yoonie.”

“Thanks, Jeongin. You too,” she replied, her cheeks still burning as he closed the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Seoyoon collapsed onto her bed, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god,” she muttered under her breath. The tripod still stood there, the photos still saved on her phone, and the memory of Jeongin’s curious expression was now burned into her brain.

She grabbed her phone, scrolling through the photos she’d taken. Despite the embarrassment, a small smile crept onto her lips. They were good—better than she’d expected. And the comments on her account proved that people were eager to see more.

Seoyoon took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. If she was going to do this, she needed to commit. But she also needed to be more careful—especially with eight boys wandering around the apartment.

For now, though, she decided to call it a night. Tomorrow was a new day, and she’d have to face them all in the morning… including Jeongin, who now had a faint idea of what she was up to.

The sun had just started peeking through the blinds of Seoyoon’s room when Changbin, fully dressed and already energized, opened her door a crack. “Seoyoon-ah,” he called softly at first, his voice gentle. When there was no response, he stepped in further and crouched down by her bed. “Yah, sleepyhead. Time to wake up.”

Seoyoon stirred slightly, her face scrunching as she buried it further into her pillow. “Mmm, go ‘way, Binnie,” she mumbled, her voice muffled and groggy.

Changbin chuckled at how cute she looked, her hair messy and her cheek slightly puffy from where it had been pressed against the pillow. “Nope. You can’t call me ‘Binnie’ and expect me to go easy on you. Come on, Yoonie, get up,” he said, poking her cheek lightly.

She whined in protest, turning over dramatically and dragging her blanket over her head. “It’s too early,” she grumbled. “Five more minutes.”

Changbin wasn’t having it. He tugged at the blanket, his grin widening when she clung to it stubbornly. “Don’t make me carry you to breakfast,” he teased.

“Ugh, fine!” she groaned, finally sitting up, her eyes barely open as she glared at him. Despite her grumpiness, there was something endearing about the way she rubbed her eyes like a child and yawned loudly. “You’re the worst, Binnie.”

“And yet you love me,” he quipped, standing and ruffling her hair. “Now hurry up and get ready before the others eat all the food. You know how Jisung gets with bacon.”

With a sigh, Seoyoon shuffled out of bed, her steps heavy and sluggish. Changbin smirked as he left her to get dressed, closing the door behind him.

Once ready, Seoyoon joined the boys in the dining area, where the table was already set with breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh fruit. The smell alone made her stomach rumble, but she quickly pushed the thought aside.

“Morning, Yoonie!” Felix greeted her brightly from his seat, flashing her a dimpled smile.

“Morning,” she replied, her tone still a little grumpy but softening at the sight of the others.

She slid into a seat but made no move to grab a plate, hoping to slip under the radar. She reached for her iced coffee instead, sipping on it quietly. But Seungmin wasn’t fooled.

“Seoyoon,” he called out, his sharp eyes narrowing as he set down his fork. “Why aren’t you eating?”

She froze, caught off guard. “Oh, I’m not really hungry. I’ll eat later,” she lied, waving him off.

Seungmin didn’t buy it for a second. “Nope. Not happening.” He grabbed a piece of toast, spread some jam on it, and held it out to her. “Here. Just a few bites.”

“I said I’m not hungry—”

“Don’t argue with me,” Seungmin cut her off, his tone firm but not unkind. “Just one bite, or I’ll make you finish the whole plate.”

The boys watched the exchange with varying degrees of amusement, a few of them stifling chuckles. Seoyoon sighed in defeat, leaning forward to take a bite of the toast Seungmin held out. “Happy now?” she mumbled, cheeks slightly puffed as she chewed.

“Ecstatic,” Seungmin deadpanned, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

After breakfast, they all piled into the car. Seoyoon ended up in the backseat between Jeongin and Jisung, who were both in high spirits.

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Jeongin turned to her with a curious look. “So… what were you doing last night?” he asked innocently, though there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

Seoyoon blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?” she asked, playing dumb.

“The pictures,” Jeongin said casually. “You said it was for a blog thing, right? What kind of blog?”

At this, Chan, who was driving, glanced at her through the rearview mirror, and a few of the others turned to look at her as well.

“Uh…” Seoyoon hesitated, feeling the weight of their gazes. “Just… you know, aesthetic stuff. Outfits, vibes, that kind of thing.”

Jisung tilted his head, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Vibes, huh? What kind of vibes are we talking about?”

“Nothing special!” she said quickly, her voice a little too high-pitched. “Just artsy stuff. You know, creative expression.”

Felix snickered from the passenger seat. “Creative expression, huh? Sounds suspicious.”

“Can we drop it, please?” Seoyoon said, her cheeks burning as she crossed her arms.

The boys exchanged knowing looks but thankfully didn’t press further.

When they arrived at school, they all went their separate ways. Seoyoon grabbed her bag and turned to Jisung, who was waiting for her.

“Ready?” he asked, slinging his arm over her shoulders in a friendly gesture.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said, grateful for the distraction.

As they walked to class together, she couldn’t help but feel a little anxious about the questions from earlier. But for now, she pushed it to the back of her mind. She had other things to focus on—like surviving the day without accidentally spilling her secrets.

Throughout the day, Seoyoon couldn't help but overhear whispers and murmurs as she walked through the halls of the school. At first, she tried to ignore it, focusing on her classes and the boys. But as the day went on, the comments seemed to follow her, like shadows creeping in at the edges of her thoughts.

“Did you see Seoyoon with them again? I swear, she’s always with them now. She thinks she’s part of their group or something.”

“Yeah, but does she even know them that well? She’s not like them. I don't know, it’s kind of weird. They’ve been acting like she’s one of them.”

Seoyoon could feel the weight of the words—small, insignificant to the people who spoke them, but enormous to her. She wasn’t like the boys. She had always felt different, and now it was like everyone could see it too. Her insecurities flared up, and it felt like she couldn’t escape them. The whispers were loud in her mind, louder than the conversations happening around her. Am I really just some outsider to them? Do they think I’m too much of a burden?

It was during lunch that Seoyoon retreated to the bathroom, hoping to find some solace in the quiet. She leaned over the sink, staring at her reflection, the bright fluorescent lights making her look pale and tired. Her stomach twisted in knots as she tried to push away the overwhelming thoughts, but they kept creeping back.

“Did you hear? Seoyoon’s practically living with them now. I mean, it's like she doesn't even have a life of her own anymore.”

“I heard she used to be so independent. Now she just hangs around them all the time. Kind of pathetic, honestly.”

Seoyoon flinched as the voices echoed through the bathroom door. She felt her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat as the whispers seemed to close in on her. She wanted to leave, to escape, but her legs felt like they were made of stone.

When the bathroom door finally swung open and the girls walked out, Seoyoon was left standing there, her heart hammering in her chest. The walls around her seemed to close in, her throat tightening as the tears she had been holding back finally broke free. She sank to the floor, her back against the cold tile, pulling her knees to her chest as sobs wracked her body. The tears came in heavy waves, uncontrollable and painful, each one a reminder of how small and insignificant she felt.

They were right, she thought miserably. I don't belong with them. I don't belong anywhere.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but Seoyoon didn’t move to check it. She couldn’t bring herself to care. It wasn’t until the sobs began to slow that she finally took a shaky breath, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. She stood up slowly, her body aching from the weight of the breakdown, and looked at herself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at her seemed so unfamiliar, so broken.

She forced herself to take one last deep breath before she stepped out of the bathroom, trying to put on a brave face even though the hurt still simmered underneath.

But as soon as she stepped into the hallway, she heard a voice that made her heart stop—Jisung’s voice, calling her name.

“Seoyoon!” he shouted, concern in his tone as he jogged toward her. His eyes searched hers, catching the faint traces of red on her cheeks from her tears. “Hey, you okay?”

Seoyoon quickly wiped at her face again, offering a weak smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.”

Jisung didn’t buy it for a second. He frowned, looking her over carefully. “Seoyoon… you don’t look fine. You sure you’re alright?”

Before she could respond, Felix appeared beside Jisung, eyes softening when he saw her. “Hey, Yoonie, we’ve got your back, you know that, right?” Felix’s words were warm, but there was a hint of concern in his voice.

Seoyoon swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it harder to speak. “I know. I just… I don’t know why people keep talking about me. It’s like I don’t fit in with you guys. I’m just... an outsider. And I can’t help but feel like maybe you all are getting tired of me.”

Felix and Jisung exchanged a look, their expressions serious now. It was Jisung who spoke first, stepping closer to her. “You’re not an outsider, Yoonie. You’re part of our group. We want you here, okay? Don’t let anyone make you feel less than that.”

Felix smiled at her, his tone sincere. “We’re all family, Seoyoon. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You’ve got a place with us, always.”

For a moment, Seoyoon felt the weight of her worries start to lift, just a little. They really cared. She wasn’t a burden to them, not like she had feared. The support in their words, the understanding in their eyes, made her feel a little less alone. But the doubt still lingered, just under the surface, waiting for its chance to return.

With a shaky smile, she nodded. “Thanks, guys.” But deep down, she knew it would take more than just their words to calm the storm inside her.

The rest of the school day felt like a blur to Seoyoon. Her mind kept replaying the harsh whispers and judgmental stares, each word a dagger that twisted deeper into her chest. Despite the kind words from Jisung and Felix, the weight of the insecurity still clung to her, heavy and suffocating. She felt like she couldn’t escape the thoughts, the doubts that circled like vultures.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, she shuffled toward the exit with the boys, but her steps felt slower than usual. The laughter and chatter of the others seemed distant, almost as if they belonged to a different world.

As they made their way to the car, Seoyoon noticed the way the boys glanced at her. They could tell something was off.

"Yoonie, you okay?" Jisung asked, his eyes flicking between her and the others. There was concern in his voice, but Seoyoon just gave him a tight, forced smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine, really. Just tired, I guess,” she mumbled, brushing her hair behind her ear as she climbed into the car. She didn’t want them to see what was happening inside her. She didn’t want to burden them with her mess, so she buried it deep, hiding behind the act of pretending everything was fine.

The ride home was quiet. The usual chatter that filled the car was noticeably absent, and Seoyoon could feel their eyes occasionally flicking to her in the rearview mirror, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She stared out the window, her mind racing, trying to focus on anything other than the ache in her chest. Just make it through the night. You can do this.

When they arrived home, the others made their way inside, but Seoyoon stayed behind, walking slowly to the front door. She could feel the weight of their stares lingering even after they entered the house.

She didn’t even acknowledge the others as she passed by them, heading straight to her room. She quietly closed the door behind her, locking it with a soft click. It was like an invisible barrier between her and the world outside—her only way of keeping everything at bay.

The silence in her room was deafening. Seoyoon stood there for a moment, her hand still on the door, before slowly sliding down to sit on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest. Her body felt heavy, like it was made of stone. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, but it didn’t help. The thoughts kept coming. The whispers, the insecurities, the feeling of not being enough.

Maybe they’re right… maybe I really don’t fit in. Maybe I’m just a burden to them, and I’ll eventually wear them out. They’ll get tired of me.

Her hands curled into fists on her knees, her nails digging into her skin as she tried to push the thoughts aside. But they wouldn’t go away. No matter how hard she tried to force them out, they just kept circling.

A knock on the door startled her, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t feel like talking, not to anyone, especially not when she felt like this.

“Yoonie, you in there?” Jisung’s voice came softly through the door. “Come on, we’re all just hanging out in the living room. You can join us if you want. We missed you.”

Seoyoon bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t want to drag them into her mess. She just wanted to be alone. The last thing she needed was to burden them more.

But there was a long silence before Jisung spoke again. "Yoonie, I know you're having a hard time right now. We’re not going to push you, but please, just remember you don’t have to go through this alone, okay? We’re here for you."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wanted to respond, to tell him that she didn’t want to be a burden, that she didn’t want them to feel like they had to carry her pain, but the words got stuck in her throat.

Instead, she simply whispered, “I’m fine. Just need some space right now.”

She could hear the disappointment in Jisung's voice as he sighed softly before walking away. Seoyoon let out a shaky breath, pressing her palm to her forehead. She felt so incredibly small in that moment.

And then, she pulled her knees closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if the pressure of holding herself together would somehow make the weight inside her lessen. I just need to get through today. Tomorrow will be better.

But even as she thought that, she couldn’t shake the sense of emptiness that seemed to follow her.

Seoyoon didn’t know when she fell asleep. Her head must’ve slipped down against the edge of the bedframe sometime after the quiet sobs had subsided, exhaustion overcoming her emotions. She hadn’t meant to cry; the tears had just come, sudden and raw, like a dam breaking. When she awoke, it wasn’t to the comforting embrace of sleep, but to the weight of her own sadness and the quiet hum of the house around her.

The room felt cold despite the warmth of the setting sun outside. She shivered slightly, rubbing her face with the back of her hand to erase the remnants of her tears, but there was still a heavy feeling in her chest that she couldn’t shake.

Just as she shifted to sit up, she heard a soft knock on the door. She flinched at the sound, wiping her eyes quickly as if trying to pretend she hadn’t just fallen apart. The door opened a crack before Seungmin’s familiar voice came through, gentle and warm.

“Yoonie? Dinner’s ready. I know you haven’t eaten since breakfast, and you need to eat something. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, okay?”

Seoyoon sat up slowly, her body aching from the position she’d slept in on the floor. She didn’t want to leave her room. She didn’t want to face anyone in this state, but Seungmin’s soft tone—there was no judgment in it, only care—pulled at her. She let out a deep breath, and with a reluctant nod, she pushed herself up.

“Okay… I’ll be right out,” she muttered, even though she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself.

She grabbed the hem of her shirt, smoothing out the creases as she stood in front of the mirror, making a conscious effort to look like she was holding it together. Her hair was messy from sleep, her eyes red and puffy, but she wiped away the worst of it and sighed. She couldn't keep hiding from them forever. She had to go out there eventually. I can do this.

Taking one last deep breath, she opened the door, stepping out into the hallway.

And there they were.

All eight of them, gathered together in the living room. As soon as she stepped out, they stopped what they were doing, eyes turning to her. A mixture of concern and tenderness filled the room, and before she knew what was happening, they were all standing up to welcome her, enveloping her in their warmth.

Chan was the first to approach, pulling her into his arms with a soft “Hey, Yoonie,” his voice laced with comfort. Then Felix followed, wrapping his arms around her from the side, offering her a gentle smile.

“Don't worry, Yoonie,” he whispered, “We’re here.”

Next was Minho, who gave her a small, playful nudge as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the living room with a quiet chuckle, as though trying to lift her spirits without saying much at all.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he murmured, his presence calming her like a soft blanket.

Seungmin, who had been the one to knock on her door, gently cupped her cheek with one hand, his touch light but full of reassurance. “You’re not a burden, Yoonie. Just eat with us. Please?”

Changbin nudged Jeongin, who had been quietly standing off to the side, and they both smiled at her. Jeongin stepped forward and placed a hand on her back, his voice quiet but full of warmth. “We’re not going anywhere, okay? Just come sit with us.”

Hyunjin was the last to approach, offering a soft kiss to her forehead, a simple gesture that melted Seoyoon's heart. “We love you, Yoonie. Don’t forget that. Always.”

Seoyoon blinked, the tears that had been threatening to come back already brimming at the edges of her eyes. The way they showered her with care, the way they all showed her love without asking for anything in return—it was almost too much to process. She felt silly for ever thinking she didn’t deserve it. She felt small in the best possible way.

“I feel… silly,” she murmured, though her heart was lighter than it had been all day. “I don’t know why you’re all so nice to me.”

“You deserve it,” Chan replied, smiling softly. “We take care of each other. That’s what family does.”

The warmth of their words wrapped around her like a protective cocoon, and she let herself relax into it, realizing that she didn’t have to hide everything anymore. She didn’t have to shoulder it all alone.

“Let’s eat, yeah?” Jisung grinned, taking her hand lightly and leading her to the table where the food was already set out.

They all settled in together around the table, and even though Seoyoon was still carrying the remnants of her sadness, the genuine love and care from the boys around her made the burden feel a little bit lighter. With each bite of food, with each laugh and soft conversation, her heart healed just a little more.

As they all dug into their dinner, Seoyoon glanced around the table, her eyes softening at the sight of the eight boys who’d slowly started to become her family.

prev/next

TAGLIST @galaxy4489 @ot8xbangchansgirlsblog @vv-us

[jackiequick]

Reverse Betrayal - Agent of SHIELD….HYDRA? | [ Flipped AU]

AU —— Amelia has been apart of the Inhuman/Brotherhood Of Mutants and Hydra all along, and is working against SHIELD (Why? We will never know..). After she had to reveal her powers to control a handful of soldiers after them while keeping a few in the process, to try Ward, to save the team and complete the mission. 

He decided to protect her and hide her secret, not knowing she was a spy. She doesn’t want to be saved or protected, in fear of letting her guard down, choosing to run away but Ward always finds her. The young heroes will always find her.

“I was trying to protect you..”

“So was I.” 

“So what are you doing?”

“I took your advice..I stopped running.”

“Look at me, baby, look at me! I won’t hurt you, I promise that.”

“Even after the hell I put you though?”

~~~~

Name: Amelia Rachel Mary Morse

Codename: Tempest 

Date of Birth: July 14, 1995

Nationality: Italian-American

Place of Origin: Queens, New York

Age: Varies depending on the timeline

Height: 5’2

Sexuality: Straight (though her loyalty often comes before any personal relationships)

Species: Inhuman/Mutant with the power to control and manipulate emotions

Affiliation: Hydra, Brotherhood of Mutants

Rank: High-ranking operative within Hydra's ranks, trusted member of the Brotherhood

Appearance: Amelia has a striking presence, with expressive eyes that seem to hold a secret. She often wears a confident smirk, giving off an air of mystery and danger. Her attire is sleek and practical, fitting for someone who operates in the shadows.

Abilities:

Emotion Manipulation: Amelia possesses the ability to sense, alter, and control the emotions of others. She can incite fear, anger, or calmness at will, using her powers to manipulate situations to Hydra's advantage.

Mental Resistance: Years of training and exposure to Hydra's methods have given Amelia a strong mental fortitude, making her resistant to telepathic intrusion and manipulation.

Combat Training: Trained in various forms of hand-to-hand combat and armed combat, Amelia is a formidable opponent in combat situations.

Background: Unlike the original timeline where Amelia dreamed of becoming a SHIELD agent to protect and serve, in this AU, she was recruited into Hydra at a young age. Growing up in Queens, she always felt like an outsider, hiding her true nature as an Inhuman/Mutant. When Hydra discovered her abilities in the later years, they saw her potential as a valuable asset. However she made it clear to have her abilities used on her own terms and conditions, she wasn't going to be their little toy.

Under the guise of a loyal agent, Amelia rose through the ranks of Hydra, honing her skills and serving their sinister agenda. She became known as Tempest, a name that struck fear or uncertainty into the hearts of her enemies. "Tempest" symbolize her ability to stir up and control emotions, much like a storm can whip up turbulent winds and chaos. It also represent her inner turmoil and the internal struggles she faces as she grapples with her loyalties and the choices she must make.

Alongside her allegiance to Hydra, she also aligned herself with the Brotherhood of Mutants, drawn to their vision of mutant supremacy.

Motivation: Amelia's loyalty to Hydra stems from a desire for power and control. Having felt marginalized and overlooked for much of her life, she sees Hydra as a means to exert her influence and shape the world according to her will. She believes in the supremacy of mutants and is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure their dominance.

Relationships: While Amelia may form alliances and partnerships within Hydra and the Brotherhood, her true loyalty lies with her own ambitions. She is skilled at manipulation and may feign friendships or romantic entanglements to further her own agenda. However, deep down, she harbors a sense of loneliness and isolation, knowing that her true nature must remain hidden from those around her.

———

Additional Information:

Deep down, Amelia harbors a sense of loneliness and isolation, knowing that her true nature must remain hidden from those around her. Despite this, she found solace in a relationship with her boyfriend Nikolai, where they shared a sense of comfort, understanding, and love.

When Amelia was assigned by her boss John Garrett, an undercover Hydra agent within SHIELD, to work alongside Phil Coulson and his team, she was hesitant at first. However, she discovered a warmth, confidence, and strong sense of compassion when working with Coulson and meeting the Young Avengers. 

Over time, she found herself drawn to them, allowing her walls to slowly fall as she began to desire something more for herself.

During the fall of SHIELD and the revelation of Hydra's infiltration, Amelia's cover was blown along with many other agents.

In a pivotal moment, she betrayed Ward and the team, saving them and herself. Following Hydra's downfall, Amelia went into hiding, forging her own path and rebuilding her guard. 

However, she remained on the radar of both the Young Avengers and SHIELD...

~~~~

This was my excuse to make an baddie Mia haha. Now it’s your turn to flip an characters around ;)

Anyways tell me what you guys think!

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @cherrysft @rickb-chaos @starkleila @infinetlyforgotten @meiramel @parisparker269 @buckysteveloki-me @yetanotherwells @nakiaswg @carellmcu @ximehs @xgoddessoffandomsx

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - Epilogue pt.1

Epilogue 1/2 - Always Forward

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 8700

Chapter summary:  In which you're settling into a new normal... and something beautiful might be blossoming between you and Steve, even as your past experience is holding you back.

Series masterlist

Warnings: mention of dampened senses and vomitting, mentions of unhealthy relationship with pain, mention of PTSD and flashbacks, mentions of bruises and bleeding (brief and no-graphic), Steve being a menace, allusions to messed-up self-image and self-worth, language✨ Please, let me know any time if you think I missed any!

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: hello it's me, bringing this story back from the void. If you follow on AO3, you have seen this posted... in October. My dummy self forgot to post it here. Enjoy and let know if you did? 😇

You were not counting your days of recovery. You weren’t.

You fully understood healing was a process, even if sped up by Steve’s accelerated healing ability still gracing your body and stitching up your cells in the speed of considerably delayed light.

The determination to not count days was most certainly not at all connected to the fact that every day of your enhanced healing meant keeping a stolen miracle from its rightful owner and as a consequence, keeping a hero with capital H from ordinary people, keeping him from saving lives due to his own slowed recovery. However, the delay was not on you only – it had been a mutual decision to which you had come to together.

Healing simply took time; you got that. On a rational level, you understood it all perfectly.

Thus, you weren’t counting days.

You were counting hours instead. And there were too many to your liking.

You wished you had felt better when the switch finally happened, after your tissue had completely healed and you had started physical therapy, but it was not that simple. You did feel better in a way, of course, but you exchanged one little hell for another.

As much as you had tried to prepare for the moment, even talking to Steve about how much of a shock it had been for him to wake up after the first switch, no amount of readiness made you truly ready and it wasn’t just the fear of the Kree artifact possibly having another surprise in stock for you.

It wasn’t just the healing factor either; it was the senses.

You hadn’t had a single doubt you’d feel relieved and grateful later on – and you did now – but suddenly losing the beyond-perfect vision and hearing might have as well render you completely blind and deaf. Even after days, you caught yourself squinting, listening to music that appeared to always play too low even when on max, eating food with enough spice to send Clint – Clint, of all people – running away with tears, because to you it tasted completely bland otherwise. You physically had to stop yourself from spraying yourself with perfume once more because you didn’t seem to smell it at all.

Steve was no better. He was good at rolling with the punches and he did have an experience with suddenly gaining enhanced senses already; but he did admit, with reluctance, that he had thrown up directly after the switch, the assault on his senses too overwhelming; mumbling something about a hangover and Asgardian liquor. Not that you heard him at the time; because you had practically turned deaf.

Yay Kree! said no one, ever.

There were positives too, however; even with dampened senses, the moment you were able to project for the first time again, you were taken by relief so intense you felt tears sting in your eyes, your chest so tight and yet so light you could fly. You were far from a perfect person, from a perfect Inhuman; but god, had you never been happier to be yourself than at that moment.

Steve reached the peak of his recovery not two days after, his range of motion and strength returning as if he had never been injured at all.

And by some karmic blessing, the switch did have one miraculous effect defying one of the most fundamental law of physics; the conservation of energy.

The pain ceased to exist.

 Steve swore to you while looking – squinting still, really, the lights too bright for his enhanced sight – directly into your eyes that there was not a single trace of his spectral wound in his chest. It didn’t hurt. And the pain didn’t transfer to you either. It was just… gone.

You didn’t investigate why, even as you could feel the wheels in Steve’s head turning, his neurons once again firing like mad as he considered using the Leviathan for switches more often, wanting to try if together, you could rid you of the pain completely whenever your Spectre suffered an injury. You didn’t want to know if that was an option; because it was not an option for you, the risks you had listed earlier remaining.

Nevertheless, you were grateful that this one and only time you’d used the artifact, Steve was free of the consequences of your abilities.

And you were beyond grateful that exchanging powers back did not catapult you back into times where you and Steve fought all too often.

In fact, it was the exact opposite.

You did begin to build the foundation Steve had talked about. An invite for a run, for a workout, for a lunch. Sitting next to each other when watching a movie with other Avengers or during the AI movie nights. Lingering when running into each other, exchanging at least a few sincere words or mere small talk. A literal walk in a park, a little hike upstate, a coffee with no expectations beyond a good, safe time with someone whose company you enjoyed very much.

When you granted yourself the permission to let go, you gravitated towards each other, every time, the alluring warmth of his, figurative and literal, always pulling you in, tingles in your belly reaching into your chest and untying the knots of anxiety and doubt and setting you free of their barbaric cage.

You did take it slow. There were no labels, no pressure – at least not from Steve’s side – no deadlines. No official dates, no purely romantic displays of affection.

You did work on building that trust and you were fully aware it was mostly for your own benefit. Even as Steve was clearly putting a lot of effort into making it seem like he didn’t mind, you added the guilt over making him wait and complicating things to the nice pile you had managed to gather all by yourself; but that was not on Steve. Steve was… incredible.

With all this, the feeling you had always felt humming in your chest and which you had been so desperate to fight just to remain a little safer, grew louder. You had always trusted Steve; the trust was now turning steel-solid with every precious minute in his presence.

It was you whom you still didn’t quite trust.

But when you allowed yourself to let go just a tiny bit, to feel Steve’s sincerity in just about anything, when you consciously pushed at least some of your fears to the backburner, you were falling for Steve fast. And hard.

Steve Rogers was a man as close to perfection as you thought it possible. There were almost too many things to admire and appreciate about him. His bravery, sincerity an all-in approach when it came to feeling, were but a few of them.

One of the ways which conveyed his kindness and dare to say affection, was his touch.

There were few fundamental facts about touching and being touched by Steve.

The first one was that before your unfortunate Hydra incident, you two had never touched outside of strictly work-related reasons; and even those, at least to your knowledge, had been very limited. One, Steve fixed some of your moves or stance in training, or assisted you if it was completely necessary. Two, Steve carried you when you inevitably passed out during a mission; being high-up in his arms, pressed to his front as he had easily carried you bridal style, was a memory which you recalled with surprising sharpness and yet maddening haziness that prevented you from fully benefiting from those moments.

The second fact was that even if the touch was limited to work-related occasions, there was a hierarchy in it: you had never initiated the physical contact. You wouldn’t for a while, in the course of work or outside of it.

Third, when it did come to physical contact outside of work, there was something incredibly fragile and beautiful about Steve and touch.

It wasn’t like you had never had another person touch you outside of work before, obviously. That wasn’t it. You had done plenty of gymnastics training, ballet lessons, work-out, martial arts, sparring – all these included a lot of correction by your trainers. You had once had friends too, you had hugged; and god knew Daisy could give, at least by your estimate, among the warmest hugs on Earth and in Space.

When it came to a different kind of touch, when it came to sex, you sure had your fair share of experience of being touched. In fact, there had been a period of your life that included a very high number of sexual encounters, which naturally tended to involve a lot of touching; so much that you’d confidently say the rule at the time was quantity over quality. The habit was objectification over affection. The reality was heated desire to fuck and be fucked over intimacy.

And that was exactly where the overwhelming contrast lied: there was something empoweringly and disarmingly intimate about Steve’s touch, even outside of romance.

It had started back at the Hydra cell, with him tenderly cradling your head, fingertips lingering on your thigh after he had finished taking care of your wound; the very study in intimate, warm touch, that lingered in your mind fondly despite the dreadful circumstance.

And from there, the physical contact came surprisingly easy and frequent to you two.

A tentative brush of a hand on your arm, an offered elbow if the situation called for it, a half-sided hug. Many if not all of these touches were nothing but friendly in their nature, no different from those Steve would give to Natasha or Bucky or Sam – and yet they whispered of tender intimacy. And they lit you on fire; and while on occasion that fire was burning you from inside out, driving you to the point of madness, most of the time, it was a fire that felt gentle and safe.

And while touching seemed easy as it was with Steve, at least where he initiated it, you felt there were two defining moments where the remaining barriers between you cracked with deafening and soothing noise.

One of them was the first true touch you had initiated since being in a hospital bed after the Hydra mess. It was back when you had found Stevefalling apart, a flashback catching him unexpectedly when the fireworks for his own birthday had gone off – or that much had been your guess at the time.

The memory haunted you with heartache and fondness at once; his ass in those nicely fitting slacks planted on the floor in an abandoned remote Tower corridor, back pressed against the wall, fingers in his hair gripping and making sure his palms were covering his ears.

You had approached him slowly that evening – tentative for multiple reasons – making as heavy steps as you could so he could feel you coming. You seated your ass – in a blue summer dress reaching above your knees – next to him, close, but not touching at first. Then, when you could tell he registered your presence – somehow slightly more relaxed and more strung up at once – you scooted over, just resting your bare shoulder against his, your heart having leapt to your throat at the contact.

And that was it. You just sat there next to him, silently asking Friday for not letting anyone else into this section of the Tower for the moment.

You sat there, breathing, feeling the warmth radiating off Steve’s bicep and in return you let him feel yours, until the grip on his hair loosened; until part of his weight rested against your shoulder and his hands fell slack on the floor. Only then you spoke to him quietly, laying your hand next to his, a tentative offer he accepted after a while. Moments, long, quiet but not torturous ticked by; and after, he rasped a thank you, rising to his feet, using the hold on your hand to help you up, a shy smile – a little, broken thing –painted his lips before he returned to the party, probably feeling as hungover from the experience as you did.  

The second of the breaking points was your embarrassing breakdown at the animal shelter; that day, Steve’s arms enveloped you fully and firmly against his chest for the first time, a protective embrace trying to shield you from the hurt that was echoing from within you, coaxing you to release that pain as if he could take it and add its weight to his world-wielding shoulders. And in a way, he did.

Accepting the offer of today’s sparring session felt like breaking the third seal.

Steve had corrected your stance or grip or technique before; but sparring with any of the Avengers had been of a short supply, one that started to fill up after the Hydra incident. Yet, sparring with Steve seemed to apply to other Avengers, Bucky most of all, because they were equal in strength and enhanced reflexes.

As with just about anything, Steve gave you the chance to back out, to say no; but you recognized the very offer as one of the olive branches which he seemed to extent more and more frequently. He had arranged your training sessions with other Avengers – or at least nudged them to suggest it, you were nearly sure of it – seeing them as opportunities to bond with your teammates; but so far he had avoided inviting you himself. Not to work out but to actually spar with him.

There was something exhilarating about saying yes, terrifying and tempting at once, a cocktail you found yourself drinking bottoms-up more and more frequently when it came to opening up as well. Especially when it came to Steven Grant Rogers.

And while the first few advances during the session were reluctant, you gradually eased into it.

To ease into sparring with Steve was a thrill, a hum of adrenalin and fun in your very bones. You found yourself panting; you found yourself grinning, Steve’s praise fuelling your nearly successful attempts at taking him down.

The physical effort in trying to take down a supersoldier, even as you knew he wouldn’t purposely hurt you, was not the only reason why your heart was beating so fast; the sight of him grinning, sparkles in his eyes, arms in particular bulging since he had to keep his fists up, all that certainly played a role too.

The air in the gym was charged with something playful; and it crackled of something else too, something electric you wouldn’t dare to give a name to, but you’d gladly let it tickle your skin even if the act whispered of danger that had nothing to do with the size of Steve’s shoulders and body in general, nor his strength. Nor the scent of peak masculine that seemed to wrap around you in welcomed but suffocating manner.

Another of the exciting things – things that made your blood rush fast and heat settle in your belly deeper and hotter than you’d be willing to admit under the threat of death – was Steve’s incredibly varied style of fighting.

To someone who didn’t know better, it would seem that the fight would have had a clear choreography. To someone who would take one single look at Steve and then you, it would seem the fight was about to be about two very different forces of nature. Strength and size on Steve’s side; agility, flexibility and technique on yours. You had seen an advanced mock battle like that before, back when you were only with SHIELD – with Mack and Bobbi. These two were the embodiment of these two apparent opposites, even as they sampled from another. And Mack, the mountain of muscle he was, certainly was far from a slow hunk; but the sheer amount of his muscles did render him less agile than Bobbi.

But that could not be less true where your opponent was concerned – and the main difference between Mack and Steve, much like the reason for it, was clear as day.

Steve Rogers had not been a hunk when he had begun to learn how to fight. When he had begun, he was forced to learn how to use his smaller body with enough wit to try and beat someone almost twice his size.

He still remembered that; and seeing it in action was tantalizing and damn well distracting at times, leading your thoughts astray, down the sinful path of how well he might be able to control and execute his moves in a very different setting. Yet, a little fraction of your mind, one that wasn’t actively participating in guiding you to dodge Steve’s hits and kicks nor was busy with calming your hormones, admired that – and recognized moves from at least eight different martial arts Steve was effortlessly weaving into his advances and defence alike. And he was doing so with an exhilarated smile on his face.

It rang true to his words back in that Hydra base; he did enjoy hand-to-hand even before the serum, but only once he had learned that there were ways to outwit the enemy, a little like David had with Goliath. Except Steve was a bit of both right now and it made him not an easy opponent to beat.

You enjoyed it a little more than you’d be willing to admit, but you suspected Steve knew.

By the look he gave you when you flipped away from his kick aimed to your ribs last second, a look that made something deep within your core tremble with thrilling heat, you also suspected Steve liked it.

He teased you; he pretended to aim punch one way, only to change it last moment to keep you on your toes. He avoided your attacks, sometimes with ease, sometimes barely, because he was not the only one who had learned how to confuse their enemy to gain advantage. Still, sometimes punches and kicks landed – and you’d be bruised tomorrow even as Steve was obviously pulling his punches as not to cause fatal internal bleeding on you.

The thing was, you did no care for bruises; because more often than not, before the pain registered, it was a very different feeling that flickered to life at the point of contact and spread through your veins like a wildfire.

You had a fair amount of experience with sparring, sparring with attractive colleagues too; but never in your life you had found a hold on your fist, a forearm aligned to a forearm, a hold on your ankle, a touch to a thigh so damn intoxicating.

And intoxicating was the right word; because it was messing with your head in both welcomed and unwelcomed ways and it landed you in a trap; your heart and then your body, firmly in Steve’s hold.

You knew exactly how you found yourself in the headlock, but that was no help to you, especially since your first thought, despite the adrenalin coursing through your veins, was that Steve’s front pressed to your back was very warm, very firm and very much appreciated.

You had known you were in trouble a second before Steve’s arm closed around you. But it was too late. He already had you in his grip; and your mind had already steered into gutter, even if for a moment.

Focus.

While you could tell Steve was trying his damnest not to hurt you, his hold on you was unrelenting, not leaving an inch of space for movement besides you possibly tapping out. Which you would do about as soon as the hell would freeze over.

But there were others way of getting out and you would not give up without trying.

Judging by the firm resistance Steve put against your attempts to escape – and good god, how did he just walk around with biceps and forearms this size – he wasn’t completely shying away from his enhancement.

So neither should you.

Closing your eyes a moment, you allowed yourself, albeit with a pang of guilt, another precious moment of feeling Steve’s body enveloping you; then, another moment of indulging in the sight provided by your mind’s eye, of Steve’s large body curled around yours.

And then snapped your eyes open to that very image, your spectre materializing behind him.

There was no time to waste; Steve would soon recognize the change in tension of your actual body. And yet. You couldn’t help but simply feel for another beat of your heart. The heat of his body curled around your back as well as him nearly touching your front now, his t-shirt straining around his broad shoulders and his absurdly narrow waist that called for you to wrap your legs around it.

But you had no right to do that; and admiring his physique and indulging in his presence was not why your spectre was behind him.

Standing on your tiptoes, noticing the slight wince in his posture as he had indeed registered a change in your physical body, even if he clearly hadn’t identified its cause yet, you leaned as close to his left ear as you could, and whispered:

“On your left.”

Visibly startled, he snapped his head to the source of the sudden noise.

You’d swear you heard Bucky laugh at the other end of the gym – but you didn’t let it distract you beyond a ghost of a smile on your lips.

This was your moment; as soon as you felt was the slightest loosening of Steve’s hold, you seized the opportunity, snapping back. And for all Steve’s fast reflexes, he was not quick enough to stop you from escaping the previously perfect headlock when his first instinct was to grab after the new attacker – your spectre – his fingers only brushing air by the time he did so.

He was not quick enough to react to straighten his posture either, to catch you or his wits before you were curling under his empty arms and sweeping his legs from under him, and causing him to land with his back on the mat with a surprised huff and a thud so powerful it nearly shook the floor under your feet.

You knew he let you win when you managed to climb on top of him and pin him down; but it still felt pretty good to outwit him a little. And to straddle him, holding down his hands which he could with no doubt laughable ease free from your ordinary human grasp.

He huffed a chuckle as he let his head hit the mat, before his gaze found yours again.

“You’re playing dirty.”

For but a second, a tiny but loud voice in your head snapped at you to apologize this instant for cheating, to respond appropriately to your superior berating you; but he wasn’t. There was no malice in Steve’s voice. If anything, he seemed amused, lacing his words with the smallest hint of admiration and praise.

Who knew Captain America himself would approve of sneakiness?

You. You did. These days, you knew. But seeing, hearing and feeling was believing; and all your senses registered that it was all kinds of fine and it inflated your chest with a feeling unknown, of which you were beginning to believe equalled what people usually felt when coming home.

It was a feeling pumping up courage straight into your veins.

One corner of your lips lifted in a smirk mirroring Steve’s, even as your chest was rising and falling rapidly after the exertion needed to get him on his back. “Using what I have. What’s your excuse for holding back, Captain?”

He was holding back; despite the fun and valuable lectures you were gaining, you could see as much and feel it every time he landed a hit. Sure, the aim of sparring was not to beat each other senseless; but he was holding back a little too much. He seemed to be enjoying himself too; but he could do a lot better.

“What I have,” he retorted, a serious note lacing his voice, causing you to sober up a fraction. “It’s dangerous not to. You know it is, better than anyone. You felt it.”

You had felt and were feeling all sorts of things indeed; and you understood his point. But as your mind wandered several directions, some less decent than others, it occurred to you just how, professionally speaking, rare your chance to spar with Steve was.

“Well, one might argue about the opposite being true. The numbers of enhanced people and Inhumans keep rising. And if our biggest escapade yet told us anything, it’s that the serum will always be a hot issue,” you reasoned and despite your rather compromising position, you could tell Steve was genuinely considering your words. “It’s a matter of time before I run into someone with enhanced strength and reflexes in the field… they might not have your level of skills, but still. We’re wasting an opportunity for me to learn how to fight them better.”

The shift in atmosphere following your words was almost palpable, filling your lungs with regret; Steve gulped, all humour bleeding off from his face, dark thoughts gathering like clouds over the sunshine that had been in his smile.

It was obvious he saw your point; you just weren’t sure why you had made it, when it meant disrupting the previously perfect flow and playful atmosphere. A moodkiller, were you? You had been having such a good time earlier.

Then again, that was hardly a surprise, was it? Good times didn’t last; not for you. Sooner or later, you’d taint them with your presence, with your past, your lack of finesse and skill or doomsday mindset. Always.

Your felt your body turning rigid, cold despite the sweat running down your back, ribcage tightening, your gaze growing absent as you retreated into the maze of your mind and memories, every step taken backwards leading you deeper and deeper between the walls that knew no escape-

-and the tender touch to your hand pulled you right back, Steve’s face coming back to focus. It was but a brush on your forearm; on a hand you didn’t remember taking off Steve’s forearm.

While you were still on top of him, he was on top of the situation; and while you should be having a firm grip on him, your opponent, you had someone you trusted with your life gently holding you, if by nothing else but his fingertips barely caressing your skin. There was no doom on his face, no scolding, no insult, no mocking; just intent and focus written in his surprisingly softened features.

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

The words came out quiet, yet you felt their power shake something within you, releasing the suffocating tension in your chest, something in the air shifting towards a wholly new direction.

You didn’t think Bucky and Sam were in the gym anymore; the large room was filled with nothing but faint sounds of your and Steve’s breathing, the space expanding and shrinking at once, a whole world concentrated in the sincerity of Steve’s blue eyes.

If the third seal of touching Steve had broken by accepting the sparring session, the fourth was being broken when you allowed yourself to feel the tenderness of his rough fingertips on your skin and the firmness and stability of his body under yours.

“You won’t,” you whispered back, your faith in those words steady as the foundation of Earth. So steady you mentally propped your hand on it and rose to bravery, reaching a decision that somehow felt like losing the ground under your feet and enjoying doing so. “I trust you, Steve.”

“With your life?” he questioned softly, gaze roaming your face, trapping you in a world of its own.

Distantly and vividly at once, you recalled the conversation you had led in the med bay almost a month back, a shiver running down your spine. And it was not at all unpleasant.

Knowing in your core that the decision you had reached was the right one, you released a shaky breath, throat tight with both anxiety and overwhelming relief.

“That too.”

Then, a beat of silence. You were fully aware of what you were saying; what you were hinting had.

And you knew that Steve, brilliant, brilliant Steve, was too, because even with his ability to appear stoic – ability you could proudly say you had penetrated more than once – his expression changed. A subtle shift in his features; a drastic one.

Transforming with something you were suddenly terrified to read.

For ten frantic beats of your heart, you observed him with dreadful anticipation, before the weight of your own words became too much, panic attempting to seize you as you fought with vigour not to show the crucial realization that had dawned on you.

You just made a mistake.

You had misread the situation, you had misread it all.

You basically told Steve you were ready for a shift in your relationship; but it was too late.

Steve wasn’t interested anymore, even if there was something in his eyes that appeared so damn soft after your admission and you’d swear you had seen a glimmer of want in those widened pupils during the sparring session. But you were wrong.

He had been content with the blooming friendship, the spark needed for romance already gone, rationality overtaking whatever feelings had possessed him earlier, the realization you were too much work, too much to handle and not enough of anything else overweighting his previous courage to try with you.

You had missed your shot; and you just exposed yourself to judgement.

Before the emptiness of losing something you had never actually had could swarm your body completely with pain you wished was only spectral, a loud thud from the other part of the gym – making you realize you were very much not alone – froze the sensation in its progress.

On autopilot, you climbed off Steve swiftly, offering him your hand even as the idea of you lifting the hunk of muscle Steve was was laughable at best.

You did not feel like laughing.

You cleared your throat, forcing a nonchalant smile, nonchalant tone, nonchalant everything.

“Two out of three?” you offered, thanking all gods you ever heard of that Steve accepted your hand with the same amount of nonchalance, his hand warm and firm around yours.

You tried to smile despite feeling like projecting your spectre to damn Australia just so you didn’t have to deal with the brutal confession you had so irresponsibly and stupidly gave out.

And yet. There was something shockingly warm in Steve’s expression as he nodded, giving you hope you hadn’t messed up as cardinally as you thought, his gaze a little absent as if he was just as lost in his own mind as you wanted to retreat into yours and never leave.

Not wanting to give into hope nor the despair, you did what you always had; you shoved the incident and possible consequences deep within where they couldn’t hurt you momentarily, desperately latching onto the workout itself. You tried to tell yourself you should cherish the blessing of spending time with Steve, even if it might be the last time before you’d go back into the shouting matches and two strangers living and working in close quarters mode.

“Sure. Have at it, Spectre.”

He made a little gesture with his hand and he raised his arms for defence, determination that somehow appeared to reach beyond besting you in combat appearing on his face and making your heart tremble with everything but fear.

“I will. But no holding back. Not that much, at least.”

The brief smile passing Steve’s lips felt somewhat meaningful, a warning sending your heart into frenzy; but whenever had it not.

“Don’t worry, Spectre. I won’t.”

If there was one thing Steve could do really well – among many others, because of course he did – it was delivering on his promises.

He was not holding back; or at least he was holding back on holding back, and the results were immediate.

His smile grew wider, his energy practically sparking, his movements faster and considerably more challenging than before. He allowed himself to let go; and he leaned fully into you doing the same, the stakes rising, as much as the fun. And tension.

A very palpable tension you couldn’t deny, air heavy and delicious in your lungs, your heart once again racing from more than the insanely intense workout.

Steve went – almost – all in. And damn, was that a challenge, like a steep hill to climb; quite a literal one, since Steve was a mountain of muscle.

What a sight.

A cheeky smile when you tried to trick him with projecting again; his grip a little firmer, growing even more difficult to escape it when you weren’t sure you wanted to; not when he spared a playful remark, his breath brushing your skin and sending shivers down your back. Huffs of laughter when you squinted at him after every unsuccessful attempt to get him on his back.

His attacks were much more successful; and it wasn’t just the speed and the strength.

It was the stamina.

Which was a thought that sent your mind to the gutter more than once, but you could not let it. Not even when he got you on his back with an embarrassingly loud thud on the mattress.

He had tired you out; that was what had had you done. So much that you remained lying flat on your back for several seconds, blinking and catching your breath.

Steve’s panting form appeared in your field of vision, his cheekiness and thrill of a friendly and surprisingly challenging fight erased and quickly replaced by concern.

“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

It was sweet. Almost.

You huffed, unable to hold back the stink eye when the concern disappeared from his features, replaced by mischief.

“What do you think? … I’m fine. Completely fine.”

As he offered you a hand, one corner of his lips quirked up in painfully contagious amusement.

“Then stop napping. Come on.”

And you did.

By the third time he bested you, you felt like you were supposed to take that nap; because hadn’t it been for him, you might have sprained something, if not broken.

If there was one thing you were better at than Steve, even if it still was an annoyingly close call, it was gymnastics. You moved a little faster, was able to stretch a bit further, flip over to avoid hits more effectively.

Until you didn’t.

With your movements growing sluggish, the power behind your punches less explosive, your jumps reaching lower, you missed a step; you failed to put enough strength into your take-off. Like a lightning, the realization hit you mid-flip that the landing would not be pleasant, let alone graceful – and your body had no chance to react properly in time, not with how slow your motions had turned.

Squeezing your eyes shut, muscles strung for the impact you braced yourself for, you swore to yourself you would not cry out in pain, clenching your jaw for a good measure.

And then you were landing in something solid and warm and safe and the world was tumbling and spinning until it stood still except for the two sets of frantic heartbeats and laboured breaths, everything coming back to focus.

The everything being Steve securely holding you to his chest as you sat your ass on the ground, your legs bend over his outstretched thighs.

Snapping your eyes open, you met his worried blues roaming as he was already taking count of your possible injuries – which were zero thanks to his save. Ears ringing from the unexpected tumble, warm proximity and the intensity of Steve’s gaze, it flashed through your mind that had Steve ever decided to quit his job, he would probably make good money as a top spotter in gymnastic due to his reflexes and quick thinking like that.

And you’d love to return to professional gymnastics if he had, because landing in his arms did things to your heart that might not be healthy, but were certainly entirely pleasant, every single of your senses sinking into him. The heat radiating off his skin, the musk mixed with his cologne, the taste of his breath on your lips, his beauty still so startling from up close, and finally his voice, husky with worry.

“Are you alright?”

Very much so, you wanted to reply, lost in the deep sea of blue with sweet green speckles; lost until you realized he was asking because you might have nearly broken your neck with the awkward flip.

You cleared your throat, trying to blink away the haze.

“Uhm, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks to you,” you mumbled, licking your lips as your gaze flickered to Steve’s mouth, the heat surrounding your body suddenly unbearable with the improper thoughts it awoken.

He had caught you because he was your superior. He was responsible for you and he was your friend and he cared, and he would feel awful if you got hurt, because he had been the one to suggest the sparring. It would be completely unprofessional and low of you to use the position it had landed you in as an excuse to taste those lips for real-

You shifted in his embrace, a clear signal you wanted him to release you – even if you didn’t – his hold on you instantly easing, causing you to release the breath that caught in your chest when he had so sincerely asked you if you weren’t hurt.

He smiled at you as he let you to climb to your feet first, joining you swiftly once you weren’t in his way.

“Are you sure you’re-”

“I’m fine, Steve. Really… “ you reassured him, even as you felt your stance being a little shaky from exertion. “And thank you. Really.”

“Happy to help. Should we take a break?”

You looked at him incredulously, trying and failing to asses if he was being serious or teasing you; the way one corner of his lips quirked in a smile did not help your assessing process.

But for once, you were done. Any further sparring would probably ended up in you truly hurting yourself.

Not to mention it wouldn’t be fair.

“Steve if you haven’t caught me, I’d be on my back, probably with something broken. I think it’s safe to say this counts like the third point for you… and even if it didn’t, you’d get me on the ground within a minute. This,” you gestured vaguely on the mat where you had been sitting, in his arms, across his lap, FOCUS, “just proves I stand no chance anymore. You won. Fair and square. Congrats. And thanks for not letting me win just because.”

“Just because?” he questioned, the other corner of his lips turning higher too, his eyes sparkling with something that made your stomach flutter.

Just because I like you? his smile seemed to say, but that might be your fatigue and slight dehydration putting ideas in your head and it was not what you meant. Entirely. You weren’t that confident.

You cleared your throat as you reached for your water bottle. “Just because you’re a gentleman.”

You took a generous sip, eyeing Steve as he shrugged.

“I try. But I wouldn’t-“ You raised your eyebrow at him, making him chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Okay, that’s fair.”

You smiled too. “I’d say. Now, I made a fatal mistake – I didn’t agree on the wager before losing. So, what’s it gonna be, winner?”

Your own question, the admission of losing, took you by surprise; it felt so much lighter than you’d expect. Looking back at how you and Steve interacted in the past few weeks, it shouldn’t have. But it did.

Had this happened two months ago, you’d try to bury yourself six feet under for the humiliation alone. But a lot had changed since then; and you might still be learning, but you were trying your best to see things without actively assuming everyone thought low of you just because you weren’t perfect.

And right now, the thing was that Steve would not mock you for losing against him. He would not throw it to your face that you had asked him not to hold back and he wouldn’t automatically assume you had done so because you were being cocky and that led to him beating you; if anything, the look on Steve’s face whispered of respect. He might have won, but he had seemed almost impressed every time he got a point on you, as if he admired you for holding your own against him for so long. Whenever he had offered you a hand to get up, firm and gentle at once, a combination that you read in his actions in him more and more often, it wasn’t a superior offering a hand to a weak member of his team; as absurd as it sounded, it was almost as if an equal was offering a hand to an equal.

As if a friend was genuinely offering help to their friend.

And with something in his gaze speaking louder than words, the line of friendship was blurring with each passing moment.

But friends or not, you owed him; and unlike what you’d be two months ago, you weren’t afraid of being at his mercy. In fact, there were scenarios flowing in your mind where the idea of being at his mercy appeared more than appealing.

But this was not the time; as far as you knew, it might never be the time.

You shook off the thought for your own wellbeing and as not to be a downer, again.

“Come on, Steve. You’ve earned it. What’s the pay up? Publicly stepping up during training and declaring you’re a better fighter which everyone already knows, or wearing a ridiculous costume to a meeting?” you suggested, chuckling nervously under his intent gaze, not sure what to make of it. Had you been wrong and had he planned some diabolical task? Surely, he wouldn’t… right? “Or buying you coffee for a month, doing your laundry, vacuum cleaning and cleaning up, being stuck on rewriting mission logs duty-”

“Have dinner with me.”

You almost dropped your bottle at the soft offer, your heart skipping a startled and unfairly excited beat. His voice was so quiet and tender you were half-convinced you had suffered a blow to the head which you couldn’t remember and you were now hallucinating.

Except Steve continued, a little more firmly and steadily as he took a reluctant step closer, his gaze never leaving your face.

“Have dinner with me,” he repeated. “Not because I won, I don’t care for that. I’d never use that or anything else to force you, I hope you know that. But… have dinner with me… as a date. If you still want to.” He licked his lips, the motion drawing your gaze like a magnet, almost distracting you from how nervous his smile appeared all of sudden. “Earlier… you said you trusted me. Did I misread it?”

Of course.

Of course he had understood immediately and of course that his determination, one that had seemed to encompass more than met the eye, had been about more than winning. Now you knew what; and not for a second you’d think he was trying to force you into anything, had been plotting ever since you had told him not to hold back. You knew in your very core this was not something Steve did, because he had been so wonderfully patient and kind and maybe a little bit flirty and every single touch seemed to carry meaning and you had grown closer, you had learned things about him that kept revealing him as even more of a beautiful person that you had ever imagined, but if there was any doubt that all, it was that perhaps with his out-of-charts reading skills, you had forced him to act when you had suggested you might be ready for more.

You didn’t really believe Steve could be pushed into something he didn’t want to do, but the worm of insecurity was nestled deep. What if… what if?

“You’re not wrong, Steve. You’re… an attentive reader. I just…” You shook your head, an unsure smile playing on your lips, causing him to frown, an expression you were quick to avoid by casting your gaze downwards. “You don’t have to… you know, just because I said that, you don’t have to-“

His sneakers entered your field of vision, causing you to gulp, your eyes briefly flickering up; before you could escape the weight of his gaze again, his index finger slid under your chin and pushed up in a gentle touch that had you shiver, butterflies swarming your belly as you lost yourself in the blue of his eyes like many times before.

His damn touch; so soft and meaningful, barely there and yet leaving a brand you’d proudly wear any day-

“No, doll, I really do have to, because if I read it right and if you’re ready to try… I’m not letting this chance slip through my fingers. I think you are beautiful, brilliant, incredibly driven and strong. You make me laugh, you make me question everything I know, you keep me on my toes and I enjoy every single minute of getting to know you, of being with you, in any capacity, and… I’d like it to continue, preferably over a dinner,” he said, a little innocently teasing smile in the corner of his plush lips as if his thumb wasn’t mere inches from your mouth, as if his fingertips hadn’t brushed along your jaw while he had been talking, almost subconscious movement it seemed, as if your heart wasn’t beating its way out of your chest because he had easily weaved a year worth of compliments into asking you out on a date, as if something within you wasn’t trembling and he hadn’t laid something beautiful and terrifying and delightful at your fingertips, as if he wasn’t at your fingertips, the most breathtaking mirage that made your lips tingle with the need to meet his.

At your stunned silence, a shadow of self-doubt masked as the lightest chuckle, his hand dropped from your face. Much to your regret.

“It… it doesn’t have to be a dinner, it can definitely be different kind of meal. Or… not a meal, it can be something different, maybe a museum or a picnic in a park or… anything you’d like, I’d just… I’d like it to be something where I get to treat you right.”

Your urge to kiss him senseless and your body’s need to melt where you stood grew exponentially with every word, something acutely warm and suffocating and overwhelmingly good blooming in your chest, the nerves now lacing Steve’s voice only fuelling the sensation; because it seemed even Steve Rogers could be in a situation where he needed to gather a little courage and was willing to show it to you, because he trusted you and shared with you.

There was no saying no to this, especially since he was still standing so damn close to you, looking at you like he had meant every damn word he said, as if that truly was how he saw you despite everything.  

“Well… uhm, I’d really love that,” you choked out, his smile making its return with brightness, causing you to feel giddiness you didn’t know you could feel, your lips curling up in a smile before you could stop it. “But it hardly seems fair, does it?”

Steve’s eyebrows rose a bit, his expression telling you he understood you were only teasing him now. A little. The majority of you was just you trying to distract him while you processed the fact he seemed taken by you for some reason – the reasons he had listed to make his case – and just asked you out and you had basically already said yes and he was still so close and tall that you could just stand on your tiptoes and-

“Hm, what does?”

What had you been talking about? Oh.

“Well, I lost the match… and this makes me feel like a winner.”

The flicker of something tender was brief, but it was certainly there before a brilliant grin took over, his hand enveloping yours, thumb brushing over your inner wrist just above your sparring glove. The simple touch sent an outrageously intense electrifying feeling up through your body. You weren’t sure you could survive a date with Steve, but damn would you try; for all the touches you had exchanged before, this one was charged with something deliciously new and expectant, the air in the room almost crackling as Steve took your other wrist into a gentle hold as well.

“I don’t see the issue with that… and since I am the winner, I make the rules. So… that’s a yes, right?” he asked once more for confirmation, the thinnest thread of uncertainty among the delight making your body act before your brain caught up.

You simply couldn’t resist. Well-aware the room was already empty, feeling like million bucks despite losing – and truly, losing had never felt and would never again feel so good – you quickly stood on your tiptoes, using Steve’s hip as a support, and pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek, retreating just as fast.

You didn’t miss the fact his gaze flickered down to your lips as you stepped back and unwittingly escaped his hold, your lips still burning from the brief touch to his skin.

“It’s a yes,” you assured him, voice a little shaky from the adrenalin coursing your veins. You couldn’t believe you just kissed him; on a cheek, yes, and it should not affect you like you were a blushing girl in a kindergarten, but the warmth in Steve’s eyes and the new hint of pink to his cheeks told you perhaps you were not alone in your giddiness and nerves. It felt empowering and silly all at once; and sweet and beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Steve’s smile shining with the power of thousands suns after receiving the simplest of affections. “Let me know when and where.”

“I will. …stretch with me?”

For the second time, you couldn’t quite help your reaction; but this time, your brain was much faster than it should have, the – given the environment innocent – suggestion somehow connecting with planning the date in your mind in the most inappropriate manner.

You sputtered, glad for not having taken another sip of water just yet, and burst out laughing despite there being nothing laughable about Steve helping you stretch or helping you stretch.

The tips of Steve’s ears turned bright red with fascinating speed, his face a hilarious image of pure horror.

“Oh no, I did not mean-“

“Sure you didn’t, Steve,” you choked out between laughter, his embarrassment turning into exasperation at your childishness. And you’d believe it if the laughter wasn’t already glimmering in his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, yeah. Sure, let’s… stretch.”

“Great, let’s-”

“I could use a partner for stretching, haven’t had one for a while,” you hummed nonchalantly, a smirk threatening to break as something exhilarating flashed in Steve’s irises at your – given the environment innocent – confession. Whether his pupils dilated from surprise or something dangerously resembling desire, you weren’t sure – but it made you want to giggle and laugh and cry, your cheeks beginning to hurt as well as the rest of your body.

Your grin only widened when Steve opened his mouth without a sound coming out, before resigning to reaching for his own bottle, using it as a pointer.

“…I didn’t mean that. You know that I didn’t--- of course, you do,” he stumbled over his words a bit, sighing when he could see your amusement only growing, shaking his head with a lopsided and slightly incredulous smile. “You’re trouble… I think I like it.”

He only thinks? He isn’t sure? echoed in your head, but you didn’t let the flicker of insecurity get to you. Not now. Not after this lovely incident that shot up your confidence all the way to the high ceiling of the gym.

“Maybe I should cause trouble more often then, Captain.”

Identifying the spark in Steve’s eyes as want, you smiled to yourself, not quite sure what to do with yourself, but knowing this must have been what being happy and in love felt like.

“Yeah. Maybe you should.”

Second part of epilogue

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Thank you for your patience and for reading 💕

The second part of the fluffy epilogue should come soon enough, since it's already written (...it's how I found out this one hasn't been posted 🥲)

May the endless January begone, welcome February - may it be kind to you 💕