#my fury to the remaining drivers

[princelancey]

fuck off, actually fuck off that's a fucking joke

[zuhaism]

⊹ ｡˚ 𓂃 ♡ BITTERSWEET FEELINGS ?!

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pairing : jock!reader x meangirl!jimin

synopsis : you swore on your homies life jimins car wasnt there when you reversed. now you have to face the consequences of being jimins slave for the whole summer

a/n : IM BACK GUYS I FINISHED HIGHSCHOOL WOWOWOWOWOWO. i have a sophia fic cooking up in the oven pls give me motivation to write

the sun rays burns down on the pavement. casting shimmering heat waves off the rows of parked cars infront of the supermarket. the air smells like asphalt and faintly of gasoline. tension in the air so thick it might as well be solid and yet. none of it compares to the suffocating weight in your chest as you stare, in horror, at the very expensive, very sleek, very ruined black car in front of you.

you really didn’t mean to do it.

you swear on your mom’s life you didn’t.

but the horrifying crunch of metal against metal still rings in your ears. vibrating through your bones like the aftershock of an earthquake. your hands are frozen on the wheel, white-knuckled, and your breath catches somewhere between your ribs as you take in the undeniable dent you just gifted this beautiful, angry looking machine.

“oh. oh no. oh my god. i did not just—” you breathe out. stomach twisting in sheer horror. this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to run a quick errand. buy groceries for your mom. go home and continue your harry potter marathon. not this.

“stupid,” you mutter, smacking your forehead with the heel of your palm. “stupid, stupid, stupid—”

before you can even process your next move, the driver’s door swings open with a force that makes you flinch.

yu. fucking. jimin.

the richest kid in school. the kind of rich that makes people whisper behind her back, half in awe, half in resentment.

her dad owns the most luxurious country club in town. which of course, makes her the best golfer in school. not because she loves it, but because she was practically raised on the green. probably holding a club before she could even walk. she walks through the halls like she owns them (and maybe she does).

her head high, expression unreadable, never wasting words on people she doesn’t deem worth her time. she only keeps a tight circle. four friends. untouchable. (though one of them is your partner in chemistry , minjeong whose company you enjoy alot and you dont understand how a soft girl like her is best friends with jimin).

she gets whatever she wants. people trip over themselves to be on her good side. and when they're not? well. she makes them regret it. and right now, judging by the absolute murder in her eyes, you are very much not on her good side.

your brain short-circuits, all logical thought thrown straight out the window. your vision tunnels, your stomach flips, and before you can even register what’s happening, your head tips forward, smacking against the steering wheel.

the horn blares, loud and jarring, slicing through the summer air like a knife.

you jolt upright immediately, blinking fast, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. the world is still spinning, and yet one thing remains painfully clear. you are so, so screwed.

jimin stands there, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on her head, dark hair gleaming in the sunlight like something out of a goddamn magazine. the breeze tousles a few loose strands around her face. but her eyes dark, and burning with barely restrained fury stay locked on the damage, as if she’s willing the dent to disappear through sheer force of her eyes. her top tightly hugs her frame that almost made you pass out again

she exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. the strands slip through her fingers effortlessly, like silk, and it almost distracts you from the murder written all over her expression. almost.

“you have got to be fucking kidding me,” she seethes. voice low. deadly.

her posture is stiff, shoulders squared, one perfectly manicured hand resting on her hip. the subtle shift of her weight onto one leg makes her stance look effortless, like she owns the entire parking lot and by extension, your life.

you, on the other hand, are still frozen in your car like a complete idiot.

“get. out.”

you scramble to obey. nearly getting tangled in your seatbelt in your rush. your sneakers scrape against the pavement as you finally step out. the heat hitting you full force, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of how dry your mouth is.

“okay, okay, before you, um, say anything…, i just wanna say that i deeply regret my actions and—”

“regret?” she scoffs. taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “you wrecked my car, hotshot. i don’t care about your regret. i care about my bumper.”

your nose scrunches. “hotshot?”

jimin tilts her head, mock innocence dripping with venom. “oh, is that not what they call you?”

your jaw clenches. face heating even more than it already was under the sun. “that’s uncalled for.”

“so was your car slamming into mine,” she deadpans.

“technically,” you start, trying desperately to ease the tension, “it’s my bumper that—”

“do not finish that sentence unless you want to die in this parking lot.”

you snap your mouth shut. “right. totally fair.”

jimin pinches the bridge of her nose. her patience clearly wearing thin. the sharp inhale she takes in through her nose is slow, measured, like she’s actively resisting the urge to strangle you.

“do you even have insurance?”

your stomach sinks. “…define insurance?”

the laugh that escapes her is dry, humorless, and a little terrifying. “oh, this is gonna be fun.”

you shift awkwardly on your feet. the asphalt radiating heat through the soles of your shoes. sweat drips down the back of your neck, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, because somehow, looking nervous in front of her feels even worse than actually being nervous.

“sooo… how much are we talkin’?” you try, forcing out a bright, if not completely panicked chuckle. “like, damage-wise? i-i can pay you back. eventually. probably.”

“no. no probably.”

her voice is steel, and when you look up, her arms are crossed again, her nails tapping against her elbow. she’s still looking at you like you just ran over her childhood pet, and it’s making your stomach churn.

“you will pay me back,” she continues, voice calm, controlled. and then, a smirk, slow and wicked, curls onto her lips. “or else.”

your pulse stutters. “or else… what?”

she leans in, just slightly, and suddenly, she’s everywhere. her scent, something expensive and infuriatingly pleasant, wrapping around you like a trap. your breath catches. it’s distracting, the way she moves, the effortless confidence. the quiet kind of power that makes your stomach twist.

“or else you’ll regret ever stepping behind a wheel, sweetheart.”

your mouth goes dry.

jimin is close, too close, and the sun catches on the sharp angles of her face, highlighting the slight arch of her brow, the press of her lips, the way her eyes are practically daring you to push your luck. your fingers twitch at your sides, and you swallow. you don’t know whether to be terrified or intrigued. maybe both.

“give me your number,” the warmth of her breath ghosts over your skin, and your brain short-circuits for a second. her perfume is something delicate yet undeniably expensive, the kind that lingers, the kind that’ll stick to your clothes if you stand here any longer.

you fumble with your phone, fingers clumsy, pulse hammering against your ribs. she watches, amused, and somehow, that makes it worse.

“i’ll text you all the details so get ready for one hell of a summer”

last night, at exactly midnight, an unknown number texted you. right of the bat you knew it was her. she texted you a demented and threatening text you’ve come to expect from her.

“tmrw 9am sharp at the country club. dress accordingly. don’t be late or i’ll make sure you regret ever stepping foot on a basketball court again.”

she knew exactly what she was doing, sending that text just late enough to ruin a good night’s sleep. you woke up dreading the day ahead, and now, you’re actually living it. the frustration settles in again like a second wave, thick and inescapable. you hate the stupid country club. hate the stupid sun burning the back of your neck. hate the stupid heavy golf bag on your shoulder. and jimin

…okay, maybe hate is a strong word.

but considering how smug she looks right now. immaculate as ever in a crisp white polo that fits her perfectly, tucked into an infuriatingly short skirt that only accentuates her toned legs. and goddamn those thighs– you think she deserves at least a little bit of it.

the way the country club aesthetic should be obnoxious but somehow works flawlessly on her only adds to your growing irritation. the neatly pressed uniform, the poised stance, the effortless air of privilege. even the faintest scent of something expensive. probably a perfume that costs more than your debt clings to her like an afterthought.

it's annoying.

she doesn’t even have to try.

jimin shifts her weight slightly, rolling her shoulders back as she adjusts her golf glove with slow, deliberate movements. she does everything with an infuriating sense of ease, like she knows she’s being watched and thrives on it. her fingers flex slightly before she pulls the glove snug, and when she finally turns to look at you, there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—amusement, condescension, curiosity. all neatly wrapped in a bow of insufferable confidence.

"this is actual, real-life torture," you grumble, adjusting the strap of the golf bag for what feels like the hundredth time as you follow her across the pristine green. the weight digs into your shoulder, pressing into already-sore muscles, and you know tomorrow will be hell. "can’t you just, i don’t know, get one of the employees to do this?"

jimin doesn’t even spare you a glance as she steps onto the tee box, stretching her arms above her head in a slow, languid motion. the movement elongates her frame, revealing a glimpse of her toned stomach, muscles flexing subtly under smooth skin. your throat goes dry, warmth creeping up your neck as you try, really try, not to react. you snap your gaze toward the horizon, willing yourself to think of anything else, but the image lingers stubbornly.

jimin, of course, is fully aware. she drops her arms with an easy grace, a knowing look flickering in her eyes before she turns away, the corner of her lips curving just slightly. not quite a smirk, but something close, something taunting. she rolls her wrists, settling into position like nothing happened, like she didn’t just momentarily wreck your focus with a stretch. "the employees," she says smoothly, rolling her wrist as she grips the club, "are not in debt to me for crashing into my car."

you groan, adjusting the heavy golf bag filled with clubs on your shoulder. easing the discomfort "you are never gonna let that go, are you?"

"not until you pay me back. and at the rate you’re going, that might take a while, hotshot." her voice is as sweet as honey but edged with superiority, like she’s savoring every second of your misery.

you clench your jaw. hotshot. again.

"you have to stop calling me that," you mutter, setting the bag down next to the tee box with more force than necessary, the weight making your arms ache.

except jimin isn’t looking at the bag. she’s watching you, the way your muscles shift as you move, the barely concealed strain in your shoulders. there’s something almost delighted in her gaze, like she’s found a new source of entertainment.

"oh? why? does it bother you?" she asks, plucking a driver from the bag with an ease that only irritates you further. the way her toned arms flex with the motion doesn't help either. she knows exactly what she’s doing, and judging by the quirk of her lips, she’s enjoying every second of your discomfort.

you narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. "it’s inaccurate."

she hums, lining up her shot, an infuriating smirk ghosting over her lips. "hmm. i disagree. you think you’re hot shit on the court, don’t you?"

her stance shifts slightly, feet planting firmly into the grass as she squares her shoulders. the way she moves is calculated. each adjustment precise, deliberate. you watch as her fingers curl around the grip, her knuckles flexing slightly as she angles her wrists just so. the air around her feels different in moments like this, a sharp contrast to the casual arrogance she usually wears like a second skin.

before you can respond, she swings. smooth. effortless. perfect.

the club slices through the air with a quiet whisper, and the ball soars down the course, landing dead center on the fairway. jimin straightens, tilting her head as she finally turns to look at you, self-satisfaction radiating from every inch of her.

"well?" she asks, the challenge clear in her voice.

you blink. what was the question again?

you clear your throat, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. "eh. i’ve seen better."

jimin steps closer, and you swear there’s something different in her movements now. something looser, almost playful. she twirls the club in her hands, letting it dig into the ground after catching it again. she rests on one leg as the other twists over another and leaned onto the club. "oh? who?"

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

she smirks. "thought so."

your cheeks heat for some stupid reason, and you quickly turn to grab the golf bag. except you miscalculate the weight, and the sudden shift nearly sends you stumbling forward. you barely catch yourself, muscles straining as you regain control, arms flexing instinctively.

jimin doesn’t say anything.

which is weird. because jimin always has something snarky to say.

when you glance up, you catch her staring. her gaze flickers, just for a second, down to your arms. subtle, almost unnoticeable, but you see it. the faintest parting of her lips, the quick inhale. a hesitation she probably isn’t even aware of.

you blink.

she blinks.

and just like that, her usual sharp expression returns, like she wasn’t just caught red-handed checking you out.

"keep up, caddy," she says coolly, turning on her heel. walking ahead of you

but her voice isn’t as sharp as before. slightly wavering and breathless.

you squint at her.

that was definitely something.

you hoist the golf bag onto your shoulder with a frustrated sigh, muttering under your breath as you follow after her. "this is gonna be the worst summer of my life."

she doesn’t turn around, but you swear you see the tiniest smirk.

the day only got worse from there. as if lugging around a golf bag that felt like it was stuffed with bricks wasn’t enough, you quickly learned that being jimin’s caddy also meant serving as her personal errand runner. every time she hit a ball off-course. which, to your growing dismay, was more often than you expected. she’d wave you off with a casual, “go fetch.”

and so, you trudged through endless patches of rough, waded through ankle-deep ponds, and even had to dig through bushes that seemed personally offended by your presence. at one point, you nearly lost your footing in a muddy ditch, and when you glanced back at jimin for some semblance of pity, she was too busy taking pictures. of you.

she was documenting your suffering.

"you’re actually evil," you huffed, you grumble, wiping a streak of dirt from your cheek with the back of your hand.

jimin forces her expression into something neutral, trying not to squeal at how adorable you look with a streak of dirt near where you just rubbed. ignoring the way her pulse has picked up.

"oh, come on, hotshot. i’m giving you a real athlete’s workout,” her voice comes out smoother than she expects, she can feel a slight waver in her voice. adjusting her visor with a smile that was entirely too pleased seeing you all dirty. she watches you bend down again, muscles flexing under that stupidly tight shirt. the sun clings to your skin, highlighting every sharp dip and defined ridge of your back as you drag another golf ball out of the mud.

before she can think twice she snaps another photo and sends it away into the groupchat. Her camera roll is basically just a collection of you suffering. her fingers hesitate before sending another one. she observed the recent picture; dirt smeared across your sharp jaw, shirt sticking to your back, the messy, tousled way your bangs fall over your forehead.

you look–

she presses her lips together, hard trying to shoo away the tingling feeling in her lower stomach. she swallows, shifting as you shake the ball off, sending tiny droplets flying, some landing on your shirt. the fabric clings a little more, stretched over the plane of your shoulders, and jimin lets out a slow, measured exhale through her nose. gaining her composure. her phone vibrates.

minjeong : omfg is she into women

aeri : BRO THAT BACKK

ningning : jimin why are you not on your knees begging for it

she rolled her eyes at her friends reactions towards the recent picture she sent with a caption of “asshole looking for the money she owes me”

but she isn’t fooling anyone. least of all herself. because when you push yourself up again, wiping sweat off your face with the hem of your shirt, exposing the faintest hint of your stomach, jimin’s stomach flips. she squeezes her thighs together. she needs to get a grip.

“you done gawking?”

her head snaps up. your brows are raised, a smirk playing at your lips as you watch her, amusement flickering in your eyes.

fuck.

"please," she scoffs, shoving her sunglasses back onto her face to hide her cheeks turning red. "don't flatter yourself."

she turns on her heel before she can do something humiliating. like actually drop to her knees.

jimin tells herself she’s just enjoying the entertainment. that’s all this is. watching you struggle under the weight of the golf bag, huffing as you haul clubs around like you’re in a survival challenge, is simply amusing.

but then there’s the way your shoulders flex when you readjust the strap. the way your forearms tighten when you lift a particularly heavy bag. the way your back muscles ripples under your shirt whenever you bend down to grab a stray golf ball.

it keeps the bad thoughts coming

she rolls her wrist, pretending to focus on lining up her next shot, but her mind is elsewhere. on the way you pushed your sleeves up earlier, the way your fingers curled around the soaked golf ball when you pulled it out of the pond. on the way you muttered under your breath, exasperated but still doing what she asked.

she clicks her tongue, shaking off the thought. Ridiculous. still, when you lift the bag onto your shoulder again, jaw set in stubborn determination, she feels something stupid and fluttery in her stomach.

“you better not be slacking back there, hotshot,” she calls out, voice steady, even if she feels anything but.

when you glare at her, eyes full of irritation, she almost forgets to breathe. you mutter something under your breath, probably another complaint about how unfair this whole arrangement is, and jimin should let it slide. she really should. but instead, she glances over just in time to catch the way you roll your shoulders back, shaking out the soreness like you’re on the court, like you’re about to sprint past defenders and sink a perfect shot. it’s so effortless—so natural—that for a second, she isn’t thinking about your debt or your grumbling or how much fun it is to make you suffer.

for a second, she’s just watching you move. her fingers tighten around her club.

“you’re really struggling, huh?” she teases, forcing her tone to stay light, even as something deep in her chest feels a little less steady. “should’ve hit the weight room instead of all that dribbling.”

you scoff, swinging the bag off your shoulder with one smooth motion. “please. you’d collapse if you had to carry this thing for five minutes.”and jimin should roll her eyes. should brush off the remark like she always does. but then you flex your hands, fingers stretching before tightening into a brief fist, veins barely visible against your skin.

her stomach does something weird.

she exhales sharply through her nose, turns away, and focuses very hard on adjusting her glove.

“whatever helps you sleep at night, hotshot.”

when she hears you groan behind her, she smiles to herself. but she doesn’t look back.

doesn’t trust herself to.

as you got ready for bed you read the text sent by the same unknown number from yesterday night. “7:30 sharp at the docks. eat bfr coming. im not feeding you. bring swim wear and a change of clothes.” you groaned loudly trying not to think about what she’ll be doing next.

“no fucking way.”

the words slip past your lips before you can stop them, eyes locked onto the massive yacht bobbing lazily on the crystal-clear water. sunlight bounces off the pristine white exterior, almost blinding, the sheer size of the vessel making your stomach twist with unease.

jimin stands a few feet ahead, completely at ease, like she was born to be here. her sunglasses are perched on top of her head, holding back strands of dark hair that catch in the wind. but that’s not what’s throwing you off.

it’s what she’s wearing.

the bikini is black, tiny, the kind that barely counts as clothing under the oversized white button up. the top ties behind her neck, accentuating the curve of her collarbones, the smooth lines of her shoulders. the bottoms sit high on her hips, the strings digging just enough into her skin to make something tighten low in your stomach.

the button up hanging loose off one shoulder, dipping low enough to tease the shape of her waist. it should make it less distracting, but it does the exact opposite. every time she moves, the material shifts, threatening to slip just enough to reveal more.

the teasing skin peaking from her button up that barely covers anything made something tighten in your lower stomach. you clenched your stomach muscle trying to regain grip of reality.

she finally glances back at you, raising a single brow like you’re being dramatic. “what?”

you blink, dragging your gaze up to her face like you hadn’t just been staring. “this is insane.” you gesture vaguely at the boat, trying to focus. “this is … this is some billionaire level shit. why am i here?”

her lips curl into a smirk, effortless and sharp. "because im not manning the sails this time, and luckily, you’re in debt to me."

before you can shoot back a very creative insult, a new voice cuts in, light, teasing, but with an unmistakable authority. "jimin, don’t be mean to your friend."

you turn just in time to see a woman stepping onto the dock, effortlessly elegant in a white sundress, dark hair twisted into a perfect bun. she moves like she belongs in a high end magazine, every step deliberate, eyes sharp as they take you in. and she looks exactly like how you’d imagine jimin looks like in 30 years.

"she's not my friend, mother," jimin corrects smoothly, adjusting her sunglasses. "she's my employee." smirking smugly as her mother grimaces at her oldest daughter. you shoot her a glare. "wow. charming as ever."

jimin’s mother merely smiles, amused. by how you handled her moody daughter. "well, employee or not, she's a guest today. come on, everyone's waiting on the boat."

you have no choice but to follow, your arm brushing against jimin’s as you step onto the yacht. the contact is brief, barely anything, but it makes your skin prickle, your senses hyper-aware of her proximity.

jimin isn't sure why she thought today would be easy.

it should be. she should be enjoying herself sailing with her family, soaking up the sun, watching you struggle to keep up. enjoying the sounds of your misery.

but instead, she’s distracted.

you’re sitting on the edge of the boat, legs stretched out, the ocean breeze playing with your hair. jimin watches, unable to help herself.

it’s not the muscles that have her staring, the muscles that she could vividly see from your white blouse that clings to your back, not really. it’s the way you move. the way your fingers work at the sleeves of your t-shirt, rolling them up with an absentminded ease, knotting the fabric at your elbows like it’s second nature. the way the sun clings to your skin, highlighting the gentle slopes of your arms, the curve of your shoulders. she doesn’t fail to notice the way your forearm muscles tightens as you fix your sleeve.

when you reach up to wipe at your forehead, a loose strand of hair falls into your face. you don’t notice at first, too busy squinting at something in the distance. then, with the smallest furrow of your brows, you shake your head just enough to make it shift, the motion unintentional, frustratingly endearing. and slightly domestic.

jimin’s chest tightens.

you’re adorable. ridiculously cute— no. stop it no shes not. she’s an asshole. she’s a stupid prick that crashed into your car.

and then you laugh quietly, mostly to yourself, like you just remembered something funny. the sound is soft, barely carried by the wind, but jimin feels it like a physical thing, like it reaches out and tugs at something deep inside her.

jimin looks away immediately, but it doesn’t help. because even when she’s not looking at you, she can still hear you—your quiet laughter, the soft hum you make under your breath as you stretch out your arms, the way you mutter something to yourself like you’re having a conversation in your own head.

she scowls. you’re so... you. completely unaware of the way you pull people in, make them want to lean closer, watch a little longer. it’s infuriating.

her fingers tighten around the railing. get a grip, jimin. but it’s hard when you keep doing things like scrunching your nose in concentration, tilting your head like a confused puppy at the sails above, or biting your lip in thought. completely unaware that someone is watching you, studying you.

and maybe that’s what’s getting to her the most.

it’s not the muscles, not the way you look, not even the way you carry yourself. it’s the way you exist, so utterly and completely in your own world. so unguarded. jimin doesn’t do unguarded. she doesn’t do soft, doesn’t do the kind of feelings that make your stomach twist and your throat feel tight. she does casual. she teases and flirts and doesn’t get attached.

she clears her throat, flexing her fingers before curling them into fists. she needs to do something—anything—to snap herself out of it.

“you’re gawking,” a voice beside her says, amused.

jimin stiffens. “am not.”

hanni, leaning lazily against the railing, tilts her head with the smuggest expression. “right. because you totally weren’t just staring like you forgot how to blink.” jimin scoffs, shoving her sunglasses onto her face with too much force. “you’re delusional.”

“and you’re in denial.”

jimin ignores her, choosing to focus on the water instead. the waves are steady, predictable, easy to think about. not like what she’s feeling in her chest. when she sees you dangling your feet from the yacht.

but hanni isn’t done.

“you know,” she hums, rocking onto the balls of her feet, “if you keep looking at her like that, someone might get the wrong idea.”

jimin doesn’t turn. “there is no idea to get.” she says firmly.

hanni grins. “sure. whatever you say, unnie.”

you shouldn't be enjoying this. well technically the hard labour hasn’t started yet. so you’re trying to enjoy the open water and much needed fresh air before jimin makes you her slave again. it feels nice.

"you seem to be having fun," jimin remarks, stepping up beside you. breaking the silence. here we go you thought. after ignoring her little sisters’ teasing. or, talk, you didn’t hear what they talked about but jimin looked pretty riled up after what hanni said. she’s decided to interrupt your peace and make your day worse.

you shrug, stretching your arms above your head with a dramatic sigh. "what can i say? i thrive in any environment." you said as you placed both arms beside letting it fall lazily. leaning on it. you blink your eyes open, glancing at her. her sunglasses are perched high on her nose, shielding her gaze, but you can still feel her looking. observing you.

her lips twitch, as if amused. "you nearly died on the green yesterday."

"yeah, well." you shift arms as you drawl out, shooting her a lopsided grin. "i'm an adaptable person."

there’s a beat of silence, but not the peaceful kind. it’s charged, stretching between you like a live wire. jimin’s head tilts ever so slightly, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that’s too slow, too deliberate. it makes your skin prickle, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

"apparently."

something about the way she says it makes your pulse jump. you shift under her scrutiny, suddenly too warm.her sunglasses may hide her eyes, but the smirk curling at the corner of her lips betrays her. it’s not just amused. it’s knowing, like she’s already several steps ahead of you in whatever game she’s playing. you shift, suddenly aware of how warm your skin feels. not from the sun, but from her unwavering attention.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you ask, voice coming out less steady than you wanted.

jimin doesn’t answer right away. instead, she steps in, just enough that the scent of her expensive perfume. fresh and citrusy, but with a sharp undertone wraps around you. she leans in, just slightly, just enough to test the space between you.

"like what?" she asks, voice lilting, teasing.

your voice stuck in your throat. you swallow.

"like you’re plotting my demise." you reply, forcing yourself to hold your ground.

her smirk deepens. she reaches up, adjusting her sunglasses with two fingers, and you catch a glimpse of her eyes beneath them. dark, glinting with something unreadable. "maybe i am."

the way she says it, low and smooth, sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine. you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heartbeat picks up. "so much for enjoying the breeze."

jimin hums, dragging a slow gaze down the length of you before flicking it back up, lazy and considering. she taps a finger against her chin, as if in deep thought, before her lips curl into something far too smug.

"since you're so adaptable," she says, gesturing toward the rigging with an air of faux innocence, "you can help with the sails."

you groan, trudging over. she watches you come closer, arms crossed, lips curling ever so slightly.

she is not looking at your arms again.

she’s not.

the moment jimin smirked at you and told you to help with the sails, you should’ve known you were about to be thrown into another situation where you had no idea what you were doing. you squint at the ropes in your hands, then at the towering mast, then at the intricate mess of rigging all around. why are there so many ropes?

"you look confused," jimin says, standing just a little too close behind you.

"i am confused," you reply. "this is, like, rich people knowledge. i don’t know how to do any of this."

she huffs out a laugh. it almost sounds melodic in your ears. "rich people knowledge?"

"yes." you tug experimentally at one of the ropes, watching it pull at something above. "why do you even know how to do this? you’re not a pirate."

"my father made me learn when i was younger," she says. "he said that if we were going to own a yacht, we should at least know how to use it properly."

you snort. "wow. tragic backstory."

"just shut up and let me teach you," she mutters, stepping in closer.

you open your mouth to protest, but then her hands find yours.

your brain short-circuits.

her touch is soft– unexpectedly so. but firm, her fingers pressing lightly against yours, guiding them over the rope with practiced ease. her skin is cool against your own, which feels too warm all of a sudden, heat blooming along your knuckles, creeping up your arms. you swear its the burning sun right above you.

she leans in slightly, voice lower now that she’s right beside you. "you need to loop it like this. if you tie it too loose, the sail won’t hold. too tight, and you’ll mess up the balance."

you nod, but it’s a lie. you barely register what she’s saying.

because she’s close. close enough that her shoulder brushes against yours, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of her perfume mixed with the salt of the ocean. the warmth of her breath ghosts over your skin as she exhales, sending a shiver trailing down your spine.

your fingers twitch under hers. "right. got it," you manage, though your voice is slightly higher than usual. jimin chuckles low, quiet, right near your ear. your stomach flips. she’s enjoying this. you can tell. and judging by the smug curve of her lips when you glance at her, she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

you fumble with the ropes when she moves away as the wind picks up and before you know it, the rope slips through your fingers like water. the sail jerks violently in response, the sudden shift sending a sharp ripple through the boat.

"Shit-" you let out.

jimin moves fast, instinct kicking in as she reaches for the rigging to correct your mistake. but in the process, she miscalculates and her foot catches against yours that made her stumble.

and then, so do you.

your back slams against the side of the boat, the wooden railing pressing into your spine as you suck in a sharp breath. the impact sends a jolt through your body, momentarily stunning you, but your instincts take over before you can think. one hand grabs onto the railing for support, while the other finds jimin’s waist, fingers tightening reflexively around the fabric of her shirt where you can subtly feel her curves.

she stumbles into you fully, her body pressing flush against yours.

your heart stutters.

at the same time, jimin’s arm slings over your shoulder in a desperate attempt to steady herself, the warmth of her palm seeping through your long sleeves swim suit where she grips your biceps. her other hand is splayed against your arm, fingers digging in just enough for you to feel the faint press of her nails.

and suddenly, you’re close.

too close. you could feel the curves of her body against you. and how small she is in yor arms.

her body is warm, the scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to her skin. you can feel the way she breathes, chest rising and falling against yours. every small shift sends a spark of awareness shooting down your spine, your pulse hammering in your ears as the realization sinks in.

jimin is practically in your arms and she isn’t moving. neither are you.

her sunglasses slip down her nose from the movement, revealing her eyes for the first time today. deep brown, glinting under the sun, flickering with something you can’t quite read.

your breath catches in your throat. she looks so beautiful.

the ocean breeze swirls around you, but all you can feel is the heat radiating from her skin. your fingers twitch at her waist, hyper-aware of the way the fabric of her shirt feels beneath your palm, the slight give of her small body against yours. and the way you could subtly feel some of her skin against your swim wear.

jimin’s grip on your shoulder tightens, her jaw clenched, lips parted like she’s trying to find the right words. but none come. you dont know whats going through her mind but you knew for sure she isn’t moving when you saw how her eyes flickered to your lips. somehow it made your heart flutter.

you could feel her leaning into you slightly.

and then—

"are you two gonna kiss or what?"

the words cut through the moment like a gunshot.

you jerk back, nearly losing your footing, barely managing to catch yourself before you go overboard. while jimin’s reaction is immediate. her head whips around so fast her visor nearly flies off, her expression shifting from surprise to outright murderous in the blink of an eye.

"seriously?" she snaps.

hanni, standing a few feet away, leans against the railing with the smuggest grin you’ve ever seen. jimin groans, yanking herself out of your grasp, face scrunched in exasperation. you, on the other hand, are still stuck processing what just happened, trying to ignore the way your pulse is hammering in your ears. and how you miss the closeness between you two.

after jimin left you to man the sails alone while she went to cool off, you actually got pretty good at it. her dad even threw in some pointers, guiding you through the ropes. literally. by now, you had a decent handle on things, adjusting the sails without fumbling, reading the wind like it was second nature. the boat had drifted far from shore, the coastline long gone, replaced by nothing but open water stretching endlessly in every direction.

"you can slow down here, y/n," jimin’s dad called from behind you as you pulled at the ropes, adjusting the sails to ease the boat to a gentler pace. you heard him shift, standing to get a better look at the sea. "your friend’s a natural, jimin. almost better than you!" his voice carried a teasing lilt.

you glanced toward where jimin sat, catching the way her expression twisted in surprise, then in pure irritation. she scoffed, rolling her eyes before mumbling something you couldn’t quite catch under her breath.

you smirked, triumphant, meeting her gaze.

she narrowed her eyes. then, she raised her hand and flipped you off. unhinged woman. your smirk faltered. rude.

but before you could retaliate, jimin moved. without hesitation, she stood, reaching for the buttons of her white shirt. and then she pulled it off.

your brain short-circuited.

the world around you dimmed, the sound of the ocean fading into white noise as your eyes locked onto the sight in front of you. jimin, standing tall against the backdrop of the sea, the late afternoon sun catching on her skin, making her glow.

she wore a dark bikini underneath, the contrast against her pale sun-kissed skin. her collarbones, sharp and delicate, dipped into smooth shoulders. her toned stomach tensed slightly as she tossed her shirt aside, the movement effortless, like she’d done this a thousand times before.

you were gawking.

full-on, shamelessly gawking.

your brain screamed at you to stop staring, trying to maintain your pride. but your body refused to cooperate. your grip on the ropes slackened slightly, fingers numb as your heart threw itself against your ribs.

jimin caught the look on your face and smirked.

"what?" she teased, tilting her head slightly, the picture of nonchalance. "you act like you’ve never seen someone undress before."

you opened your mouth.whether to respond or gasp for air, you weren’t sure. but nothing came out.

jimin grinned, pleased with herself, before turning toward the edge of the boat. with one quick motion, she dove into the water, leaving you standing there, still reeling, heat creeping up your neck.

you blinked.

then, as if snapping out of a trance, you stumble forward, rushing to the railing. “i—i have!” the words rush out too fast, tripping over themselves, your voice cracking at the end. you cringe.

jimin flicked her hair back as water drips from her lashes. she treads the water effortlessly, blinking up at you with an infuriatingly amused expression. “oh?” her tone is light, teasing, but there’s something smug underneath it, something that makes your stomach twist. “sure doesn’t sound like it.”

your grip on the railing tightens, knuckles paling. “what—i—" you struggle to form a coherent thought, already feeling your face burning. “i have! plenty of times! so many times!”

her giggles spills into the air, bright and carefree, and it does something to you makes your heart stutter, your skin prickle with warmth. she tilts her head back, still treading water, the sun catching in her damp hair. “right, sure. totally convincing.”

you scowl, shifting on your feet, jaw tightening. “it’s true! i’ve seen—” you pause, realizing too late that you have absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence without sounding even more embarrassing. “—a lot. like, more than you. probably.”

jimin raises a brow, cocking her head. “oh? who?”

your stomach twists into a knot, your brain sending red flags. screaming at you to abort mission immediately. you clear your throat, straightening up, forcing a casual shrug. “no,” you say, too quickly. “that’s private information.”

jimin watches you for a beat, her lips twitching like she’s holding back another laugh. then she smirks, shaking her head. “uh-huh. totally not a virgin.”

“i’m not!” you blurt, leaning forward slightly, the desperation in your voice betraying you.

her grin only widens, eyes twinkling with mischief as she sways in the water. “whatever helps you sleep at night, captain.”

you groan, dropping your head against the railing in defeat as she swims off, still laughing, while you try to cooldown after the embarrassing encounter.

“y/n! jump in!” you heard hanni yell from behind you. as you lift your head up you saw her lining up to jump in. she jumped in with a big splash. droplets sprayed onto the deck. jimin’s mom called out “hanni be careful!”

your gaze shifts slightly, catching sight of jimin a few feet away, floating on her back with her eyes closed, her dark hair fanning out around her like ink in the water. her skin glistens under the sun, droplets clinging to her collarbones, trailing down the curve of her neck. you sighed, your body got hot after the embarrassing encounter and also seeing jimin swim. you needed to cool down. you exhale sharply, shaking yourself out of it. if you stay up here any longer, you’ll combust.

you roll your shoulders back, determined to regain at least a fraction of your dignity, and then you jumped. the moment you hit the water, a sharp chill runs through you, sending a jolt up your spine. it’s refreshing, the kind of coolness that makes your skin tingle, but it’s a relief from the heat that had been burning through you moments ago.

you resurface with a gasp, shaking water from your face, and when you blink the droplets away, the first thing you see is jimin.

she’s closer now. much closer.

your breath catches as she treads the water effortlessly, dark strands of wet hair clinging to her cheeks. the sun reflects off the droplets on her skin, making them glisten like tiny diamonds. she studies you, her gaze flickering over your face with a glint of something unreadable.

“not bad,” she hums, tilting her head slightly.

you scoff, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under her gaze. “i’d say the same for you, but you practically belly-flopped.”

jimin rolls her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. you turn to swim away, but just as you do water hit your back. splash. you freeze. the feeling of cold water hits your back, sending a shiver up your spine.you turn back around slowly, and there she is half-smirking, half-feigning innocence, fingers still dripping from where she flicked water at you.

“did you just—?”

before you can finish your sentence, another splash comes at you, bigger this time, sending water cascading over your face. you sputter, wiping at your eyes, and jimin bursts out laughing, the sound rich and full, like wind chimes in the summer breeze.

thats it.

with no hesitation, you lunge forward, sweeping your hand through the water to send a wave right at her. she squeals, ducking just a second too late, and now it’s her turn to be dripping wet.

before you can react, she lunges toward you, fingers skimming along your arm as she tries to dunk you under. practically drowning you. instinctively, you grab her waist, attempting to shove her away, but the water betrays you both. it makes everything weightless, the waves crashing between your bodies pulling both of your boddies together. bodies tangling and shifting without control.

somehow, amongst the struggle, her arms end up draped over your shoulders, and your hands—god, your hands—find purchase at her waist again, fingers pressing into the bare skin beneath the hem of her swimsuit.

for a moment, neither of you move.

you can feel her breath against your face, warm despite the cool water surrounding you. the soft rhythm of her chest rising and falling against yours. the way her fingers tighten, just slightly, curling over the nape of your neck.

her eyes flicker up to meet yours deep brown, like melted chocolate, like something you could get lost in if you weren’t careful. they shift lower for a split second, down to your lips, before darting back up again.

your heart slams against your ribs. it looks like shes about to kiss you. a little voice in your head hoping she would and you swear the world tilts. or maybe it’s just the waves.

jimin blinks once, twice, her lashes damp and heavy with water, before her expression shifts. something playful flickers back into her eyes, her lips twitching.

and then, she shoves you under.

you barely have time to yelp before water fills your ears, muffling the sound of her laughter. when you break the surface again, gasping for air, she’s already swimming away, shooting you a look over her shoulder that’s equal parts smug and daring.

“too slow,” she calls out.

you push your wet hair back, panting, watching her retreating figure with something caught between disbelief and something else entirely. something warmer.

you remember the way her fingers curled at the nape of your neck. the way her breath fanned against your lips. the way, for a split second, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

you shake your head, forcing a scoff, trying to ignore the way your pulse is still erratic. this is jimin. jimin. the same girl who flipped you off an hour ago, who smirked as she stripped off her shirt just to get a reaction out of you.

nothing about this is different. you assure yourself. and yet, as you watch her swim away, her laughter still echoing in your ears, you can’t shake the feeling that something bloom in your chest.

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 16/10/2024 Charles Leclerc - FaceFucking

Plot: Charles always takes his frustration out on you after a bad race.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, facefucking. Blowjob, sex etc 18+ Minors DNI

The weekend hadn’t started of great, it was a wet one and Charles wasn’t confident going into FP1 coming out with a mediocre place and not pushing as much as he could have. Going into FP2 and he pushed to much, skidding off into the gravel and destroying the floor of his car.

FP3 and he was nervous to damage the car before qualifying, so took it slower on the Intermediates as it wasn’t as wet as it had been. And finally Qualifying where he’d had his lowest result of the season in P11.

Even thought you’d tried to be there for Charles it was difficult, he wasn’t the easiest person to cheer up on a frustrating race weekend.

The race itself is as horrendous. You sat watching from the garage wrapped up in a Ferrari hoodie that was Charles but the weather was much colder than anyone had anticipated.

You were biting your nails the whole time, watching the call outs of when to switch tyres and where he needed to improve. Until Piastri comes up behind him, going for the overtake, you watch as Charles defends but ends up confused at the margins because of the spray back and sends him and Oiatri into the wall causing a red flag halfway into the race.

You watch anxiously as Charles angrily gets out the car and the medical car picks them up and takes them back as all the other cars start to come into the pit lane.

A DNF …

He wasn’t happy, whatever and you could tell by the way he’d stormed though the garage to Fred to talk to all the mechanics and engineers about what had happened.

You remain in your place watching as the race resumes cheering with Rebecca for Carlos as he managed to get himself up into P1.

“Drivers room, now” Charles says as he slips past you, all you can do is scoff. He hadn’t spoken to you properly for the whole race weekend and now he wants to? You didn’t think so. You stayed with Rebecca, watching until the end of the race. And just to spite him even more you go to the podium celebration where Carlos, Lando and Max are all on the podium celebrating their wins.

“I should probably go find Charles, but have fun out at the club tonight yeah? Tell Carlos I’m proud of him!” You smile at her, squeezing her wrist in a happy and comforting manner before forcing your way through the podium crowds and getting back to the Ferrari motor home.

You anxiously make your way in, not knowing what state you’ll walk in on Charles in.

You’d kind of poked an already angry bear and didn’t want to know the consequences quite yet.

You got to his Drivers room, lightly knocking on the door not wanting to invade his privacy despite having been together for years, it still felt wrong to just walk in.

“Go away” a gruff voice commands

“Charlie it’s me, please let me in?” You ask hoping that he will come and unlock the door that you’d just tried the handle on. After some stomps and the sound of the door unlatching you’re pulled into the room, a small yelp coming from your mouth as you practically fall into your boyfriend.

“Where were you? I told you to come here” he says grumpily looking over you to see you looking a little guilty.

“Look I wanted to watch the end of the race as the team was winning” you explain pulling him in to you so you can kiss up his jaw in an apologetic sort of way.

“No no no, they weren’t! The team wasn’t winning because I didn’t get points I didn’t even make podium” he argues a face full of fury.

“You’re not the only Ferrari driver Charles! Carlos won today and I wanted to watch his podium to support him and Rebecca” you argue and he just scoffs.

“What about me! What about MY support huh?” He argues and you are quiet for a second realising he does in fact have a point.

“You’re a grown ass adult Charles, you don’t need me here 24/7 because my god you have barley spoken to me this weekend” you admit.

You guys just stare at each other for a few seconds before you both let a sigh release from you, still holding eye contact with one another.

“Fucking come here” he grunts out, before pulling you in not waiting for you make a choice and smashing his lips against yours. He holds the back of your head his fingers tangling in your hair.

He forces you down on your knees, he pulls his pants down his cock springing up and hitting his fresh team shirt that he’d put on after his post race shower.

“I’m in charge alright?” He asks and you just nod.

“Use your words” he commands and before you can reply you gulp back.

“I understand” you say and he remained standing which confused you. You get tell he wanted a blowjob, but he normally sat down so he could lean back and fully relax and take it all in.

“Gonna fuck that pretty face so good” he groans looking over you, tracing a finger off your already puffy lip from the kiss full of frustration you’d shared earlier.

Charles had actually never been this aggressive with you. But there was something about it, you on your knees below him, his cock looking as red and angry as him right in your eye line.

“Open up” he asks and you do, he grips the back your hair into a ponytail to hold you in place, before he helps himself into your mouth. He sinks in, and starts a slow pace, not going all the way in to help you adjust.

He holds the back of your head still before he starts to pound his cock, his pelvis hitting the tip of your nose and his cock forcing its way deep down into your throat.

A moan comes from you vibrating on him making his thrusts into your mouth become more erratic.

“That’s it. Feel so good” he moans holding your head as his hips snap in and out with vigor. His grip on your hair is so tight, your scalp starts to burn from the pressure.

You start to tap out on his thigh with how quickly he’s going tears are building in your eyes and you can feel yourself start to gag around him.

He stops, holding himself there for a second as he looks down at you, seeing you try pulling away before you lets you come of for a breath.

“Fucking hell Charles” you laugh out looking up at him. He gives you a small look before pushing back in.

He was pressing into you more as he groans and shoots his load down the back of your throat which you struggle to contain and swallow.

“Fuck” you groan as he pulls your hair back to get you off him.

He lifts you up, pulling your panties to one side and slipping in with ease on how worked up he’d gotten you just from fucking your face with so much energy and passion.

You were both incredibly worked up that he was cumming for the second time and you were tightening around him with a vice grip. Your hands in his hair tugging on the end locks.

“Fuck I love you so much”

“I love you too, I’m so sorry about this weekend I wasn’t nice to you” he says and you nod.

“I know but it’s okay. I understand” you say placing a kiss on his lips as you hell him pull out and jump down.

Taglist:

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[pseudowho]

"How well can you drive?"

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Nanami Kento's driving skills are put to the test, as the reader decides to put her mouth to good use.

Warnings: You've heard enough, 18+ as usual

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"How well can you drive?" you asked Kento, elbow leaning against the tinted windows as the car engine rumbled along underneath you. You had a long journey ahead, the weather was fine, and you felt...naughty.

Kento kept his eyes ahead as he frowned, bemused; "Well..I've never been in an accident that was my fault." You hummed to yourself, not satisfied with his answer. Kento sighed.

"I passed my test with just one minor." You hummed again, legs crossed, fidgeting in your seat.

"I've...never made you feel unsafe in the car, have I?"

"Oh god, no. Never." Kento looked satisfied.

"Then I'm a pretty good driver, I'd say," glancing at you as your eyes glinted, "...why?" You looked to Kento, biting your lip, eyes wicked.

Your hand was resting on Kento's thigh now, and you stroked it, fingers creeping to his inner thigh and higher with each movement. Kento let out a breathless cough, and gripped your hand. Stopping at traffic lights, he fixed you with a deep frown.

"Behave yourself," he scolded, "that is grossly irresponsible." You pouted, eyes still glimmering deviously, heat pooling in your belly as he told you off, only spurring you on.

"Well...let's see how good of a driver you are, hmm?" Unclicking your belt, you leaned over the centre of the car to drape yourself onto his lap. He reached over you, stunned, changing gears as the traffic lights changed and the car shifted to life again.

Your mouth was on his thighs, leaving soft little nips up the inside of them, as you gently unbuttoned the lowest buttons of his shirt, untucking it from his trousers as you stroked the sensitive skin at the bottom of his abs. Kento coughed again, alarmed, desire trickling through him, split with anger at how poorly behaved you were being.

"This is a terrible idea," he grumbled, as your mouth drifted to his v-line, kissing along the soft patch of honey-coloured hair there, leaving lovebites and marks above his belt. Your fingers gently unbuckled his belt, pushing it aside. You were satisfied to feel Kento's body betraying him, palming the outside of his zipper as his cock swelled underneath it.

Kento's foot stuttered on the accelerator as you squeezed him through his trousers and the car juddered forwards-- "fuck," Kento hissed, holding your hand against his zipper, looking down at you with restrained fury. You giggled. He sighed.

"Whatever it is you want to do," he pressed out through gritted teeth, "I'm sure I'll remain an exemplary driver." He shot you a stern look.

"So finish what you've started." You didn't need to be told twice. Kissing your way down his belly again, you unbuttoned his trousers, and, gripping his zipper between your teeth, slowly undid it. Kento gulped-- "You are feral," he hissed--concentrating hard on the road as he felt his cock twitch in his boxers.

With you slipping a hand inside his trousers and squeezing his rigid cock, Kento sat up in his seat for a moment to push his trousers down enough that he sprang free, long, thick and pink-tipped against his belly.

Kento groaned as your hot little mouth immediately encircled the tip of his cock, your hand gripping him at the base, as you swirled your tongue around him with a happy hum, licking off the precum as Kento gasped, eyes drifting closed for just a moment. Kento focused on gear changes, his brain stuttering when you cupped his balls as he altered his speed, another car pulling in front of him. He groaned as you sucked, sinking your mouth down his cock.

Kento's head swam, low moans rolling out of him as you worked your mouth up and down his length, tapering your lips almost closed around his tip before sucking him back in, tongue licking firmly against the underside of his cock. One of Kento's hands left the wheel to sink into your hair, urging your mouth down so your nose scraped against his hipbone.

"Ah, ah-- shit--" Kento swore, hips flicking upwards as you gagged, the back of your throat closing around the tip of his cock, "just like that-- please, shit, please--" Kento braked hard at another set of traffic lights, relieved as the car jolted to a stop, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel and the back of your head, pulling your hair at the roots as he pressed your head down against him.

You moved your head quickly now, his cock drenched with spit and pre-cum as your throat bobbed around him, intermittently gagging around his throat as Kento groaned, hand loose on the back of your head as you swallowed around him, Kento's eyes squeezed shut in agonising pleasure.

The car behind yours beeped and Kento swore, pulling off quickly as he realised he'd missed the lights changing, his orgasm approaching, pleasure ebbing through his thighs and lower back. Focusing on gear changes had Kento nearly stalling the car, and you took him deep into your throat, moaning around him.

Kento nearly went blind with pleasure as the vibrations of your moan shot through his cock, his hand flying off the gearstick to grab your head again, pressing your nose down to his hipbones again as he came, his hips bucking as spurts of cum shot down your throat, pulling your head back so he could feel it settle on your tongue.

He gasped, his skin prickling with the aftershocks of his orgasm as you languidly licked him clean, looking at him with that same wicked glint in your eye as you swallowed. Kento groaned again, shaky and trying to compose himself as he continued to drive, quiet for a few moments as he indicated and pulled into a service station.

His head dropped back against the seat and a drip of sweat ran down his forehead, and Kento scowled at you as you grinned, happy with yourself.

"First, we grab a drink," grumbled Kento, "then, we see how well you can drive."

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Look, I promise I'll behave myself and write some fluff next week.

[chronicallyonline101]

OH WAIITERRR!!! May i have your finest glass of leone abbacchio x reader pretty please! One where the reader finds Abbacchio beat up on the curbside only to find out he got into some kind of bar fight! So she pulls up and is like "Again??! Get in," and takes him home, patches him up, FLUFFY STUFF!! WITH A CHERRY ON TOP

ORDER UP!!! Here is your glass i do hope you enjoy! (i wrote this on mobile so if the formatting is weird thas why soz pooks(

Nights of White Satin

Leone Abbacchio x reader || Oneshot, Fluff

You traced your thumb along the bottom of his bruised lip; bloody, illuminated by nothing but an old, flickering streetlamp in the midst of a sad, gloomy night. His purple lipstick had long since worn off, but the mottled blue's of his injuries did well to replace it. Despite how you tried to peer at him, his eyes always managed to evade yours - glued to the ground in what was a mixture of shame and fury welling together in an ombre cocktail.

Cars flew by behind you. Tires screeching against wet concrete, the thrum of engines and splashing puddles but none of it mattered. You fixated on the man in front of you with clear concern. Concern that only had him biting his cheek with disinterest.

"Leone... what happened?" You leant closer to him, a frown settled across your lips as you gently moved your hand to cup at his delicate cheek and redirect his gaze toward yourself.

For a moment, Abbacchio allowed himself the comfort of your presence; leaning into your touch like a feline starved of affection, but when your fingers brushed across a stinging open wound he hissed in a breath through his teeth and reeled backward. Now grounded, he reprimanded himself for getting so comfortable and took to curling his hands into fists.

"It's nothing," He grouched, turning his gaze to the floor once again. "Just some work things. You know how it is."

You leant back a little, swallowing thickly. Of course... Abbacchio's 'work'. The thing you would call organised criminal activity was just a normal Tuesday for him - to no avail, looking at him here, sat in the gutter with a broken wine bottle to his side... you felt that perhaps what had happened was less serious than what he was making it out to be.

With a short, frustrated huff, you stood upright. Hands on your hips as you looked up wistfully. The sky was clouded, not that it mattered; you could never see the stars in the city, but the sight of such gloom reminded you of how unsafe it was to be on these streets of Napoli late into the night.

"You got into another fight again, didn't you?"

He winced at your question. Tensing when he felt your gaze turn accusatory. There was no way he could deny it. The amount of times you'd find him in this condition - or worse - had made such a task impossible. Instead, he let out a groan and while burying his head into his hands mumbled:

"He made fun of my hair."

His words were followed by a shameful silence.

You sighed, pinching at your temple before decidely shoving a hand into your pocket and fumbling about for your car keys. Abbacchio lifted his gaze to watch you. After a few seconds, you pried the jangling things from your pocket and pressed at a button to unlock your car which had been hastily parked atop of a curb only a few feet away.

You turned toward the vehicle with a fervent urgency. "Come on then."

His brows furrowed, and for a moment he remained still, watching with an intense glower while you clicked open the door to the drivers seat and hopped inside.

Upon realising he hadn't followed, you honked the car horn at him with urgency. It was with that, he slowly arose to his feet; wobbling unsteadily for a few seconds. Glass crunched beneath his shoes as he walked toward the passenger seat to your car, and as he took his place beside you.

You stuffed the key into the ignition, twisted, and soon the two of you were off. At first, the atmosphere in the car was silent. Filled only by the gentle rumbling of its engine, but it was too much for Abbacchio. Silence meant thought, and right now he didn't want to deal with his thoughts.

So he spoke: "What are you doing?"

"Taking you home." A small huff left your nose, condensating against the cold air. Your grip around the wheel tightened, praying to anything out there that he would drop it at that.

You wanted to help him, but he was so damn stubborn. When his brows rose in distress, you knew he'd put up a fight:

"You don't know where I live." He griped, and crossed his arms over his chest in disobedience. He cocked his head in the direction of the window, watching with hazy yellowish eyes as the flashing world passed by.

Another sigh passed your lips as you admitted defeat. "My home. We're going to my home, Leone."

"Why? I don't want to---"

"---I'm trying to help you. Please... let me help."

For a moment, you risked peeling your eyes away from the road. Wide and pleading, you watched longingly while he glared out the window beside him. His silver hair glimmered prettily against the night sky; the moons shadow befell him like a cotton blanket and even in a roughed up, bloody state he was so... perfect. So radiant. An image of tragedy yet glowing with hope.

"Your my friend." You decidely went on. "And I like you."

And at your words, Abbacchio bit into his bottom lip to hide a whimper of utter sorrow.

A friend. His friend. You were his friend.

The venomous thorns of guilt coiled around his heart like a snake; he was wreaked with shame. You were so good to him, such a kind, loving person and here he was - a criminal. A delinquent.

How many times had you found him at the side of the road? How many times had you welcomed him into the warmth of your home? Bathed his wounds in salt? Patched him up with a hug and a pat on the back?

It was sickening, to think of how often you opened your heart to him and how little he gave back. Every night he found himself here with you he put you in danger, it was cruel and selfish, and yet he loved every second of it. As nonchalant as he tried to be, he loved the attention you gave him.

Such is why, though he grumbled and complained, he never once stopped you from taking him home. Never halted his footing as he traipsed along behind you and never snatched your housekeys from your palms; he watched curiously all the while you welcomed him into your abode, sitting with compliance on your couch as you ushered about in the dark to try and a first aid kit.

When you finally settled down beside him, there was a small cotton ball clutched between your fingers. Doused in isopropyl alcohol; you lifted it up to gently press at an open wound. He winced and flinched backward,

"You need to stop getting into these fights." You tutted at him, relocating the cotton ball to his lip where you then cleared away his smudging lipstick.

There was a huff, but he moatly stayed silent. Leaning into your touch. Your eyes lifted to meet his, curious and attentive; he swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing against the curve of his neck. The room grew warm while you held each others glaze, and with a light, awkward cough you broke away from the stare to dash the now red cotton ball to the side.

"Did you get hurt badly?"

He scoffed, turning his head to look to the side. "No. I left him worse for wear."

There was a short laugh. A rare sound, coming from him; and though it was quiet, it was honest. It told you he wasn't as grumpy as he made himself out to be and at that, you smiled.

"Mm. I feel bad. Maybe I should go back and help him out too, eh?" You laughed at your own joke, reaching down to grab at some gauze for his wounds.

You heard him grunt above you and failed to notice the expression of discomfort that befell his face. "I'd rather you stay, actually... I like you being here."

You paused. Lifting yourself up to look him in the eyes, brow quirked in a smug perplexion.

"You like it when I patch you up?" You leant closer to him; you could feel his breath fanning against your face, his breath once again hitching at your sudden closeness. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks.

His lips parted for a moment. He thought that perhaps you were going to go further. That maybe, you'd press your lips to his... but you didn't. He was left sourly dissapointed when instead you took to pressing the gauze against his wounded cheek.

"I do." He mumbled.

He went quiet, after that. Growing shy, unsure of himself or what he was even saying. He was pretty drunk, to be fair; he'd likely regret how mushy he was getting, but right now he was happy. He was content. His body ached like a battered banana, but every touch your fingers danced upon his fair skin had him leaning closer with serenity.

When you were done cleaning him up you packed away the first aid kit and he watched for a while as you teetered about putting things away and preparing both of you tea. He hovered behind you for a while and once you were done, wormed his way into your bed; the two of you shared it for the night because, well, he was injured and needed the bed and it was stupid to let you get a bad back on the couch because of stupid societal norms regarding bed sharing. And if he did reach out to hold you in the night, so what?

Abbacchio liked you a lot. He hated having you worry for him so much, but... he also loved how you treated him. It was gentle. Loving; thing's he could never have as a skilled mafioso. It was selfish for him to seek you out like this but at the same time, he knew he wouldn't stop. He'd get into more bar fights, he'd find himself in more scuffles and at the end of each day, he'd find himself in your house; your embrace; he'd find himself wrapped in your love.

(I HOPE THIS IS GOOD!!! IF NOT I CAN CHANGE IT PLS LMK!!!! to the ppl that sent in the Kira and Melone reqs I'm almost done with them! :) im just being lazy)

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Max Saving You From A Group Of War Boys

Max Rockatansky X FemReader

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, mentions of death, rotting bodies, stealing, vehicle accident, suggestive materials (reader is worried she'll be placed in Immortan Joe's harem), injuries

Word Count: 2.1k

(A/N:) I have had a heck of a time getting this bad boy finished. But I couldn't have got it done in more perfect timing with the Furiosa movie out in theaters! I'm going very soon and hopefully there will be more Max inspiration take place cause I love Fury Road! I rewatched it here recently and my love for Max has been kindled once more! So hopefully this helps feed my fellow Mad Max fangirls! Enjoy and until next time happy reading! ~Countess

To survive in the wastelands you have to do anything and be willing to suffer any consequences. You could always lay over and just die, letting the vermin that scuttled about in the sands, take care of the remains. Or you could stand and fight, taking whatever you need no matter who it's from. That's how you've survived for so long, scavenging, taking from unlucky fellow survivors that just so happen to be in your path. Food, water, clothing, guzzolene, anything of value it was all fair game. Your biggest score, was your car. Though you didn't take it from anyone living. Raiders had come across some poor sap, killing him and taking everything of value, except for his car. It had taken some doing but you found the key buried under the sand close to the rotting body of the man who had just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His loss became your gain. Now you could make it across in different areas of desert in less time. Though the need for guzzolene became a problem. So far you had had good luck being able to get it whenever you needed it. Though you knew for certain that eventually your luck would run out.

And run out it did. Unfortunately you had grown cocky with your string of wins. The tires of your car spun, throwing up clouds of sand as you tried to gain traction on the loose ground. You released the pedal, quickly shifting into all wheel drive. With a roar from the engine the car finally burst forward, pinning you back. The group of war boys behind you yelling as the chase was on. You hit the steering wheel cursing yourself for screwing up so severely, you'd be lucky to make it out alive. You had seen the war boys yards away and you knew they hauled all the equipment they needed, thanks to Immortan Joe. If you could score off of them, you'd be set for a month. But it hadn't been easy and though your skills was above average you didn't get to swipe one thing until they had swarmed you. Now you were trying everything to get away. Dodging lances and hooks that would kill you in an instant, you blinked back against the sand in your eyes. You hadn't had your car long enough to become an elite driver yet and they were gaining fast. Despair crushed your lungs as one war boy pulled up beside you. You darted away only to run into another war boy rig. The two drivers started to pull towards one another, pinning you in between them.

Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel harder. The war boys cackled and spit, toying with you before they ended you.

"Bring her to Immortan," they crowed. "Bring her to him! He'll take care of her!"

They all agreed and the two vehicles pulled away, leaving you free. With the pressure off the sides, your car slid fishtailing and you lost control instantly. The war boys only got louder as your car went airborne and crashed down on it's hood. Your face smashing against the steering wheel as your car began to roll over repeatedly. The last roll and you were ejected from the shattered windshield. The hot sand cushioned you, but it wasn't much as you skidded to a stop. Your chest wheezing as you tried to breathe. Your car destroyed and your life forfeit, any hope of living left you. The one thing that you wished to happen was the war boys finishing you here and now, you heard what Immortan Joe did to women he liked or wished to continue his line with. You blinked at the sand as several of the war boys raced towards you.

"Immortan Joe will be pleased with us," one sneered. "Steal from Immortan and pay the consequences."

You shook your head, trying to clear your sight. Apparently you had hit your head harder than you first realized as the illusion of a man walking towards you, refused to dissipate. No he only got closer and you surely knew the Grim Reaper was now on his way to bring about your end. You'd gladly take his hand if it meant that the suffering would end and you wouldn't have to face a fate worse than death.

"Eh what's that there?"

Okay maybe you weren't so crazy as the war boys were seeing the being too. His arm raised and gunfire had the war boys scattering while two of them fell beside you. A small flicker of hope kindled, unless you were trading an end brought by Immortan Joe's battle fodder for this stranger. Though if he wanted to end you, you were pretty positive that he would have ended you already. You were an easy target unlike the war boys that were scurrying around, trying their best to fight back. Screams and thuds surrounded you as the man only kept stepping forward. Not backing down or flinching at the bullets and explosions all coming towards him. When he was close enough for your hazy vision did you finally get a good look. With short hair and a stocky build, he was quite handsome for a desert dweller. Though he looked healthy it didn't mean that he had lived an easy life. A haunted look was in his eyes and his face would twitch every now again. Something was wrong with him, but beggars couldn't be choosers as he was saving your butt.

The last war boy fell to the sand, spraying blood from his wounds and you felt well enough to sit up. You whimpered at the pain shooting through your head but when the stranger knelt before you, you quickly bit back any more noises.

"Took a tumble," he mumbled.

"Just a little one," you agreed spitting a mouthful of blood out.

He rose back up looking through all the now abandoned vehicles and even searched through the wreckage of yours. You felt a little indignant as he took several items out of yours. Sure they were stolen goods, but you had pilfered them fair and square. You attempted getting up, your shaky legs barely keeping you up. Attempting a step, you stumbled and quickly caught yourself.

"That's my stuff in my car," you glared. Though you hoped that he would listen, there was no way you could fight him, if he wanted to.

He didn't reply just kept digging before he pulled out your worn pack. You protested loudly before he threw it at your feet. He still didn't say a word as he started searching through the war boy's vehicles and even going further and searching the war boy's pockets. When he decided that he had searched and grabbed everything of value, he handed you another bag and tank of guzzolene and jerked his head towards the direction that he had come from. You knew that if you wanted to survive the night you would need to follow him. He had proven himself trustworthy so far and your injuries were becoming worse, though your legs had finally steadied enough to walk.

On unsteady feet you remained close, the stranger not saying a word but waving at the air every little bit. Surely you didn't just survive the war boys only to be taken out by some mental man seeing ghosts? His car came into view, worn and beaten up, but sturdy and reliable looking. Tossing his gear in the back seat, he looked back and waved you forward.

"Why," you sighed, suddenly becoming dizzy. You wanted to ask why he rescued you? Why was he bringing you with him? But your adrenaline infused energy finally hit E and you collapsed to the ground.

"Don't go to sleep," he muttered suddenly at your side. Tapping at your cheek. "Wake up."

"Tired..."

He shook you harder, "Wake up."

You couldn't answer, losing the battle with the darkness overtaking your vision. And then you knew nothing else.

The rumbling of tires was all you could hear as you came in and out of consciousness. The sun was still so bright and the mystery man behind the wheel muttered to himself constantly. Promises dripping from his tongue and you licked your chapped lips before succumbing once more to the darkness.

You had no idea how much time had passed in your unconscious state, until at last your eyes opened and you were able to remain awake. A small fire crackling in the background provided a little bit of illumination in a small musty cave. Your body hurt and the ache in your head had your temples pounding a horrible drumbeat. Across the way your savior leaned up against the cave wall. His body lurched forward and his chest heaved as his eyes opened. You jerked, surprised by his sudden movement. He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes before his attention was drawn to you. He took a cup that sat by his leg and moved towards you.

"Drink," he muttered holding the dented tin cup to your lips. The water was warm and gritty from dirt but you didn't care as you gulped the entire contents down, but still your throat burned for more. Wordlessly he filled it back up and brought more of the precious resource to you.

"Why," you croaked when you finally had your fill.

He shrugged.

"There has to be a reason why you helped me?"

He shrugged again.

"Stubborn fool," you retorted. After a long, quiet, and awkward pause you finally spoke again, "Thank you."

This time he grunted.

Sitting up, it took a moment for the cave to stop spinning before you were able to see only one of him again. You scrounged around in your bag, searching for the bit of dried lizard you had kept. Finding it, you ripped it in half and offered him the larger piece. Sort of an offering of peace and that you could be a friend he could trust. He took it, before devouring it quickly.

"I wasn't going to take it from you," you laughed while ripping a bite off of yours. "Now that we have broke the proverbial bread, aka dried lizard maybe we can have an actual conversation now?"

Once again he shrugged and you really were fighting the urge to throw something at him.

"Gotta name at least," you asked, unwilling to give up. If he could be stubborn so could you.

He glanced around, his fingers tapping against the metal brace on his knee. Finally he sighed and turned dark eyes onto you.

"Max."

Finally a start. You gave him your name before sticking out your hand. Reluctantly he took it but he did shake your hand. Silence filled the cave again and you were beginning to feel exhausted again. You yawned gaining his attention.

"Get some rest," Max said his boots scuffing against the ground as he stood up. "We move in the morning."

Morning came so quickly, the fire had been doused and Max had packed up everything. The cave floor bare with no signs of someone staying there. You thought that you'd look around and he'd be gone, but his silhouette filled the cave entrance blocking out the majority of the harsh sun rays. Sitting up, you gained his attention and he nodded to his car.

"Can I ask why you're saving me now," you asked once in the passenger seat.

Max sighed, "Maybe I just want to redeem myself of all the times I failed."

His gaze towards you, looked sad, tired, and lost. Your heart broke and you could understand that ache buried within him. Why he seemed distant, but kind. This world had it's way of taking anything bright and lovely and tainting it in the worst way possible. Max started the engine and started to shift it into gear when your hand covered his.

"This world is ugly," your voice wavered causing Max to cock his head. "But that doesn't mean it has to make us ugly in the process. I've done things I regret, stealing, taking from others to survive. But I always want to reach out that helping hand when I can. Like you did for me. I owe you a lot now Max, maybe this was just a chance meeting or maybe it's meant for something more."

He nodded, shifting into gear and roaring off. The wheels churning dirt into a cloud. Honestly you both didn't know what was in store ahead, and it wasn't set in stone that you would remain with Max. But right now it felt right and you wanted to see where this path would take you. Maybe this was a chance of redemption for two hurt people to find their reason and place in a world gone mad.

[justarandomreaderxoxo]

Shadows of the Heart: Chapter 7

Soft Hands, Hard Shadows

Summary: Your intimacy deepens, threading tenderness and truth together, just before a brutal attack shatters their peace and exposes the danger shadowing your name. Now, with vengeance in motion and war at your doorstep, you must confront both the blood in your past and the woman who’s seen you at your most unguarded—hoping she’ll still hold your hand when the smoke clears.

Word count: 9915

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: Graphic violence, Explicit sexual content, Gun violence, Near-death experience, Hospitalization, Injury, PTSD implications, Emotional trauma

A/N: This my first time writing smut guys, i don't know if it's good or not but it felt good so i've included it. Minors Do Not Interact.

Previous Chapter | Important Flashback | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The sleek black car rolled to a stop outside a discreet glass-walled building tucked between Rotterdam’s canals and modern high-rises. The driver stepped out and opened the door. You adjusted the cuffs of your blazer as you climbed out, sunglasses shielding your tired but focused eyes.

Tony was already waiting by the entrance, his hands in the pockets of a perfectly tailored suit, a lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Took you long enough,” he said as you approached. “I thought billionaires were all about punctuality.”

You shrugged, stepping beside him. “I was saying goodbye to someone important.”

Tony tilted his head slightly, then let it go. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to cover, and this city is full of people who don’t wait.”

Inside, the lobby was quiet and minimalistic. The air carried the scent of fresh coffee and something faintly metallic. You followed him past a secured entrance and into a private elevator. He swiped his keycard and leaned against the mirrored wall as the elevator rose.

“So, first things first,” Tony said, glancing at you. “The new logistics arm in Hamburg hit a snag with customs. Nothing serious, but I want your read on it before I start throwing legal grenades.”

You nodded. “I’ll take a look. What’s the real reason you called me here though?”

Tony didn’t answer right away. The elevator chimed and opened into a sleek penthouse suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. His tone dropped a little as he walked toward the long table already scattered with files and tablet screens.

“I got wind of someone poking into our clean accounts. Not the dirty ones. The legit ones. Rotterdam, Vienna, maybe even Dubai. Whoever it is, they know what they’re doing.”

You took off your sunglasses, your gaze sharp now. “And you need me to help flush them out.”

“I need you to handle it the way only you can,” Tony said. “Quietly, efficiently.”

You moved to the table, scanning the data laid out before you. Something flickered in the corner of your mind, a name you had seen once. You leaned closer.

“I’ll need access to a few servers,” you said. “And no distractions.”

Tony crossed his arms. “You sure this is the best time? Shouldn’t you be off sipping wine with your mysterious suitor?”

You glanced at him, then back at the files. “She’s not a distraction. She’s the reason I want everything else under control.”

Tony raised his brows slightly but didn’t push. Instead, he tossed you a tablet.

“Then let’s clean house.”

You caught it one-handed and got to work.

The next few hours passed in a blur of surveillance feeds, rapid phone calls, and cross-branch communications. The energy in the war room remained high, the hum of tension vibrating beneath every keystroke and muttered update. You stood with your arms folded, eyes scanning a live stream from Marseille, watching every second of footage with sharp focus.

Then the update came in.

“Miss Fury,” one of the analysts called out, swivelling from her screen. “We’ve confirmed it. The flagged equipment? Turns out it belonged to a contracted maintenance crew. They updated their tech and hadn’t filed the proper change with our systems.”

You blinked, then slowly turned to face her. “You’re sure.”

She nodded. “Positive. Triple-checked. No breach. No external tampering. Just bad paperwork and a lazy report.”

You let out a breath. “Alright. Good work.”

Tony turned from where he’d been pacing and raised an eyebrow. “False alarm?”

You nodded. “Looks like it.”

He grinned, already half amused. “And here I thought we were about to start another fire.”

You gave him a look. “You still might if you don’t stop pacing like an anxious raccoon.”

Tony held up his hands in surrender and dropped into a chair. “Well, on the bright side, it means I don’t have to cancel my stupid board meeting tomorrow.”

You smirked, then turned to the rest of the room. “Thank you. All of you. Run final verifications, log everything, and send me the summaries by morning.”

As the team got back to work, you leaned against the table, the weight of the morning slipping from your shoulders. Tony tossed you a bottle of water, which you caught without looking. Your gaze drifted out the tall glass windows. Rotterdam stretched quiet and grey beyond the glass. Your mind was already halfway back to the smile you left behind.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Guess I am.”

You stepped out of the conference room, leaving the quiet hum of Stark’s ops centre behind. The hall was empty at this hour, a soft morning haze pouring through the tall windows overlooking Rotterdam.

You leaned against the wall and pulled out your phone, scrolling past the endless updates and messages until you found the number labelled simply: Dad.

The line clicked almost immediately.

“Talk,” came the familiar gravel.

“It was nothing. False alarm.” you said, voice a little softer than usual.

A pause. Then a breath on the other end. “Took you long enough to call.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, the tension still lingering in your chest beginning to ease. “I wanted to be sure before I said anything. Everything’s fine. No breach, no threat. Just a systems error that flagged the wrong gear.”

There was a rustle, like he’d shifted in his seat. “You know I trust you, right?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I know. But I also know you didn’t sleep while this was going on.”

“That’s my job. Same as yours.”

“Yeah, but mine comes with better coffee,” you teased, letting the quiet between you settle in a familiar, steady rhythm.

After a moment, he said, “Tony with you?”

“Yeah. He’s grumbling about missing a board meeting.”

Fury grunted. “Tell him he still owes me a drink for that time in Milan.”

“I’ll put it on the tab.”

“You headed back?”

“Not yet. I figured I’d stay in the city a while longer.”

There was another beat of silence before he asked, “You seeing her soon?”

You smiled, almost despite yourself. “Yeah. I’m sending the jet for her. Planning a weekend.”

His voice lost the rough edge for a split second. “Good.”

“I’ll call again before we head out.”

“Take care of yourself, kid.”

“You too, Dad.”

You ended the call, slipping the phone back into your pocket. The city stretched ahead of you, clean and quiet. You stood there for a few moments longer, your thoughts already drifting back to Wanda’s voice and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. Then you pushed off the wall, headed for the rest of the day, just a little lighter on your feet.

The bar had a rustic warmth to it, all amber lights and worn wooden beams. Jazz hummed low in the background. It was the kind of place that made you forget the outside world for a while, and maybe that was the point. You nursed a drink near the corner booth, back to the wall, keeping one eye on the door out of habit. When Nat slid in across from you without much fanfare.

"Still got the same taste," she said, raising an eyebrow at your drink before flagging the server for her own.

You gave her a small smirk. "You flew all the way here just to check my taste in whiskey?"

"I flew here for the crisis that solved itself." Her lips curved slightly. "The whiskey's a bonus."

She took her drink when it arrived and leaned back, watching you. "So, you called Dad. You’re calm. Stark is calm. Which means I can ask the real question."

You raised a brow. "Which is?"

"Why do you look like you're halfway floating?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a slow sip, letting the silence speak for a second.

"I went on a date," you finally said.

She leaned forward a little, resting her forearms on the table. “Alright. Spill. Because last time you said, ‘it’s casual’ and now you’re here, sipping whiskey like you’re composing poetry in your head.”

You chuckled under your breath. “It's still early. We’ve only gone out a few times.”

“Uh-huh.” Natasha tilted her head. “And you’ve told me exactly nothing. No name. No occupation. Just that they exist. Which is very unlike you.”

You traced your finger along the rim of the glass, thinking. “I didn’t want to jinx it. Or overthink it. Or... I don’t know, make it heavier than it is.”

Nat gave you a look. “Y/N. You overthink everything. That’s your brand.”

You laughed quietly. “Fair.”

She took a sip of her drink, then set it down. “So, what’s different about this person?”

You paused. Looked down. Then met her eyes.

“Doesn’t ask what I do or what I own or how I fit into the city’s twisted hierarchy. She just... talks to me. Like I’m not the Fury heir or the strategist or the woman with her face on a magazine.” you said softly

Nat didn't speak, but something in her expression softened. Encouraged, you went on.

“She makes me feel like I could be someone else. Someone... normal.”

A moment passed.

“Do you want that?” Nat asked, voice gentler now. “To be normal?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe not forever. But it’s nice to pretend for a little while. To sit in a cafe and talk about movies or music or how she likes her coffee. It’s peaceful. Not something I thought I’d want. But I do.”

Nat sipped again, then smiled faintly. “You sound like me when Maria started staying over.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I was still sleeping with a knife under the pillow. Still waiting for her to leave one morning and not come back.” She met your gaze. “But she stayed. Because I let her in.”

You sat back in your seat, turning those words over in your head.

“I keep waiting for the moment she finds out,” you admitted. “Not just about what I do, but who I really am. The whole picture. And I don’t know if she’ll still look at me the same.”

“Do you want her to?”

You hesitated.

“I want her to know, eventually. But I want to give her more of the real me first. The part that’s not built out of blood and fire.”

“That part exists,” Nat said, without blinking. “I’ve seen it. She will too.”

There was a silence after that, the kind that didn’t need filling. You were both staring into your glasses, jazz spilling through the air between you like a secret being kept.

“I asked her to join me here for a weekend,” you said quietly.

Nat smiled, a rare open thing. “Then stop overthinking and do it. We’re allowed good things too, you know.”

You let out a breath, like a small weight had slipped off your chest. You raised your glass, and she clinked it with hers.

“Alright,” you said.

“don’t forget to warn her that we’re all crazy.” She said.

You laughed, and for a little while, the bar, the city, and all the weight of your name felt just a little bit lighter.

MEANWHILE IN NEW YORK

As the door closed and the soft click of the lock echoed through the apartment, Wanda stood there for a moment, her fingers still tingling from where they’d held yours. The space felt a little too quiet, a little too still, but she smiled to herself anyway, the corners of her mouth curling with the warmth you left behind.

She turned back into the kitchen, finishing off the last sip of her coffee before rinsing the mug and setting it on the rack. The scent of breakfast still lingered faintly in the air - eggs, toast, and that hint of cinnamon she always added when cooking for you.

With a hum under her breath, she padded to the bedroom to change, trading her sleepwear for her usual workday attire: a cozy cardigan over a soft blouse and dark jeans. She pulled her hair up in a quick twist, slipped on her shoes, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.

The walk to the café was only a few blocks, familiar and quiet in the early morning. A few neighbours waved, and she greeted them with a polite smile, her thoughts still lingering on you. She caught herself smiling at nothing, that silly grin she only wore when thinking about you, how you looked so serious when you tried not to be late, how your voice dropped when you leaned in close.

Once inside the café, she flicked on the lights, the space warming instantly with its soft, golden glow. Chairs were still stacked, the counter was spotless, and the faint smell of roasted beans welcomed her like an old friend.

Wanda moved easily through her opening routine. Grinding fresh beans, prepping pastries, checking the ovens, all while her phone sat nearby, just in case your name popped up on the screen. And it made her heart feel light, knowing you were out in the world doing something meaningful, yet still finding ways to make room for her.

She glanced toward the one corner table you liked when you first walked in and smiled. Maybe she’d reserve it for when you came back.

The bell above the café door jingled as Pietro stepped inside, ruffling his silver-blond hair and shaking off the morning breeze. He scanned the room until he spotted Wanda behind the counter, sleeves rolled up and hands dusted lightly with flour.

"Smells like heaven in here," he said, strolling up with a crooked grin. "You saving any of that for your favourite twin?"

Wanda glanced up with a playful eye roll. "You're my only twin, Pietro."

"And still your favourite," he said, leaning on the counter. Then his eyes narrowed as he studied her. "You look... suspiciously chipper for this early. Spill."

Wanda hesitated for just a moment, but the smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. "I’m going away this weekend."

Pietro raised both brows. "With her?"

Wanda nodded, unable to contain the smile this time. "Y/N invited me to join her in Rotterdam once she wraps up some work. Said she'd send a jet for me."

Pietro blinked. "A jet? As in, a whole private jet?"

"Da," Wanda said lightly, wiping her hands on a towel. "Like it's no big deal."

"Because to her, it's not," Pietro muttered. "Wands, you’re dating an international mogul. Are you even aware of the kind of money she’s sitting on?"

"I know enough," Wanda said, then paused. "But she doesn't throw it in my face. When she offered the jet, it wasn’t to impress me. It was so I could be with her without any hassle. That's just who she is."

Pietro gave her a long look, then leaned back with a sigh. "Just making sure you’re not being swept off your feet into a whole other stratosphere."

"I’m still me, Pietro," she said softly. "And she's still her. She listens. She cares. She doesn't treat me like a trophy."

"And you're sure about this trip?" he asked, quieter this time.

Wanda nodded. "I want to see her world a little. Not the fancy stuff. Just... how she lives. And we’ll explore Rotterdam together. No rush, no pressure. Just the two of us."

Pietro’s shoulders dropped a little, some tension leaving his frame. "Alright. But if she forgets to feed you or makes you walk in heels all day, I'm flying over myself."

Wanda laughed, reaching over to swat his arm. "You’re the worst."

"And you’re in love," he teased, backing away with a wink. "I'll take a cappuccino before I go. To calm my nerves."

Wanda turned to the machine with a soft smile. "Coming right up."

The car rolled to a slow stop on the tarmac, and the driver stepped out to open the door. Wanda slipped her phone into her purse and stepped out, immediately hit by the rush of wind and the quiet roar of jet engines in the distance.

But her eyes locked onto that jet.

Sleek, black, with an unmistakable shine that caught the light like it had been polished just for her. It looked like it belonged to someone who wore power like a tailored suit. The Fury family crest was discreet, but present, etched near the entry stairs in silver.

Wanda blinked, then actually laughed to herself. “She really sent a private jet,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

The stairs descended smoothly, and the crew member at the base offered a polite nod. “Miss Maximoff, welcome aboard.”

As she stepped inside, Wanda's breath caught.

Plush leather seats with deep cushions, arranged in pairs. Touchscreens and panel lighting. A glass partition between the cabin and cockpit. A minibar that looked better stocked than most restaurants. There was even a soft tray of fresh fruit and pastries already laid out, along with an envelope on the table that simply read: W.

She dropped onto one of the seats, sinking in like it was made just for her. Her fingers ran along the stitching, the way you’d touch something too good to be real.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered with a grin. “Ridiculous... and kind of amazing.”

She got up, wandered a bit-curious. Touched a button and watched a screen rise silently from a hidden panel. Opened a drawer that held silk blankets and high-end headphones. Every corner had a quiet kind of elegance, like someone had personally curated the space to make it feel warm instead of just rich.

Wanda let out a stunned little laugh, looking around like she still couldn't believe it.

“I cannot believe I’m flying like this,” she said to herself. “Is this what she meant by ‘a little comfort’?”

She dropped back into the seat and kicked off her shoes, grinning up at the ceiling. There was still a flutter of nerves because traveling alone, visiting someone she wasn’t even technically dating yet she was wrapped in this strange, thrilling warmth.

And as the engines began to power up, she could only think one thing:

She really went out of her way for me.

The jet hummed beneath Wanda’s feet as she settled deeper into the leather seat, still marvelling at how everything around her felt like stepping into another world. Before she could reach for one of the pastries, a soft knock on the side of her seat drew her attention.

A flight attendant, dressed in a perfectly tailored uniform, offered her a gentle smile. “Miss Maximoff, would you care for a glass of champagne to start your flight?”

Wanda blinked. “Oh... sure. That sounds lovely.”

The attendant reached for a sleek bottle chilling in a silver bucket nearby, then poured the pale, golden liquid into a crystal flute with a practiced hand. She placed it on the table in front of Wanda along with a small dish of luxury chocolate which was rich, dark, and dusted with gold leaf like something out of a dream.

“Champagne pairs well with this,” the attendant said, gesturing to the chocolate. “Miss Fury always insists we keep the good ones stocked in case of special guests.”

Wanda gave a quiet chuckle, touched by the thought. “She really planned all this?”

“She did,” the attendant replied. “Every detail.”

Wanda took a sip, then glanced up. “If you don’t mind me asking... what’s she like? As a boss, I mean.”

The attendant’s smile turned fond, almost proud. “She’s firm. Brilliant. But always respectful. She knows every crew member’s name, asks about our families, makes sure we’re taken care of. People really like her and respect her, because she earns it.”

Wanda let the words settle into her chest, as warm as the champagne sliding down her throat.

“She’s one of the good ones,” the attendant added. “Not just powerful. Good.”

Wanda bit back a smile, her fingers grazing the edge of her glass. Her heart beat a little faster, not from the alcohol, but from the quiet confirmation that maybe - just maybe - her instincts were right.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

The attendant gave a polite nod and moved back toward the galley, leaving Wanda alone with her thoughts.

She looked down at the chocolate, then out the window at the clouds waiting above. And for the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel uncertain. It felt like something she wanted to run toward.

As the wheels touched down with the soft thud of expertly handled landing gear, Wanda pressed a hand to the window, watching the ground blur into clarity. The sleek black car parked at the edge of the tarmac caught her attention immediately, it whispered luxury, understated but unmistakable.

She stood as the flight attendant approached once more with that same warm smile.

“Thank you for everything,” Wanda said sincerely.

“It was a pleasure flying with you, Miss Maximoff. Enjoy your time in Rotterdam.”

Wanda stepped down the stairs into a gentle breeze, sunlight kissing her skin. The pilot offered a respectful nod from the bottom of the steps, and she returned it with a smile and a polite “Thank you.”

Then her gaze landed on the figure waiting by the car, and her breath caught in her throat.

You leaned casually against the matte black sedan, sunglasses shielding your eyes but not the quiet curve of your smile. The black polo hugged your shoulders in a way that made Wanda’s face warm, and the relaxed slacks paired with those soft loafers completed what she quickly dubbed the Y/N Fury vacation edition. Still effortlessly elegant. Still entirely you. But the shift in tone was clear - this wasn’t business.

This was just you, waiting for her.

Wanda walked over, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Hi.”

You pushed off the car smoothly, tugging your sunglasses down just enough for your eyes to meet hers. “Hi yourself.”

You opened the door for her and Wanda slid inside, heart fluttering just a little. When you joined her on the other side and the car eased into motion, she glanced at you again.

“You know,” she murmured, “I think this is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you.”

You gave her a sidelong smile, voice low and teasing. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Wanda laughed, warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe she should’ve been nervous flying across countries to spend the weekend with someone she was still getting to know but sitting next to you, it just felt right. Like she’d landed in more ways than one.

Rotterdam greeted Wanda like an open secret, with the sunlight brushing the curve of the canals, petals caught mid-air in the breeze, and warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.

But it was your hand, warm and steady as you guided her inside the sleek black car, that made the city feel like something more. Something alive.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It never was. Wanda sat beside you with her fingers linked through yours, watching the city unfurl as the car drifted through winding streets. Tulips bloomed along windowsills. Bicycles zipped past. The water shimmered with late afternoon gold.

“I’ve never been here,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off the view.

You turned your head slightly. “Then let me show you my version of it.”

The boutique hotel loomed quiet and elegant as the car slowed to a stop. Staff greeted you both with practiced deference, but not a single soul lingered longer than necessary. Wanda noticed that. She noticed everything.

You led her through a private entrance, straight to the sun-drenched suite with canal views and scarlet tulips. She stood in the centre of the room for a long moment, just looking.

“You remembered,” she whispered, touching one of the petals.

“Of course I did.”

That Evening

Wanda stepped out of the bathroom in a soft sundress you hadn’t seen before, it was forest green, hugging her waist, the straps delicate. Her hair was still damp at the ends, curling slightly against her skin.

Your eyes found hers across the room, and you didn’t even bother hiding the way your gaze moved over her.

“You’re staring,” she said, a touch amused, a touch breathless.

“Blame the dress,” you replied, standing. “And the woman in it.”

Dinner wasn’t formal, but it was perfect. A canal-side restaurant that opened its patio just for you. You let Wanda choose the wine, and she surprised you with a confident pick. It was a crisp white with a finish that tasted like pears and citrus.

“You’ve done this before,” you said after the first sip.

“I read the menu while you were distracted,” she said with a smirk. “And maybe asked the waiter.”

You laughed, fully, and Wanda looked triumphant.

By dessert, she leaned forward, chin in her hand, eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Is this your idea of relaxing?”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“All this,” she said, gesturing at the table, the view, the soft live violin playing in the distance. “It’s beautiful. But it’s... curated. Intentional.”

You were silent for a moment. Then, softly: “I didn’t always know how to slow down. But lately, with you... I want to.”

Wanda blinked. Her heart skipped.

She reached across the table, lacing her fingers through yours again. “Then let’s slow down together.”

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

You stood in the dimly lit hotel room, the air thick with anticipation. The evening had been perfect - a seamless blend of laughter, deep conversation, and an unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every passing moment. Now, as Wanda emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a plush white bathrobe, her bare feet padding softly against the carpet, you felt the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Her green eyes met yours, and in that gaze, you saw the same unspoken awareness: something significant was about to happen.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning. Wanda’s bathrobe hung loosely, her fair skin glowing softly in the warm light. You felt a pull, a magnetic force drawing you toward her. Your heart raced, but your voice remained steady as you asked, “May I kiss you?” The words hung in the air, a question that felt more like a declaration.

Wanda’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes never leaving yours. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with certainty. You took a step forward, closing the distance between you. Her scent - a mix of lavender and something uniquely her - wrapped around you as you reached out, gently cupping her cheek. Her skin was warm under your fingertips, and you felt her lean into your touch, as if she’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The kiss was tender, a slow exploration of lips and breath. You moved with care, as if afraid of breaking the spell. Wanda’s hands found your waist, her touch light but firm, grounding you in the moment. The kiss deepened, and you felt the tension melt away, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. This wasn’t just a kiss - it was a turning point, a shift in the balance of your relationship.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, Wanda’s eyes searched yours. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. You nodded, your thumb brushing her jawline. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you.

She smiled, a soft, knowing smile, and took your hand, leading you toward the bed. The room felt intimate now, the air charged with possibility. You sat beside her, your legs brushing against each other, and felt the electricity of her presence. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” Wanda confessed, her fingers intertwining with yours. “But I wanted it to be right.”

“It’s right,” you assured her, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “It’s more than right.”

The moment stretched between you, a silent agreement to take the next step. Wanda’s bathrobe slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and you found yourself drinking in the sight of her. Her body was a canvas of soft curves and delicate lines, her fair skin kissed by the faintest hint of freckles. Her breasts were full and inviting, her nipples already tight with anticipation. Your gaze lingered on the light dusting of hair between her legs, a subtle contrast to her smooth skin.

You reached out, tracing the curve of her shoulder with your fingertips. “You’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice thick with admiration. Wanda blushed, her eyes dropping to the floor before meeting yours again. “So are you,” she replied, her hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The exploration was slow, deliberate, as if you were both afraid of rushing something so precious. You helped her remove your t-shirt, her fingers brushing your skin as she revealed more of you. Your bra followed, and you felt her breath catch at the sight of your breasts, full and heavy, your nipples pebbled with desire. Her touch was gentle, reverent, as she leaned in to kiss your collarbone, her lips trailing down to your chest.

You let out a soft sigh as her mouth closed over your nipple, her tongue swirling lazily. Her hands moved down your body, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them off your hips. You were naked now, exposed and vulnerable, but with Wanda, it felt safe. Her eyes drank you in, her expression a mix of awe and hunger.

“Your turn,” you whispered, reaching for the tie of her robe. She nodded, and you carefully undid it, letting the fabric fall away. She was stunning, her body a work of art. You traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

“I want to taste you,” you confessed, your voice hoarse with desire. Wanda’s eyes widened, but she nodded, spreading her legs slightly as you knelt between them. Her scent was intoxicating, a mix of soap and something uniquely her. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her shiver beneath your touch.

Your lips brushed her core, gingerly at first, as if testing the waters. Wanda let out a soft gasp, her hands tangling in your hair. Encouraged, you deepened your exploration, your tongue tracing the outline of her lips before delving inside. She was wet, her arousal coating your tongue as you tasted her fully.

Wanda moaned, her hips arching off the bed. “Y/N,” she breathed, her voice a plea for more. You obliged, your tongue flicking her clit with deliberate precision. Her walls clenched around your tongue, her breath coming in sharp gasps. You sucked gently, then harder, her cries filling the room as she teetered on the edge.

“Cum for me, Wanda,” you murmured against her skin, your words sending her over the edge. She cried out, her body trembling as her orgasm washed over her. You drank her in, savouring the taste of her release, your fingers pressing into her thighs to keep her grounded.

When she finally stilled, you kissed your way back up her body, her eyes glazed with pleasure. “Your turn,” she whispered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. You laughed, a soft, breathless sound, as she pushed you back onto the bed.

Her mouth was hungry, her kisses demanding as she explored your body with the same reverence you’d shown her. Her tongue traced your nipples, her hands roaming over your curves, before she settled between your legs. You were already wet, your body aching for her touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her breath ghosting over your core. You shivered, your hands tangling in her hair as she leaned in, her tongue dipping into your folds. You moaned, your hips bucking against her mouth as she sucked your clit, her fingers sliding inside you with ease.

The pleasure was overwhelming, her touch sending sparks through your body. You cried out, your voice echoing in the room as you chased your release. Wanda’s mouth was relentless, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony. You felt the tension coil inside you, tighter and tighter, until you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm.

Wanda drank you in, her lips pressing gentle kisses to your sensitive skin as you came down. You pulled her up, your lips crashing together in a desperate kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. “I need more,” you gasped, your hands roaming over her body.

She smiled, her eyes dark with desire. “Anything,” she promised, her voice a husky whisper.

You rolled her onto her back, your lips trailing down her body as you settled between her legs again. This time, you took your time, your tongue mapping every inch of her, from her thighs to her clit, her moans fuelling your hunger. You sucked her clit between your lips, teasing her with your tongue, until she was squirming beneath you, her cries filling the room.

“Y/N, please,” she begged, her voice desperate. You obliged, your fingers sliding inside her as you sucked harder, her walls clenching around you as she came apart. She screamed your name, her body trembling as she squirted, her release coating your face. You lapped at her, savouring the taste of her ecstasy, your heart swelling with the knowledge that you’d brought her this pleasure.

When she finally stilled, you kissed your way back up her body, her eyes shining with love and desire. Her hands pulling you closer. You laughed, a soft, breathless sound, as you rolled onto your back, inviting her to take her turn.

She didn’t hesitate, her mouth devouring yours as she kissed her way down your body. Her tongue was magic, her touch sending you spiralling into another orgasm. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as she ate you with abandon, her fingers and mouth working in perfect sync.

The room was a blur of moans and gasps, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. You pulled her up, your lips crashing together in a desperate kiss, your bodies pressed flush against each other. “I want to feel you,” you murmured, your hands guiding her leg over your hip.

Wanda nodded, her eyes dark with desire as she pressed against you, her clit rubbing against yours. You moved together, your bodies sliding in perfect rhythm, the friction sending sparks through your core. You moaned into her mouth, your hands gripping her hips as you continued, the pleasure building with every thrust.

The room was filled with the sound of your cries, your bodies moving as one. You felt the tension coil inside you, tighter and tighter, until you both shattered, your orgasms colliding in a burst of pleasure. You screamed each other’s names, your bodies trembling as you squirted, your releases mingling on the bed.

When you finally stilled, breathless and dazed, Wanda collapsed on top of you, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as you caught your breath. The room was quiet now, the only sound your ragged breathing and the soft hum of the air conditioning.

You turned your head, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were soft, filled with love and wonder. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

You kissed her then, a gentle, tender kiss that spoke of everything you couldn’t put into words. It was a kiss that said I love you, I’m here, I’m yours. And as you held her in your arms, the world outside fading away, you knew that this was just the beginning.

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

The soft rustle of linen is the first thing you notice.

Then warmth.

Not just the kind tangled in the sheets or the lingering heat of shared sleep but the kind that roots itself in the chest. Slow. Safe. Real.

Wanda shifts beside you, barely awake, her arm draped across your waist, her forehead nestled against your shoulder. Her breath is steady; her lips parted in sleep. A single sunbeam cuts across the room, falling over her bare back, painting her in gold.

You don’t move. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.

Your hand finds hers under the covers, fingers curling instinctively. Her skin is warm, soft, familiar now in a way it hadn’t been yesterday.

Last night was...

No, it wasn’t just anything. It was everything.

Every wall you'd built around yourself softened in her touch. Every part of you that lived in shadows had been coaxed into light.

You turn your head just slightly, enough to press a kiss to her temple. Wanda hums quietly at the contact, stretching like a cat before her eyes flutter open.

“Mm… good morning,” she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep.

You smile. “Morning, sunshine.”

She smiles too, but it’s slower, more vulnerable like she’s checking to see if last night really happened. Like part of her expects you to be gone.

But you’re here.

Still beside her.

Still holding her.

“Do you always wake up looking this smug?” she asks, squinting at you with mock suspicion.

You raise a brow. “Only when I have good dreams.”

Wanda lets out a low laugh and buries her face against your shoulder. “God, we’re gross.”

“Disgusting,” you agree, grinning as you tighten your arm around her. “Should probably never leave this bed.”

“Agreed,” she says without hesitation, her hand now tracing idle patterns on your stomach beneath the covers. “Although... I promised Pietro I’d text him. He’s probably pacing back and forth somewhere.”

You chuckle. “Let him pace.”

She peeks up at you then, serious all of a sudden. “Last night…”

You meet her gaze, steady and sure. “Was real.”

She nods. “Yeah. It was.”

Neither of you rush to fill the silence that follows. It’s comfortable. Earned. A rhythm the two of you fell into without ever really trying.

But even as you breathe her in, her scent, her presence, you feel it.

That tug.

That quiet reminder that your world is still out there. Waiting. Watching.

Wanda doesn’t know yet.

She doesn't know about the shadows. The syndicate. The weight you carry with every calculated move.

But she will.

Eventually.

And when she does... you hope nights like this will be enough to hold onto.

The quiet hum of the morning is broken by the sharp buzz of your phone.

You almost don’t move. Wanda’s still curled against you, the warmth of her skin grounding you in a world you never want to leave. But the sound persists, vibrating with urgency on the nightstand.

You reach for it with a reluctant hand, hoping it’s nothing.

It’s not.

The caller ID reads Clint.

Your stomach tightens.

You answer, already moving to sit up.

“What happened?”

His voice is tight. Controlled. But you know him too well.

“It’s Nat. She’s in the hospital.”

The breath leaves your body.

“The official word is Car accident.” But you both know it wasn’t just that.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, your mind already racing through scenarios, enemies, and unfinished business. Your body moves faster than your thoughts. You’re on your feet before the call ends.

“Send me everything. I’m leaving now.”

Wanda sits up behind you, the sheets falling from her shoulders, concern etched across her face.

“Y/N…?”

You turn, your phone already at your ear again as you call your crew.

“Prep the jet. We’re leaving within the hour. Medical crew standby. I want our people at the hospital before I land.”

You hang up, then face her.

“I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s Natasha. She’s been hospitalised.”

Wanda steps off the bed and crosses the room to you. Her hands reach for yours, steady and sure.

“Hey,” she says gently. “You don’t have to explain. Family comes first.”

You search her eyes for anything- hurt, frustration, hesitation. But all you find is quiet strength. Understanding.

The engines are already humming when you arrive. Your jet sits sleek and silent, the crew in motion as your world prepares to shift again.

You and Wanda, walk across the tarmac side by side, her coat wrapped tightly around her frame, your hand lightly resting on her back as if to remind yourself she’s real.

At the steps, you pause for a moment, your gaze drifting to the horizon. You can feel it already, the storm waiting on the other side of the sky. The war at your doorstep.

Wanda’s hand finds yours. She squeezes once.

You turn to her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

She leans in, her voice close to your ear. “Where you go, I go.”

And with that, you both board the jet.

The sky waits. So does the truth.

The jet touches down just after sunrise. The city feels sharper than it did when you left, like everything you had managed to soften for a moment has returned with edges. You drive straight from the airstrip to the hospital, your jaw tight, your grip on the wheel like a lifeline.

Wanda sits beside you, quiet but steady. You glance at her once during a red light. Her hand is resting on her lap, her eyes fixed on the passing city.

“You don’t have to come in,” you say gently.

She turns to you. “I want to.”

No hesitation. No fear. Just understanding.

The moment you step into the hospital lobby, you are already in motion. You leave instructions with your people to secure the perimeter and head to the ICU wing, pausing only long enough to speak with the lead physician. Wanda stays where you asked her to, just past the waiting area near a line of windows washed in morning light.

She doesn’t look nervous. She just waits.

Someone steps into her line of sight a few minutes later. Tall. Measured. Eye patch. Sharp coat and sharper silence.

Nick Fury.

He stops a few feet from her, his gaze steady.

“Wanda Maximoff,” he says.

She nods, straightens slightly. “Yes.”

“I know who you are,” he continues. “You’re important to her.”

Wanda’s lips part, unsure if it’s a question or a statement.

Nick doesn’t smile, but his tone softens. Just enough.

“I’m her father.”

A breath catches in Wanda’s throat, but she doesn’t flinch.

“I figured,” she says softly. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not here to make things complicated.”

Nick studies her for another moment, then nods once. It’s not approval. It’s something quieter. Permission, maybe.

“She wouldn’t have brought you here if you weren’t already part of this,” he says. “And I trust her judgment.”

That’s all.

He steps past her, disappearing around the corner as silently as he arrived.

You return shortly after, your expression unreadable but your presence grounding. Wanda rises to her feet the moment she sees you.

“She’s stable,” you say. “Bruised ribs, broken wrist, concussion. It could have been worse.”

Wanda nods, brushing her fingers gently against your sleeve.

You don’t say anything more as you lead her down the hallway. Clint sees you in passing and gives a small nod. Bruce looks up from his chair and offers a quiet glance in acknowledgment. No one questions who she is. No one needs to.

You reach the room. The door is cracked open.

You step inside. Together.

Inside, the room is quiet, save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. The lights are low, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging faintly in the air. Natasha lies pale against the white sheets, her left wrist wrapped in bandages, a bruise blooming along her collarbone.

Yelena is seated beside her, hunched forward with her elbows on her knees. Her head is bowed, hands clenched. Her eyes are red. It’s the kind of look she would punch someone for pointing out, but you see it clearly. You see all of her.

The moment her gaze lifts and meets yours, she stands and crosses the room in two strides. Her arms wrap around you without a word, and she buries her face against your shoulder.

"Ty zdes', spasibo Bogu," she mumbles into your neck.

You hold her close, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other steady on her back.

"Vsyo khorosho, Yel-bear. Ya zdes'. Ya s toboy," you whisper.

Yelena tightens her grip for a second, then lets go with a sharp breath and wipes her face. She nods toward the bed and steps back, keeping her eyes on Natasha.

Wanda stays quiet beside you, her expression unreadable. You can feel her watching you, and you know the moment she starts piecing things together. When you spoke Russian, it wasn’t with hesitation. It was fluent. Familiar.

Her voice is soft, curious. “You speak Russian?”

You glance at her. “I do.”

She looks at you a little longer. You know she is thinking back. Sokovian. The night on the rooftop. Every sweet, vulnerable thing she said in a language she thought was hers alone.

“You understood all of it,” she says quietly, almost to herself.

You nod. “Every word.”

Her mouth opens, then closes again, the flush on her cheeks blooming fast. You see the storm of embarrassment rising behind her eyes, but you reach for her hand.

“I never wanted to take that from you,” you say. “I just liked hearing you speak what felt like home.”

Wanda nods slowly, lips parting with a quiet exhale. She doesn’t say anything more, but she walks over to the side of the bed and places a small bundle of tulips by Natasha’s bedside. The stems are wrapped in ribbon, trembling slightly in her hands.

Natasha’s eyes flutter open. She blinks at the light, then focuses slowly on the three of you.

Her gaze slides to Wanda, then to you, and a weak smirk curves the edge of her lips.

“So,” she rasps. “She’s real.”

You roll your eyes, stepping closer. “Told you.”

Natasha’s smirk deepens just a little. “Didn’t think you’d bring her to a war zone.”

“She wanted to be here.”

Wanda turns to you, but before she can speak, you gently touch her arm.

“Can I have a minute with her?”

Wanda glances at Natasha, then at you, and gives a small nod. “Of course.”

You look at Yelena.

“Take her to get some coffee. I won’t be long.”

Yelena hesitates, eyes flicking to her sister, then to you. She gives a small nod and walks over to Wanda. The two of them leave the room without a word.

You watch the door close behind them, then pull the chair closer to the bed and sit.

You reach out and brush a few strands of hair away from her forehead. Your fingers are gentle, slow, the way they never get to be when it comes to her. There’s a pause before your hand settles against her cheek.

“Why are you always scaring me, sestra moya?”

Natasha closes her eyes for a moment at the sound of it, like the words are heavier than she expected. Her face leans into your palm, just a little.

“I didn’t plan it,” she murmurs, voice low and dry.

You let your thumb trace along the edge of her jaw. The bruises look worse in this light, but she is alive. That is all you care about right now.

After a quiet breath, your voice shifts.

“Tell me who.”

Her eyes open again, sharp and clear despite the pain.

“Castillo.”

The name drops like lead.

You sit back slowly, letting it settle.

“He’s out for revenge,” Natasha continues.

You nod once. You don’t need the details. The message is clear.

Your voice lowers, colder now. “He’ll regret this.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. She knows better than to doubt it.

You stand, pulling the blanket a little higher on her shoulder, your fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

“Get some rest,” you say softly. “I’ve got the rest.”

Her eyes follow you as you move toward the door.

“I know you do.”

You glance back at her once, the promise already burning behind your eyes.

Then you leave, ready to make good on it.

Night swallows the skyline as you step into the dark.

The cold metal of your weapon rests against your thigh. Your coat moves like a second skin. There is no wind tonight. Just silence, hanging thick above the city like a warning.

You give the order. One word.

“Now.”

Your team spreads through the city like fire through dry brush. Clint on overwatch, his scope sweeping rooftops with machine precision. Yelena moving between shadows with two blades strapped across her back. Bruce rides co-pilot with the muscle, already tense with rage waiting to be unleashed.

The location comes in. An abandoned meatpacking plant in Queens, repurposed as a supply hub for Castillo’s crew.

You arrive first.

The metal door swings open with a groan. The inside smells like blood and grease. You can hear boots scuffling. Laughter. A low radio buzz. They don’t know you are here yet.

The first man turns the corner and never sees it coming.

You bury a blade under his jaw, twist, and pull it free. His body folds with a wet thud.

Another appears, raising a pistol. You shoot him clean through the skull. Bone cracks, and he drops like a puppet with its strings cut.

Screams rise. Confusion spreads. That’s when it starts.

You move through the hall with deadly rhythm. One shot to the chest. Two to the face. A throat slit so deep the sound gurgles wet and slow before silence falls again. You step over twitching limbs. You fire into movement without blinking. A hand reaches for a weapon, and you crush it under your boot before pulling the trigger into the man’s neck.

Yelena appears on your left. Her knives are red already, her expression blank.

“They were still laughing,” she says flatly. “Not anymore.”

Clint’s voice comes in through the comm.

“Upper level clear. They ran straight into me.”

You enter the back corridor. The hallway is narrow. The men packed together.

Bad choice.

You unload six rounds into their legs first, watching them fall, broken and screaming. You walk past the ones who beg. Your aim is flawless. One bullet each. Eyes. Mouths. Hearts.

By the time you reach the center of the compound, blood coats the floor in thick streaks. It clings to your boots, seeps into the soles. You do not care.

Castillo is not here. The coward ran.

But his people didn’t. And now they will never leave this place.

Bruce and your clean-up crew arrive last. There is nothing left to secure. No survivors. No doubts.

Fifty-three confirmed dead.

Your side? Not one scratch.

You walk through the aftermath in silence. The orange glow of fire from the upper office reflects in broken glass. Ash floats through the air like dirty snow.

You reach the central support beam near the back wall. Blood still drips nearby, pooling beneath the shattered remains of Castillo’s second-in-command. The stench of gunpowder and death clings to everything.

You pull a knife from your belt. It’s the same blade your father once carried. Heavy. Balanced. Sharp enough to slice through bones.

You drive it into the wall and start to carve. Each stroke is deliberate. Deep. Rough.

You do not write Fury.

You write your name.

Your original name.

Y/L/N

The name that once ruled this city before you were old enough to hold a gun. The name whispered with fear behind closed doors. The name that should have died with your parents.

It didn’t.

You kept it alive.

Now they will remember.

Not just who did this.

But where you come from.

You don’t look back as you walk out.

Let the city whisper.

Let it kneel.

It had been three days since the warehouse burned.

Three days since you signed your name into blood and concrete. Since you reminded the city that you were not your father's shadow, but something sharper. Louder. Deadlier.

The café is unusually quiet when you step inside. The air is warm, the scent of vanilla and sugar still clinging to the walls. Sunlight filters through the windows, soft and golden. Wanda stands behind the counter, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled to her elbows. She looks up the moment you enter, and her smile is instant.

You walk up to the counter, letting your hands rest on the edge as she finishes frothing milk into a small ceramic cup.

“You okay?” you ask.

She pauses for just a second before nodding. “Yeah. It’s just... been quiet today. Feels strange.”

You nod slowly. That strange feeling? It has been sitting at the base of your neck since you got out of the car.

You glance at the front windows. The street outside looks the same as always. Clean. Calm. But something scratches at your instincts.

“Maybe it's the weather,” Wanda says, her voice soft.

You don’t answer. Your eyes are still on the glass.

Then you hear it.

Tires. Screeching. Fast. Too fast.

Your hand is already reaching for the holster inside your coat.

Three black cars come flying around the corner, engines roaring. They slam to a stop outside the café. Doors fly open.

Then everything explodes.

Gunfire erupts like thunder. Bullets slam into the windows. Glass shatters inward. Screams. Splinters. The coffee machine explodes behind Wanda. You grab her without thinking and throw her to the floor just as bullets rip through the air where she had been standing.

Her breath hits your neck. Your arm wraps around her head, shielding it with your body.

She doesn’t scream. She just clutches your shirt with trembling fingers.

Outside, the shooters reload.

Your rage is already boiling.

You are going to kill every last one of them.

The second the last shot rings out, you are already moving.

Your hand pulls the pistol from inside your coat. The safety clicks off with a metallic snap. Your pulse pounds against your skull like war drums.

But before you can fire, the cars screech again. Tires peel against asphalt. Engines roar as the shooters dive back into their vehicles and vanish down the street.

Gone.

Cowards.

You rise from where you had shielded Wanda, gun still in your grip, finger still near the trigger.

Your blood is boiling.

You want to chase. You want to hunt. But something worse holds you in place.

You turn to her.

Wanda is sitting upright now, her back pressed against the counter, hands shaking where they clutch her knees. Her eyes are wide. Not with fear of the attack, but with something else.

Her gaze drops to your hand.

Your weapon.

You freeze.

Slowly, carefully, you lower the gun and place it on the counter. Your breath is ragged, your voice low.

“Are you hurt?”

She doesn’t answer.

You reach out, your fingers aching to touch her, to ground her, to reassure her.

But the moment your hand nears her shoulder, she flinches.

Your heart cracks so cleanly it feels like it echoes in your chest.

You pull back immediately.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Wanda shakes her head once, but still does not speak. Her lips press tightly together. Her chest rises and falls too fast.

You do not ask her to understand. You just help her stand, gently, carefully, like handling glass already cracked.

You decide to drop her at Pietro’s Apartment. The car ride is quiet. She says nothing. You do not fill the silence.

Pietro opens the door before you even knock. His eyes snap between the two of you, instantly alert. He sees the tremor in his sister's hands.

“What happened?” he asks, voice sharp.

You place your hand lightly on Wanda’s back, guiding her inside.

“I need you both to leave the city. Tonight. Go somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Just for a few days.”

Pietro looks like he is about to argue, but something in your tone keeps him silent.

Wanda finally speaks. “Y/N-”

You step back from the doorway, the distance already beginning to burn.

“I’ll call when it’s clear.”

You turn before she can say another word. Before you see anything in her eyes that might stop you.

The door shuts behind you.

You slide into the driver’s seat, your hands gripping the wheel before the door even shuts. The engine hums low beneath your feet, but you do not pull away just yet.

You pull out your phone, hit a number you know by muscle memory, and press it to your ear.

Clint picks up on the second ring.

You do not waste time.

“One question. Who?”

There is a pause. Not hesitation, just confirmation.

“Castillo,” Clint says. “He put the order in last night. Hired guns, all local. We’re tracking the license plates now.”

You nod slowly, staring ahead through the windshield.

“I want everyone in. Now.”

“You mean-”

“All hands-on deck.”

You end the call and finally start driving.

Later at SHIELD Upper Level, War Room

The room is full when you arrive.

The table is long, steel, cold. Every chair around it is filled.

Maria Hill stands with her arms crossed, eyes sharp as glass. Yelena sits beside her, jaw clenched, still in her tac gear. Clint nods at you from the far side. Steve Rogers is already reviewing satellite feeds on a tablet. Tony taps impatiently on the edge of his chair. Bruce says nothing but looks like he hasn't slept in two days. Kate Bishop leans against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, silent for once. Thor stands near the windows, posture rigid. Loki lounges nearby, unreadable but present. Even that means something.

At the far end, Natasha sits upright in a chair brought in for her. Bandages wrap her wrist and ribs. One eye is bruised, but her stare is steady.

You step to the head of the table.

No greetings. No pleasantries.

“This morning, Castillo made a move on me. He tried to hit me where he thought I’d be vulnerable. He missed.”

You pause, letting the weight of your words settle.

“But he hit close. Too close.”

The room stays quiet, watching.

“He did not just attack me. He attacked the café. He’s made it clear he does not fear consequences.”

You look around the table, eyes locking with each of theirs.

“He’s about to learn the price of that mistake.”

The strategy continues around the table, voices moving fast, plans overlapping like loaded chambers. You let them work. Let them sharpen the edges.

But you know this won’t be enough.

This needs more than precision.

It needs brutality.

It needs finality.

You step away from the table, further into the shadows of the upper level, where the hum of electronics fades behind concrete and distance. You reach into your pocket and pull out the old phone. No biometrics. No apps. Just a number pad and one saved contact.

You press call.

It rings once.

Then silence.

No hello.

No breath.

Just waiting.

You speak.

“Castle?”

Ty zdes', spasibo Bogu - You are here, thank God

Vsyo khorosho, Yel-bear. Ya zdes'. Ya s toboy - It's okay, Yel-bear. I'm here. I'm with you.

[theybe-kaz]

Hi, Hello! I know I am well late on chapter 24 and left you all on a straight up cruel cliff hanger so here's the (unedited) first bit of the (very very) late chapter and I beg forgiveness from you all >.< Usual warnings for this fic apply (breakdowns, anxiety, intrusive thoughts and I think that's it)

This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to win, to prove himself, to be perfect one last time. And then it would be over. But now.

The world seemed to recede, sounds becoming muffled and distant as if he were underwater. He was vaguely aware of his hands trembling in his lap, but the sensation felt far away, as if it belonged to someone else. The leather of the chair seemed to envelop him, swallowing him whole as he sank deeper into its embrace. Time stretched and warped, seconds expanding into eternity. And then suddenly Max's world shattered.

"Who?" he asked, the single word carrying the weight of all his fear and desperation. "Who told you?" Christian's expression remained neutral, but his eyes were filled with compassion. "I'm not going to answer that, Max."

Max felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him. His breathing became rapid and shallow, his chest constricting painfully. The room seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing closer and closer. He gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white with the effort. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't part of the plan.

Without warning his composure crumbled entirely, tears welling up and spilling down gaunt cheeks. "Please," he choked out, his voice raw and desperate. "Please, Christian, I need to know. Who told you? Was it Charles? Daniel? Fucking Sebastian? Lewis? Mick?"

His mind raced through possibilities, each name sending a fresh wave of panic through him. Another person he couldn't trust.

"Please," he begged again, his voice rising in pitch. "I have to know. I can't... I can't..." He trailed off, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in as the gravity of the situation hit him full force. His mind raced, a torrent of thoughts and fears overwhelming him.

Perfect. You have to be perfect. You're nothing if you're not perfect.

He saw father's fury, the headlines that would surely follow. He saw his career crumbling, his friends looking at him in disgust, his life as he knew it slipping away.

They'll all leave you. Weak. Pathetic. Disgusting.

A wounded noise escaped his lips, raw and broken. And then another. And another. The floodgates opened, and Max found himself crying harder than he had in years, tears streaming down his face unchecked. “I need to know. I need to know who. I need…” he gasped between sobs. "I need- I can’t. I-I. I'm can’t fucking do this. I can’t fucking do this."

Christian didn’t move, it was hard to watch. Painful even. But he really would prefer not to be swung at when the distress inevitably turned to anger. Max's cries grew more frantic, bordering on hysterical. He rocked back and forth in the chair, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if trying to hold himself together. "I'm going to lose everything," he choked out. "My career, my friends, my life. I can’t, I can’t. I can’t."

"You're not going to lose anything right now, Max." Christian assured, trying to be that grounding presence he clearly needed. But the driver was beyond reasoning. The world had narrowed to this moment, this overwhelming tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Christian watched helplessly as Max spiralled like a plane going down. Tears streamed down Max's face, dripping onto his fireproof suit and leaving water stains on the dark fabric. Nothing seemed to reach him and the older man couldn't help the wince as his driver began coughing and gagging in the gaps between wails. "Max, you need to breathe or you’ll make yourself sick."

"It was Charles," Max choked out, his voice raw and broken. "He did this to me. He couldn't just let me have this one thing, this one perfect thing. He had to ruin it!" Max's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. "Or Daniel - he left me! He was supposed to be my teammate, my friend, and he just left me alone!"

The tirade continued, each accusation punctuated by heaving and coughing along with the nonstop tears. But as the Dutchman opened his mouth to wind up again again, his gaze fell on a photo on Christian's desk - a picture of Sebastian from his Red Bull days, smiling and holding a trophy aloft. Max's voice faltered, the anger draining from him as quickly as it had come. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to collapse in on himself, suddenly looking impossibly small and vulnerable in the large leather chair.

"Seb..." Max whispered, his voice barely audible. But he couldn't continue. Instead, a fresh wave of tears overtook him, but these were different. No longer tears of anger or frustration, but of deep, profound sadness. You just couldn’t fucking control yourself could you? Look at the other drivers. They're disciplined. They're focused. They're perfect.

"I've ruined it," Max whimpered, his voice breaking. "I tried so hard to be perfect, and I've fucked it all. I'm so tired. I'm so, so tired."

Christian felt a lump form in his throat as he watched the Dutchman finally settle. The man before him bore little resemblance to the confident, fiery driver he knew. Instead, Max looked small, fragile, and terribly, terribly young. He'd failed him.

[heliads]

Hi!

I love your writing so much!

I would love to request an angsty Strollonso fic where Lance gets into a crash and the team doesn’t tell Nando how bad it was and he finds out later from another driver and freaks out and goes to the hospital to see him. Maybe Lance has to calm him down and keep him from going after his dad or something.

This is my first time requesting so I hope it’s okay lol.

If you don’t get to it, no worries! Thanks!

'didn't get the call' - fernando x lance

masterlist

It’s race week. Things always get real during race week.

One would think that a couple decades of seasons of Formula One racing would prepare Fernando Alonso for the frenzy of a long weekend spent overseas, but he’s had ample time to determine the contrary. Sure, he’s gotten better at shaking off the nerves a little, sloughing off like an old scar the urge to run or lash out, but part of it still remains inside his lungs, rattling the tissue more than he feels is necessary. It’s race week. What’s the worst that could happen?

That same sentiment, however, doesn’t seem to apply to the rest of the paddock. Everywhere Fernando goes, he seems the same sort of tension bubbling to fury underneath everyone’s skin. The few gazes that dare to lift to his are strained, the undereye bags larger than usual. Even his race engineer seems skittish, and after a year of dealing with Fernando watching live race broadcasts while making overtakes and other various misdemeanors, Fernando has assumed that nothing could shake the guy.

Fernando tries to think about what could have possibly gone wrong to demand this level of response, but nothing comes to mind. In the end, it was, truly, just another weekend. Fernando had done reasonably well– a fourth place result, while frustratingly shy of a podium, is still a good result. Aston Martin as a whole has been down as of late, and even though they would rather appreciate the points boost of a podium, fourth position is still better than the points of sixth, or eighth, or not even getting points at all.

All in all, it had been a relatively decent race from Fernando’s point of view. He’d had some good overtakes, and provided some good defense against the challenging Red Bulls until they passed him like they do against every other car on track. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t mediocre, either. That’s Aston for you. That’s life.

In fact, Fernando had even felt so satisfied after the race that he’d gone ahead and asked how Lance had fared while he was turning his car towards parc ferme. It’s been a little indulgence that Fernando has allowed himself out of late, caring about his teammate. Call him overly cavalier, but this is, actually, quite a sign of change in Fernando, especially after the past two years at Alpine. Fernando hasn’t always been in the business of viewing his teammates as more than obstacles.

Perhaps that’s just a sign that he’s getting old, Fernando thinks fondly as he meanders towards his driver’s room. The apparently advanced age of entering his forties is making him sentimental. How charming. Then again, it’s something altogether different when one’s teammate is, well, Lance.

Lance.

Fernando had been careful when he first arrived at Aston Martin. Lance was the boss’ son, for one thing, and Esteban’s close friend, for another. Of course he would have to be careful. It’s not as if Aston Martin would be dramatic enough to fire Fernando if he let slip a critical comment of his teammate in yet another drawn-out press conference, but they’d probably retaliate with something below the belt, like a pay cut.

So he’d watched his tongue, and watched his temper. The only thing Fernando hadn’t kept in check was his heart. Maybe that was because he assumed he wouldn’t have to, that years of experience would have made him as cold as his teammate’s home country, but as it turns out, even a two time world champion can be wrong on occasion, and Fernando was wrong about Lance.

Fernando isn’t quite sure that he could put into words what Lance means to him. He’s not sure that he wants to try. Some things are best kept secret, hidden under the protective cover of supposedly forced team bonding and aggressively proud post-race interviews. Overcommitting to an overtake before you know you’ve got it can ruin a race. Spelling out in precise, heart-stopping red syllables what Lance Stroll means to Fernando could ruin his whole enterprise.

Even still, small things slip through the self-imposed barrier. Fernando squeezes Lance’s shoulders when they run into each other in the media pen and pretends he doesn’t notice how Lance’s entire body wracks the second Fernando touches him. He certainly doesn’t store that information away for later use. And, his latest vice, Fernando keeps asking his race engineer how Lance has done in the race, making it public that Fernando is interested. People know now. How daring.

This time, though, his race engineer had been surprisingly tight-lipped, mentioning only that he would have to get back to Fernando on that front. Usually, the background chatter from the pit wall is quiet so as to not distract the driver, but this time an uproar of static had cut through the engineer’s words, making it more difficult to make him out. There had been rumors of a red flag coming out on the last lap, but as it happened most cars would be able to clear without trouble, so nothing had been mentioned. His race engineer had also been silent on that front.

Who is Fernando to worry, though? If something bad had happened, he would have been informed. Fernando makes it a habit to stay aware. It wasn’t him, it couldn’t be his teammate, and thus Fernando’s capacity for caring is significantly limited. He’ll put out a somber Instagram story later if his PR agent reminds him. All will be well.

The further he travels through the Aston Martin motorhome, though, the more uneasy Fernando feels. Everyone is rushing around, all speaking to each other in terse whispers that he can’t quite pick up. Fernando feels as if he’s the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by restless whirlwinds of deep green water.

This doesn’t make sense. Eventually, Fernando’s impatience gets the better of him and he stops one of the trainers, who’s been parked in a corner of the room and frantically texting so he doesn’t get in the way. The man practically jumps out of his skin when Fernando nudges his arm, he’s so keyed up. Strange. Also unsettling.

“What’s going on?” Fernando asks. The confusion makes his voice terse, it sounds like he’s a soldier out on a battlefield. He doesn’t even feel that worried, not yet, but from the way everyone else is acting, he feels as if he should be.

The trainer avoids his eyes. “Nothing,” he says evasively.

“Oh, and that’s why you look as if someone just shot you in the leg?” Fernando deadpans.

The trainer grimaces. “Alright, but I’m not supposed to tell you. Lance, uh, got in a crash. Last lap of the race. The engineers wanted you to focus on reviewing your data so you aren’t supposed to know about it.”

This is the part where Fernando should assure the trainer that they’re both on the same page and of course he won’t say a word about it, but a complete blankness has settled over his brain, erasing the ability to think anything at all other than the same question over and over again:  Lance crashed?

“What happened?” Fernando asks. He hardly recognizes the sound of his own voice. “Was it bad?”

“Not bad,” the trainer says, but he’s still not looking directly at Fernando. “We’re still checking him out, obviously, but he should be good to go for the next race.”

He coughs pointedly, and this is when Fernando knows it’s time to move on. He’s been assured that his teammate will be fit to race next weekend, and as a hardened driver, that’s all he should care about. Still, as he walks back down the hall again, Fernando can’t convince himself to let it go. Would everyone really be this worried if it was just a small collision? They would tell him, surely, if it was worse. They would have to tell him.

Maybe they just don’t know yet, Fernando reasons with himself. Maybe they legitimately have no clue until Lance returns from medical testing. Even the most insignificant fender-benders can have lingering damage if your hands aren’t in the right place or something else goes wrong. Everyone could just be stressing until they hear back for sure that everything is fine.

Fernando returns to his driver’s room and shuts the door. He sits down absentmindedly in a chair. After about five minutes, it registers that he forgot to turn the light on. He’s not in total darkness, a window is half open, but Fernando can’t quite convince himself to try and flip the switch. Lance was in a crash. Lance is hurt, maybe.

It unravels Fernando down to the last stitch. Lance had been in the bike accident in January, Fernando is not unused to being in a situation in which Lance is hurt, but for some reason this feels far, far worse. He doesn’t like knowing that Lance isn’t alright. It unnerves him, like a car running with a mismatched tire. All of Fernando’s systems are off-kilter.

His phone pings by his side, and now Fernando’s the one who feels like he’s leaping several centimeters out of his chair. Running an absentminded hand through his hair to calm himself down, Fernando reaches for his phone to check the notification, but the message he reads does little to steady his spirit.

Mick Schumacher.

Why aren’t you at the hospital?

Fernando responds immediately.

What are you talking about?

Mick’s answer is swift and to the point.

Lance.

Instantly, Fernando’s blood chills.

They told me he was fine. Why is he in the hospital?

This time, Mick takes a while. Unable to take the pressure, Fernando gets up and starts pacing back and forth in the confines of his driver’s room. At last, Mick responds.

Bad crash. He’s been unconscious but just woke up.

Fernando is out the door before he even finishes reading the text. He’s still in his disgusting race suit, but the sweat will just have to keep cooling, because there’s no way Fernando is sparing so much as a second for anything but getting to Lance. He manages to ask Mick what hospital Lance is occupying while fishing around for his keys, and then he’s off, breaking what he’s sure are several speed limits and a myriad of traffic violations while he’s at it.

Fernando bursts through the door, feeling eerily like a guy out of a rom-com his older sister, Lorena, used to watch. He’s buff enough for the role, certainly, but nothing about this is movie material. Real life is ugly. People get into crashes and don’t miraculously walk out. Beautiful boys with dark eyes lie unresponsive in hospital beds and no one talks about it until it’s too late.

Mick is already in the waiting room and stands up when Fernando arrives. He takes in Fernando’s bedraggled appearance with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I did ask you to get here fast, but I appreciate your dedication to it.”

“Of course,” Fernando says distractedly. “How is Lance?”

Mick nods, again, the raised eyebrow. “He’s been asking for you. There are a couple of Aston Martin guys here, but they just kept ducking the question whenever he brought up where you were.”

Fernando makes a low, ugly sound in the back of his throat. “They did the same thing to me.”

Some of the tension leaves Mick’s face. “They really didn’t tell you, did they?”

“Not at all,” Fernando makes out. “Where is he?”

Mick tells him the number and points him in the right direction. “Be careful,” is all he says before Fernando is too far gone to hear him.

Fernando hurries down the hall. Some of the nurses make an attempt to stop him, but he just ducks around their questioning gazes until he’s knocking on Lance’s door. He can see a vague silhouette through the half-closed blinds, but it’s not until a faint, groggy voice tells him to come inside that Fernando can decide for sure that yes, this is Lance, and yes, Fernando should have been informed of this immediately.

Fernando shuts the door quietly behind him. He walks quietly to the chair, and he sits quietly, breathing quietly, looking quietly, until Lance rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not going to die if you act normally, you know.”

Fernando relaxes a little bit. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Not me,” Lance says, that smug smile starting to surface even despite the IV in his arm, the bandages across his chest, the–

“Stop looking at those,” Lance says unexpectedly, cutting off Fernando’s train of thought. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

Fernando looks at him askance. “You sound like half your car is lodged inside your ribcage. Is that fine?”

Lance pulls a face. “Okay, I’m a little less than fine. It’s alright, though.”

“Tell me what happened,” Fernando says. He didn’t think it came out as an order, but instantly Lance straightens up even despite the constraints of the hospital bed and starts speaking, a faint blush on his cheeks. Interesting. Another thing to remember for later.

“There was a crash,” Lance begins somewhat uncertainly.

“So I’ve heard,” Fernando says, somewhat bemused. Humor is easier. It distracts him from the fact that Lance is lying here, practically lifeless, looking no more likely to move a muscle than get up and start running laps. It kills him, the inability to do anything other than sit here and crack jokes. This is not who he was supposed to be. Nothing about this is right.

Lance looks at him, playfully annoyed, and then continues again. “There was a crash. I don’t remember most of it. I was coming out of a series of turns, I think. Someone hit me. I don’t know who, steered right into me. Not their choice, I’m sure, but it took both of us straight into the barriers.”

His face contorts with confusion as he attempts to remember what happened. The lapses in memory startle Fernando more than he would like. “You must have gotten a serious hit to your head,” he says, unable to keep a grim tinge out of his words.

“That’s what the doctors said,” Lance confirms, grimacing. “I don’t really remember a lot between the crash and waking up here. They said I was out for more than half an hour.”

Fernando presses a hand to his face, dragging it roughly across the skin to try and wake himself up out of this terrible nightmare that has somehow become his reality. “All of this, and no one saw fit to tell me?”

Lance’s brow furrows. “Dad was going to make sure you knew. He told me that himself.”

All of Fernando’s grief leaves him a swift rush, replaced with blind fury. “Lawrence said that?”

At last, he has a culprit for why so much time passed before Fernando heard about this accident, and it was Lance’s own father. Disgraceful. As if Fernando hasn’t spent all of his time at Aston Martin trying to get in Lawrence’s good graces to promote the wellbeing of the team. As if he hasn’t held back on what he really wants with Lance in the name of good faith in the face of the team owner, and now this? Well. Maybe Fernando should have pulled his favorite card and simply done what he wanted in the first place.

He stands up before he realizes it. “Where are you going?” Lance asks, confused.

“I’m going to have some words with your father,” Fernando announces.

Lance’s face falls, and he starts trying to pull himself more into a seated position on his elbows. “Wait, no. He didn’t– he wasn’t trying to hurt you, Fernando, he just didn’t want you to worry.”

“The only thing I want to do right now,” Fernando informs him, “is worry.”

“Charming,” Lance says, then, in a voice verging on panic as Fernando nears the door, “Seriously, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“What wouldn’t be?” Fernando asks, deceptively calm despite the inferno boiling between the bars of his ribcage.

He’s already at the door. Fernando can see Lawrence talking on the phone in the waiting room, where Mick is eyeing him icily– he’s on the phone while his son is in the hospital, what an asshole– and he’s about to go out there and tell Lawrence exactly what he thinks of this, bystanders be damned, but then Lance’s voice comes again, soft and quiet, and Fernando stops, fingers resting on the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Stay with me. Please.”

That’s all it takes to slow Fernando’s insatiable temper, as it turns out. Who knows how many managers and PR officers would have killed to get that information, and they’re only four words. Four words spoken by Lance Stroll, which makes the difference.

Fernando returns to his seat by Lance’s side. Lance looks distinctly pleased with himself. “I didn’t know you were so open to receiving instructions. I think I’m going to remember that.”

“You’ll forget this by tomorrow. Strong painkillers do that sometimes,” Fernando insists.

Lance’s lips curl into a catlike smile. “Sure thing, Fernando.”

Maybe he’s right after all. Fernando thinks that he might not ever forget the peace of a room when it’s just the two of them, how the heart monitor sharply upticks when Fernando reaches over to take Lance’s hand and both of them pretend they don’t notice it. Lance will be alright eventually. Wounds will heal, scars will fade, and a ferocious driver named Fernando Alonso will accept that the biggest chink in his forged-by-fire armor is a young man named Lance Stroll, and there is nothing wrong about that at all.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[crazycurly-77]

Deadly Countdown - Chapter 7

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, some violence

This is written in the style of the Series 24.

Everything you read occurs in real time.

What happened in the last chapter:

The kidnapper carried out his threat and hit Gibbs at his most vulnerable point: he injured Palmer and you were not only seriously injured, but also kidnapped.

Hour 7 of 12: 02:00 pm - 03:00 pm

02:04:10 pm

NCIS HQ, Washington DC:

After visiting Ducky, Gibbs and a crestfallen Palmer returned to the bullpen. Jimmy had some work to do at the autopsy, but Jethro needed to know everything. Every little detail that could lead him to Abby and to you, which is why he was so keen to question the young doctor.

But as soon as they reached the third floor, Gibbs' cell phone rang. Your name was on the display, and a brief glimmer of hope rose in him, but it was quickly and mercilessly destroyed by the caller.

"Gibbs," he answered briefly.

A short, mocking laugh followed. Then a male voice spoke: "Still haven't learned any manners, I hear. But okay, I can do that too. My name is Galileo, and yes, that's not my real name. I just have a quick message for you: Your little girlfriend is now in my care. She's a little bruised, but I'll nurse her back to health if she's nice to me."

"Don't you dare..." Gibbs yelled into the phone, but the kidnapper couldn't hear him anymore, as he had already hung up and turned off the device.

The sound of an engine could be heard in the background. That meant they were still on their way. Gibbs requested that the call be traced in the hope that the cell towers could be used to determine where the call came from.

But unfortunately, the location of the call couldn't be narrowed down any further than the harbor.

The poor technician had done his best, but he received the full wrath of the boss, who lost his temper and yelled at him: "Do you even know what you're doing? Are you even capable of doing your job or are you simply incompetent?!"

"Uhm..." The poor fellow shrank more and more under Gibbs's fury, who was capable of anything in this state.

"Boss...it's not his fault," Tony said gently, trying to calm him down.

None of his colleagues had ever seen Gibbs so emotional and lose his composure. But DiNozzo reached him, so Jethro let the poor man off the hook and went to get a coffee.

The coffee helped him think, but it also gave Gibbs a chance to regain control.

Tony watched him go and spoke quietly and thoughtfully to Palmer: "By kidnapping Y/N, the criminal signed his death warrant."

Jimmy looked at him, shocked, but after what he'd just observed, he agreed.

When Gibbs returned with a coffee mug, he'd gotten himself under control again, but his mood was terrible and his nerves were frayed.

But he had a few ideas. With a short "DiNozzo," he turned to him: "Get me the surveillance videos of the crossing."

"Yes, boss."

"Did anyone see anything?" Gibbs wanted to know.

"No, boss," came the prompt reply. "The pedestrians were distracted by an acrobat juggling at the crossing."

"I just thought of something and I'm sorry I didn't think of it before," Palmer said hesitantly.

Gibbs just looked at him sternly and waited for the medic to continue.

When he remained silent, the boss demanded: "What?"

"Oh, yeah, right. I heard a name. I heard the driver yelled at: "Step on it, Da Vinci!"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes in thoughtfully...another great explorer as a code name...that couldn't be a coincidence.

His gut feeling told him that the mastermind behind the whole thing was an admirer of these personalities, or at least of great explorers in world history.

02:40:07 pm

At the hideout:

Satisfied with their raid, Galileo and Da Vinci arrived at their hideout with their loot.

"Take her to Ms. Sciuto and tie and gag her if she wakes up," Galileo instructed his assistant. Da Vinci nodded, lifted you out of the van, and took you to the back room where Abby was sitting tied to a chair.

He had growing concerns about his boss's sanity and motives, but it was already too late to back out.

With a thoughtful sigh, he sat you on the chair next to Abby. He bound and gagged you and carefully tended to your head wound. This blow was way too much for him, and he hoped you'd only suffer a bump and a headache.

Abby was still too dazed to really notice anything, but she could vaguely see a figure sitting next to her. Who could that be?

...02:56:12 pm...5 hours until the explosion…

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

Here you will find the other chapters of this story.

Back to the overview of this story

Back to the main Masterlist

Back to the alternative Masterlist

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

Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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

[its-avalon-08]

charles leclerc x reader part4

themes

enemies to lovers redbull v/s ferrari female driver overprotective max and checo spice maybe??

Chapter 4: Drunken whispers and flashing lights

The desert night shimmered under the Yas Marina floodlights, a glittering oasis in the arid landscape. Abu Dhabi, the final act of the F1 drama, and Y/N and Charles were locked in a fierce tango for second place.

Their cars were two blurs of silver and red, dancing cheek-to-cheek on the razor's edge of the track. They carved identical lines, their engines in a guttural duet, refusing to yield an inch. The tension crackled through the air, thicker than the desert sand.

Then, in a heartbeat, the dance became a discordant crash. Charles, desperate for the podium, made a sudden lunge for the inside line. Y/N, caught off guard, spun out, her car pirouetting into the gravel trap like a wounded ballerina.

She nursed the damaged Red Bull back onto the track, the fire of humiliation burning in her eyes. The race, once neck-and-neck, became a one-woman show. Y/N unleashed a fury unseen before, tearing through the field like a vengeful storm. She carved through lap times, overtaking rivals with ruthless precision. By the time she crossed the finish line, Charles was a distant third, the sting of defeat etched on his face.

The after-party was a cacophony of champagne corks and forced smiles. Y/N, despite her podium finish, remained aloof, her eyes never landing on Charles. He, in turn, mirrored her coldness, his gaze perpetually averted. The tension between them was a storm cloud hanging over the celebration, casting a shadow on everyone's enjoyment.

Later, as the crowd thinned and the music morphed into a quiet hum, Y/N found herself stumbling down the hotel hallway, the champagne leaving a dull ache in her head. Charles, emerging from his own solitude, caught sight of her and felt a pang of guilt pierce his carefully constructed mask.

He reached out, but Y/N, before he could touch her, stumbled, her voice slurred with inebriation. "Why do you hate me so much, Leclerc?" she mumbled, her words thick with unshed tears. "What have u iever done to you? I just wanted to prove... prove that I deserve...my spot...here."

Charles froze. In that moment, the carefully constructed walls around his heart crumbled. He looked at Y/N, her vulnerable words hanging in the air, and he knew he had to confess.

"It's not hate, Y/N," he rasped, his voice choked with emotion. "It's...terror. You see, you remind me of someone...someone I..."

He stopped, the memory a raw wound in his soul. But he saw the flicker of understanding in Y/N's eyes, the shared pain of loss that transcended rivalry. He continued, his voice a low thrum.

"You remind me of what I could have lost...of what I almost did lose. And seeing you race, so fearless, so brilliant...it terrifies me. Because if anything happened to you...I wouldn't be able to live"

He couldn't finish the sentence. The thought was too unbearable. But Y/N, her eyes shimmering with tears, reached out and touched his cheek, a silent reassurance.

"Charlie, you don't like me but you're afraid to lose me" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I... spend too much time thinking about...."

Before she could finish, her head dipped forward, sleep claiming her. Charles caught her, holding her close, the weight of her vulnerability a burden he wouldn't shirk.

He looked down at her sleeping face, a silent promise forming on his lips. "Just rest, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of regret and newfound resolve. "Not like you'll remember this when you're sober."

But Charles knew, deep down, that this night, this unexpected vulnerability, would be a turning point. The game had changed, the rivalry transformed. And as he held Y/N close, beneath the glittering Dubai sky, he couldn't help but wonder if their next dance would be a tango of a different kind.

[saline-coelacanth]

I'm gonna try to articulate myself when it comes to explaining why I love Zeke so much because I just wanna scream about him but that's gonna take a long time. This post is probably gonna be pretty long. Also spoilers for Xenoblade 2. I'm gonna kinda explain this in a way that you can understand without knowing about the game, but there will probably still be some things I don't fully explain because doing so would take a lot of time.

Some of my favorite types of characters are the ones that are considered comic relief, but they still have more depth to them than that. They're written as actual characters instead of the one who needs to be funny all the time. And Zeke may just be the best version of that type of character I have ever seen.

When Zeke is first introduced in Chapter 3, he is not taken seriously, like at all. He shows up to fight the party and is completely baffled by the fact that the party does not know who he is. How have they never heard of the mighty Zeke von Genbu? The Bringer of Chaos! Mostly known as Zeke, and also addressed as the Zekenator! (Yes, he does call himself the Bringer of Chaos as well as the Zekenator, he is very silly)

So yeah, you fight this guy (as well as his blade/partner Pandoria, but she doesn't do much in this first encounter, in fact she doesn't even speak) and then after you beat him, he tries to show off with his super cool badass sick as fuck special move; Ultimate Lightning Fury Slash! Which by the way, did I mention he has a big ass lightning sword? Because he has a big ass lightning sword which is awesome, I love him.

But yeah, he uses his cool move, but instead of looking cool, he accidentally causes the cliff that he's currently standing on to collapse, making himself and Pandoria fall off the cliff screaming. The party then just moves on from this.

And yeah, that is the first impression you get of Zeke. He is introduced as this silly, sort of antagonistic guy who you shouldn't take too seriously. And the second time you encounter him goes about the same, except this time Pandoria actually speaks! And she just kinda sasses Zeke for the most part. (I love Pandoria so much btw, this post is mainly focused on Zeke but Pandoria is also great)

The other main difference is that Zeke does not cause a cliff to collapse underneath him this time! No, instead he uses the exact same move as last time, except this one causes a giant boulder to fall and start rolling towards him and Pandoria. They try to run, but end up just getting blasted away by the boulder Team Rocket style.

Also yeah, Zeke and Pandoria are SO Team Rocket coded. They even have a Meowth in the form of Turturs, their beloved mascot who is a tiny turtle. I didn't mention him before, but he is shown in the first encounter with Zeke.

So now we get to the third time you encounter Zeke, which you know, starts about the same with the party just kinda going "Not this guy again..." However, you also have a newer party member who wasn't with you the first two times, that being Morag. And Morag, she actually does recognize who Zeke is and decides to sit this fight out. So the rest of the party get ready for another simple fight against Zeke, only for Zeke to singlehandedly knock them all onto the ground in one speedy move, which leaves them all genuinely shocked at the power he has. Morag then reveals that yeah, Zeke actually is kind of a big deal. He's the most powerful driver from his kingdom, and ALSO the prince of that kingdom! Yeah, this goofy ass guy is royalty.

And yeah, you fight Zeke again. After defeating him, Zeke still kinda has the antagonistic persona up, asking to see the Aegis' true power, to which Rex says that that power is only used for bad guys. Zeke laughs it off, and from here he drops the act and starts acting genuinely friendly towards the party, although his personality remains the same. He is still a silly guy who is very much a show off.

Pandoria also explains to us that Zeke has TERRIBLE luck, which explains the whole falling off a cliff and getting chased by a boulder. Zeke tries to argue this, but then accidentally falls into the cloud sea below, basically proving Pandoria's point. She's also very nonchalant about Zeke falling. The rest of the party is concerned about him, she she's just like "Nah, he'll be fine."

Oh yeah, also forgot to mention that the whole reason for Zeke following the party was because he was sent to retrieve them by Praetor Amalthus. (He's an important character but I don't have time to get into everything with him) And now is the part of the story where the party actually goes to Indol to see Amalthus. This happens in chapter 5 and Zeke first appeared in chapter 3. So yeah, it took Zeke quite a while to actually get the job done.

There's a bit of story stuff that happens, and then Zeke officially joins the party! Which is also a great time to mention that from what my sister has told me, Zeke is the best party member of the game, and the only big downside to him is that he's a show off and his animations take a long time because of it. I love him so much.

Anyway, a bit more plot stuff happens, and we actually get to see Zeke being serious. Like, genuinely serious. No jokes, nothing like that, he is treated as an important character just like the rest of them, which as I've established, I LOVE when silly characters are able to be serious when the scene calls for it.

Not to get into a mini rant, but often it feels like comic relief characters are either still cracking jokes even when the situation is serious and joking would take away from it, or they are simply given nothing to do. The writers don't want them to interrupt the serious moment, so they just have them do nothing. And let me tell you, Zeke does not have either of those problems. He is silly when he needs to be and serious when he needs to be. Zeke is also one of, if not the most emotionally intelligent person in the party. He says a lot of deep stuff and has a really interesting view on the world and people as a whole. But I'm getting ahead of myself, let's get back to things.

So the first thing you do when Zeke joins the party is go to Temperantia and have a big boss fight there. But after that, we kinda get to dig into Zeke's backstory and plot more. We have to go to Tantal, which is the kingdom Zeke is from. We find out that Tantal is a strictly isolated society, which is basically the exact opposite of Zeke. Pandoria lets us know that Zeke was kicked out of his kingdom at the age of 15 because he kept leaving all the time, and he's been out on his own with Pandoria since then. (Zeke is 25 during the game for reference)

We also find out that the reason he was staying in Indol was because Amalthus found him on the brink of death and saved his life, so Zeke felt indebted to him for that. Yeah, this guy has had it a bit rough. And this isn't even getting into some of the side things that aren't part of the main story. One of the side things reveals that when he was younger, Zeke wanted to be a hero that could save everyone, but then was hit by reality and realized he can't actually save everyone. He saw a lot of the worst sides of humanity, but joining up with Rex sort of brought back his hope for humanity. AAAA HE'S SUCH A GREAT CHARACTER!!!!

Ok, getting back to more main plot stuff. When the party gets to Tantal, Zeke explains how he disagrees with the way his father handles things, pointing out how poor everyone is because the kingdom is too cold to properly grow food and crops, and since they stay isolated the only way to get stuff from other kingdoms/countries is illegally. The party then goes to give the king a message from Amalthus (I don't remember the specifics about it) And the king immediately rips it up and captures Pyra because he wants to destroy the Aegis before she can destroy the world. The rest of the party (minus Zeke and Pandoria) get locked up afterwards. Zeke if FUCKING PISSED over this, as well as being upset after learning the royal bloodline has been a lie this whole time, so he goes to break out his friends. They actually break out without his help, but you know, it's the thought that counts.

They go and they save Pyra, Zeke also goes a super cool move, jumping onto the giant cannon thing pointed at Pyra and stabbing it with his sword to try and stop it. That's another thing, Zeke is genuinely badass, and the game gives him plenty of time to be genuinely badass and cool. Again, Zeke is treated with respect and he's given time to be serious and cool, he's not silly and goofy ALL the time.

The stuff in Tantal is kinda where Zeke gets the most focus, although I still have a few moments afterwards I wanna talk about. So more plot stuff happens, Pyra ends up getting kidnapped by the bad guys so now the party has to go to this ancient tomb-like place called Spirit Crucible Elpys (I usually just refer to is as the Spirit Crucible). However as they go deeper into the Spirit Crucible, it's revealed that all the Blades in the party are having their energy drained, which is not good. Zeke orders Pandoria to stay behind because he wants her to be safe, but she adamantly argues that she goes wherever he goes, and after a bit of arguing, Pandoria sticks with the team despite the dangers.

Later on, Rex notices that Zeke seems to be getting tired as well, and Zeke reveals that he has part of Pandoria's core crystal in his chest. Mini explanation, a core crystal is basically a Blade's heart/energy source/life source type thing. Rex asks Zeke about it and Zeke brings up the story he mentioned before about how he almost died.

And we get a flashback, yay! I cried while watching this the first time, yay! But yeah, Zeke was dying and Pandoria was pleading with him to get up, not wanting him to die. Also another thing I should mention, but drivers and blades have a deep connection and when a driver dies, their blade returns to their core crystal and they lose all their memories. So one of the reasons Pandoria doesn't want Zeke to die is because she doesn't want to lose her memories of him.

So Zeke passes out, and Pandoria tries to carry him to safety, although she is very much struggling. Eventually, she can't go on and collapses onto the ground, which is when Amalthus finds the two. He saves the both of them by taking part of Pandoria's core crystal and putting it into Zeke's heart, keeping him alive and also making him what's known as a Blade Eater. And again, I don't have time to get into everything with Amalthus, but Amalthus is a terrible person who does a lot of horrible things, but saving Zeke and Pandoria is the one good thing that he did. But this post isn't about Amalthus, so let's get back to Zeke.

Zeke initially feels bad about the whole thing, blaming himself for Pandoria having to lose part of her core crystal, but Pandoria assures him that she's ok with it and that she's glad part of her is keeping him alive. (These two are so cute I could also scream about them all day)

And yeah, the reveal that Zeke is a Blade Eater explains A LOT. It explains how he's able to survive falling off of cliffs, because blades have strong regeneration abilities. It explains why he can move so quickly and why he's such a powerful driver, because he's basically part blade. It just adds so much to his character and I love it!

One last thing I wanna mention real quick, just because it is one of my favorite lines from Zeke. It's in another flashback, this time from when Zeke was in Indol, having a conversation with Amalthus. Amalthus asks Zeke if he's ever had to kill a person before, and Zeke says that no. he hasn't, because he's never seen the need to. And to get into the actual quote that I love:

"Why does anyone kill others? Because they're in your way, or because you can't bear the sight of 'em. You kill because you're weak. But I'm not weak. So I don't need to kill anyone. And I don't mean physically, yeah? I mean in here." *Zeke points to his heart*

Just FGHJKGHJ Zeke is such an amazing character. The entire time I was playing the game, I kept thinking "Surely this is as good as he gets" and then he just KEPT GETTING BETTER! Zeke makes me go insane by how much I love him AGH!

But yeah, sorry this post was so long, I just had to go in depth with talking about his character. I mean, I don't expect too many people to read this entire thing which is fine, I just wanted to get these thoughts out here as they're been sitting in my brain for so long.

TLDR: Zeke is an amazing character who perfectly balances being a silly guy and a genuine character with depth to him, and he's probably the best version of that type of balanced character I've personally seen

[levanswrites]

Apartment #3 - Chapter 5

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

taglist: @tsofo26 @yvonneeeee @cass0419 @nekoannie-chan @felicitylemon @nada3000 @rorilisa @observantplum-blog @strepsils123

Three days after the soup incident, the dreaded red-white-and-blue elephant in the room is finally acknowledged.

And it all starts with a UPS delivery man.

She’d just finished putting her plates away when she hears faint knocking on her door. She steps out into the hallway, giving the UPS driver a polite smile before signing off on her package—an amazon order with a few small trinkets to spruce up her new apartment. She’s just about to head back inside when the courier stops her, pointing back at Steve’s door. 

“Hey, do you know if a…” He frowns, squinting down at the label on his box.

“…Steve Rogers lives here? Apartment 4?”

“Oh, yeah, jus—“

“—wait, hold on.” 

The driver whips around to stare at her neighbor’s door, eyes doubled in size.

“That’s not like… the Steve Rogers, is it? Like, like Captain America, Steve Rogers?”

Shit.

Quick! 

“N-no, it’s someone with the same name. This guy’s like… super old. Kinda heavy set?” 

Just for good measure, she gestures loudly around her lower stomach, trying not to facepalm herself as a look of disappointment washes over the driver’s face.

“Oh. Right.” He sighs, stepping back as he sets the package down with a ‘thump’ in front of apartment #4. 

“…well, could ya let him know I left his package here?”

“Sure.”

As soon as the UPS driver is out of ear shot, his feet trudging down the stairs at the end of the hall, she lets out a quiet sigh of relief. 

As endearing as it was that Steve used his real name for deliveries (as if Steve Rogers wasn’t a household name at this point), she’s knows it’s a risky move. The exact kind of thing Fury wanted her to keep an eye on.

She stands there in her doorway, wondering whether details like these were worthy enough of alerting her boss. They'd only prove him right, after all, that Steve should have moved into the Compound.

Just then, a quiet voice from down the hall interrupts her thoughts:

"Heavy set, huh?”

And she’s not sure how Steve managed to go unrecognized by the delivery guy on his way up, even with the baseball cap and dark aviators he’s got on.

She lets out a quiet laugh, embarrassment tinting her cheeks pink.

“So you heard that.”  

He slides the glasses off his face as he approaches her, slowing down once he’s a few feet away. 

He stops, letting out a quiet sigh before pursing his lips. He’s still smiling, but the lines around his lips have grown tighter.

“Thank you, for…” He diverts his gaze, glancing up at the ceiling to find the right word before he huffs out a laugh in defeat. “….that.”

“Sure.” She nods, bouncing on her heels, suddenly feeling a gust of awkwardness roll in between them. 

The massive elephant in the room, a fact that had somehow remained unspoken until this moment. 

“So…” Steve starts, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“So.” Her gaze flits across the tense outlines of his shoulders, the nervous light in his eyes.

Was Steve really this worried about her finding out?

“Did you…?”

He trails off, and from the way his eyes are desperately shifting across her features, she can tell he’s trying to get a read on her too. 

She nods, deciding she’d spare Steve the burden of having to spell out the obvious. 

“…I-I had a hunch, yeah. You’re Captain America, right?”

The name Steve Rogers was by no means a secret alias for Captain America—a Smithsonian exhibit dedicated to his life story obliterated any chances of that. But still, she doesn’t ever recall Steve telling her his last name, and she’s not sure if this discovery is all that welcome for him.

“Yeah.”

He nods, eyes fluttering down, though it isn’t clear whether its embarrassment or guilt that seems to weigh down his shoulders. Sucking in a breath, he steps forward,   hands raised in front of him in a cautious apology.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep that from you—”

She frowns, shaking her head,  ”—no, it’s okay, Steve. You didn’t owe me that information.”

She’s got enough guilt on her mind as it is, she didn’t want him feeling that way too.

Her words seem to put him at ease, and a few quiet moments pass by before his eyes light up with renewed interest. 

“How… how’re you feeling?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah much better.”

She breathes out, grateful for the shift in tone. 

“…and thank you, for the soup! I’ll get your thermos back by tomorrow.”

“Ah, take your time, no rush. Just glad you liked it.”

“Yeah, it was… amazing. Did you make it?”

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he nods. 

She crinkles her nose, smiling incredulously. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you could cook. Impressive, neighbor.”

There it was again, that nickname. Rolls of her tongue as easily as all the lies she’s been telling.

“Thanks, my uh.. “ He takes a small pause, gaze faltering in hesitation. 

“…my ma would be happy to hear that. It was her recipe.”

She pauses at those words, a quiet breath escaping her lips. Warmth spreads deep in her chest, blooming all the way down to her stomach —homemade soup for a neighbor he barely knew, and his late mother’s recipe, at that.

“T-that’s…” She hesitates, finding it difficult to formulate the right response. She manages to settle on a quiet “thank you, Steve,” wondering if he knows just how much she had left unsaid. 

Exactly four days later, the burner phone lights up with Fury’s code name. 

She doesn’t mention the UPS driver. 

[fluffydemonshark]

Percy got Lost pt 7

12-year-old Percy Jackson tries to leave Camp Half-blood before Mr. D decides whether or not to kill him. Only Percy gets so lost he ends up in a completely different universe where a man in green finds him.

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

[previous] [next]

Qingqiu gripped his blade tightly, preparing to strike as the voice of the first demon who Percy had called ‘Mrs Dodds’ rang out, “I need to use the restroom.” The other two chorused a similar need and the three started to move towards them. A fight on the bus would put innocent people at risk, not to mention Qingqiu wouldn’t have the space necessary to properly wield Xiu Ya, limiting him greatly. “I’ve got it. Percy, take my hat.” Qingqiu had to suppress the urge to turn to her as she passed her hat over to Percy. Percy had been just as confused as Qingqiu as he asked a quick, “what?”. Annabeth pressed the hat into Percy’s hand as she quickly explained, “It was a gift from my mother and will turn you invisible. You’re the only one they want. So, once you’re invisible you’ll need to move up the aisle, let them pass you. Then maybe you can get to the front and get away.” Percy grimaced as he said, “But you guys-” Annabeth didn’t let him finish off the thought, “There’s an outside chance that they might not notice us, you’re one of the big three. Your smell might be overpowering,”. As logical as the plan was, it was an uncertain one. But as the demons moved closer it seemed like the only one. “I can’t just leave you.” Grover snapped his head over to Percy, “Don’t worry about us, go!”.

Percy quickly put on the hat and vanished, not even a qi signature remaining. Though the women stalled about 10 rows in front of the three, Qingqiu could only guess that Percy had planted himself there, they continued moving back. They eventually blocked them in, transforming to show shriveled leathery hags with bat wings and demonic claws. What was once handbags now revealed to be fiery whips. The first one leaned forward, her gnarled jaws only inches from Annabeth’s face as she hissed, “Where is it? Where?” The women seemed to be ignoring Qingqiu entirely, having assumed he was a mortal. Using this as an opening, Qingqiu stabbed the one he assumed to be the leader. The civilians screaming and cowering in their seats as the other two launched into action, Annabeth brandishing a bronze knife and Grover having grabbed a tin cylinder from the snack bag. 

The bus then took a sudden turn, Percy having grabbed the wheel while the bus driver was distracted. Everyone was thrown to the right as the bus collided with the side of the tunnel, sparks serving as their main light source. Smaller buses cleared the way as the bus skidded out of the tunnel. The vehicle continued barreling down the roads, only the bus driver seemed to have gained back some control as they moved into a more rural area and towards a river. Before anyone could recover the bus suddenly came to a harsh stop, threatening to flip over in the process as the iron carriage wailed and the doors flew open. The civilians all stampede out leaving only Qingqiu, the demigods, Grover, and the demons.

Qingqiu refused to let them regain their ground however, quickly moving forward and cutting down the first demon. However, instead of leaving the usual corpse the demon burst into golden powder. The second demon gave out a deafening screech before lashing out with her fiery whip. In one fluid motion, Qingqiu blocked the attack with Xiu Ya letting the whip wrap around it before yanking it forward. Not wanting to get cut down like her sister, the demon quickly released the whip causing it to get thrown at the feet of Grover. Grover then threw a well-aimed tin cylinder, clocking the demon in the side of the head and getting her attention. The first demon then got up and moved to attack Qingqiu from behind only for Percy to reveal himself, “Hey!”. The furies both turned to him, barring their yellowed teeth as they gave him their full attention. Qingqiu would have scolded the boy for not taking the chance to run; only the first demon slammed him into the side of the bus. 

She slowly stalked towards Percy as her sister jumped on the seats, crawling like a lizard. Annabeth moved forward, dagger in hand as she looked for an opening, as Grover helped Qingqiu get back to his feet. “Perceus Jackson,” the first demon hissed in a thick accent Qingqiu didn’t recognize, “You have offended the gods. You shall die,”. Percy pulled the horn from his bag, the blood of the skinner demon still clinging to it as he said, “I liked you better as a math teacher,”. Mrs Dodds launched forward, giving Annabeth an opening to stab her in the back as Qingqiu caught the second one by the wings and decapitated her. Mrs Dodds slapped Annabeth away, sending her back into Grover, before chasing Percy off the bus. 

Qingqiu picked up Annabeth and Grover before mounting Xiu Ya, flying after the demon. As they closed in they could hear the demon yell, “Hades will have your soul!” In response, Percy slightly turned back and yelled, “Braccas meas vescimini!” What that meant, Qingqiu had no idea. But by the way the demon was practically frothing at the mouth, it wasn't anything good. It was then lightning suddenly struck the bus behind them, the sound echoing in Qingqiu’s ears. Not wanting to be struck next, Qingqiu quickly landed. Dropping Annabeth and Grover before continuing the chase. Sending the sword forward and through the head of Mrs Dodds. 

With the situation finally under their control again they took a moment to breathe. Grover collapsed, sweat pouring down his face as he shivered and brayed, “Three Kindly Ones, all three at once.” Annabeth grabbed Grover, pulling him back up as she said, “Come on! The further away we get, the better.” Percy wiped his own brow as he grimly said, “All our money was back there. Our food and clothes. Everything.” Annabeth turned to him, pointing at the bag that Percy hadn’t taken off at all during the trip, “Not everything. Besides if you hadn’t decided to jump into the fight-”. Percy snapped his head up, cutting Annabeth off, “What did you want me to do? Let you get killed?” Annabeth practically snarled as she said, “You didn’t need to protect us, Percy. We would have been fine.” Grover then piped in with a quiet, “Sliced like sandwich bread, but fine.” Annabeth snapped her head towards Grover, “Shut up, goat boy.”

“That’s enough, what’s done is done.” Qingqiu stepped in, having heard enough of their pointless fight. “First things first we need to find shelter and check our resources.” As he said that the clouds above them grumbled, the rain pouring down and making their clothes heavy. The sooner they found that shelter the better.

[starkraivennemad]

Sins of the Fathers - Chapter 1

My Logic Has Drowned In A Sea Of Emotions

Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch.

His driver, Warren, said nothing as he rapidly opened and closed the car doors.

Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch.

Christianson said nothing to him at the carpark entrance as he rode the lift to the lobby.

Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch.

I’ll fucking kill him!

Jim stalked through the lobby of his building, taking a perverse pleasure in those who cowered in the blast radius of his fury.

Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch.

I’ll fucking knife him! Then I’ll fucking kill him!

Panigua, on duty with Jessop at the front door, jumped to his feet at the sight of him as the lift opened to his suite of offices. O’Brien in the lobby had called up and warned them something wicked this way comes. Jessop pocketed his mobile and all but dived out of the way as he opened the doors to let him pass.

Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch.

I’ll fucking knife him! Then I’ll fucking skinnnnnn him! Then I’ll fucking kill him!

Dunbar and Flaherty merely nodded and gave him plenty of space when he wordlessly stomped past them.

At no point did it occur to him that the blade he unthinkingly flipped and caught had been in continuous motion since he walked out of that room, which could have been the reason why. 

In the privacy of his bedroom, he saw himself in the full-length mirror, where the shock of it brought him into the present, and he finally missed a catch.

“Fuck!” he looked at the cut on his finger as it quickly welled and dropped.

Because he was in front of the mirror, he saw the crimson spot that fell next to another dried spot. 

His spot. His wet spot.

Jim blacked out in the spiral of emotions from past and present overtook him.

NO! I am not that person! I am not used! I am not a nothing! I am not a whore! NO! 

Still hyperventilating, Jim walked back into his bedroom from the shower and saw the tattered remains of his clothes. Only his shoes, accessories, and wallet, thrown about the room as he undressed, remained intact. He put away what was needed and then kicked the remains into a pile. The various nicks from where he had literally cut the clothes from his body stung, and the scratches where he clawed at his body to remove all traces of his scent stung more. 

----------   

Nearly two hours later, a naked, bleeding, limping, cum-stained Dunbar was being assisted out of the room with help from Jessop. 

It was not Dunbar’s first time being bent over and used thusly by Jim. 

It was not the first time the barrel-chested beta had begun to remove his clothes and was already half-stripped in anticipation when Jim opened his bedroom door and yelled for him. 

Nor was it the first time he needed assistance leaving the bedroom.

It was the first time that the only semen on Dunbar’s body was his own. 

Why the hell am I so fucking hot?!  

It had been well over a decade since Jim felt so out of sorts. The frustration of still feeling unsatisfied took up prominent thought in his mind as he palmed himself in his need. He felt like he was almost in heat but dismissed the idea, knowing his personalized suppressants were the best on the market. His heats were usually mild with them. Most have no clue when he’s on other than his being testier than usual. Still, now and then, he is hit with an itch that must be scratched, and he knows now that a beta, even a hardy one like Dunbar, was not the scratch post he needed.

Jim was weighing his options when his outer office door opened. 

“Hey, boss. Flaherty said I was to come straight in. I’ve got that report on Belarus you wanted and…”

Jim sauntered to the doorway that separated his office from his onsite private suite, saw who entered and stepped into the office himself….

The tall, rugged, ginger-haired man stopped dead at the sight of Jim Moriarty wearing pants and naught else. His nostrils flared, and he slowly placed the papers in his hands on the table by the door. “Sir…?”

Jim Moriarty looked into the bright blue eyes that stared warily but hungrily into his.

Aah, Sebastian Moran, the perrrrfect scratch post.

Jim crooked a finger in a clear ‘ come here now’ order,  “Hello Alpha …”

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