#or where they’re both shitty people and they fit like a glove | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justagirlsearchingforamuse · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, I see that you are taking NSFW requests. Would I be able to request a Johnny/fem!V size kink smut? (i.e. V suddenly realizes that Johnny was *not* exaggerating about his 'impressive cock.' :p )

Sorry that I took so damn long to answer but here is your request, I hope you enjoy it and yeah you guys can send in asks, I just take a while sometimes or have to have the inspiration to do some of your asks so ask away!

"Are you picky or just broke? Fucking pick a joytoy V, it's annoying as fuck watching you get all jittery and nervous about a fucking joytoy of all things." Johnny moaned, letting his head repeatedly hit against the dark red brick wall, pure black glasses resting upon his nose and a sour expression that never failed to somewhat put V in a shitty mood. "Just don't want the night to be shittier than ever or just plain boring but even then don't wanna be fucking crazy with whips and shit. So yeah I'm picky." V responds, shoving her hands into her pockets as her feet move forwards, the heavy smell of musk, greasy food, and motor oil the familiar and disgusting smell that could only roam in Night City. V's lustful desires had of course gotten the best of her and here she was lurking on Jig-Jig street, bright contrasting lights, the smell of cheap latex, and the odor of sex just lingers at the end of every scent. Fake smiles. Fake happiness. And fake desire. But a true and even more real need for money. That was Jig-Jig street described for V in one sentence, licking her lips her eyes move to see joytoy of all sorts on the street, all eyeing her and grinning. "Too fucking picky ... you either want vanilla sex or you want kinky ass sex, can't have both V. Not like you'll find someone able to leave you sore in the mornin' ... wake up thinkin' of nothing but him and his cock. Hm ..." Johnny groans, his voice rumbling deeply at the end as V can feel his gaze upon her and the implications that she thought he was making, ugh. "I know you're not talking about yourself ... from what I saw that was some piss poor sex you gave Alt, no wonder she was pissed as all hell, Johnny." V teases, smirking devilishly at Johnny, his grin had disappeared into a bitter expression that almost matched her at the beginning of the night. "My partners aren't ex-cops and corpo-cunts, besides none of your partners will ever compare to me or mine, hell out of all of your partners I know I have the biggest cock out of all em'." Johnny chuckled, his laugh comes out confident and prideful, V lets a scoff part her lips and she crosses her arms and it's like her body does a full eye-roll at his words. "Oh yeah, the impressive cock that takes up so little space in those stupid leather pants of yours." V chuckles, grinning from ear to ear as she watches his grin fade away and almost like his ego was beginning to shatter. "Then why the fuck you staring at my dick so much, V? Perverted much or just horny for me?" Johnny questions, crossing his arms and glitching right beside her with a devilish smirk that she wanted to wipe off his lips, the asshole actually made her question if he had this "impressive cock". "Just simply curious if you're full of shit or if you're not lying to me," V responds, a hum at the end of her words as her eyes turn to him and she stops herself at the side of an empty closed store near an alleyway.

"Did you not see enough of my memories to know or do I have to prove you wrong, darlin' ...?" Johnny chuckles, his words are smooth and sound like a purr to V's ears as he leans right beside her, a heavy and wide grin on his lips as his glasses remain sitting on the bridge of his nose. " ... I'll do it myself ... know that you think of me more than you should, darlin' ..." V purrs and when she says his affectionate nickname she forces her voice to become deeper and winks at him with a smirk curled up onto her lips, Johnny chuckles, running the tip of his tongue around the ring of his lips. "Then why don't you do something about it, merc ...? Impress me ... show me what you feel for me, darlin' ... " Johnny purrs, his eyes burning into her own as he turns to meet her eyes, he can see the slight blush that clouds V's cheeks as she crosses her arms before standing up straight as Johnny glitches out of her view. V's eyes meet a nearby club with many people dancing, drinking, and just enjoying themselves but what V really wanted to do was get on that dance floor, wanted to give him a show. The club is decently sized, it's cozy and full of warm colors such as reds, blacks, and oranges and the overall vibe just felt warm and sensual. V grins to herself, making her way into the club as she pushes through the amount of the people drinking, making out, and getting high out of their minds. She manages to finally make it onto the dance floor and waits for a good song to blast throughout the club in which V proceeds to smirk to herself, hoping and praying that Johnny was watching her because she was gonna put on a show for him. Johnny glitches into the world and is found leaning against one of the crowed walls with arms crossed but his eyes remained glued to the sight of V, to the filthily sensual show V was putting on for him. His eyes explored her figure, where her hands moved all over her body, and not to mention she was wearing a short red silk dress that fit her like a glove, her legs were just amazing and the urge to have his head in between her thighs came almost immediately. He felt his mouth salivate and his breath stopped right in his throat, hazel brown eyes remained locked onto her and the way she swayed her hips to the music. How a warm smile remained on her warm and luscious looking lips, the way her hands explored her figure, her hands move up to her breasts as she feels and clutches at the silk that covered her body. Oh, fuck ...

Spinning her heels, she begins to sway and grind her hips in a slow motion and her hands go back to exploring her figure, her hands run up to her neck as she can imagine the metal arm against her throat, she can imagine his metal fingers against her lips. "Hot damn ... I didn't know that my sweet little merc could be a little succubus ..." Johnny purrs, a chuckle rumbles at the end of his sentence as a devilish grin curls onto his lips and he takes his glasses off, V could feel his lustful gaze upon her body. V can feel his eyes on her body and V can already feel pride bubbling up in their body, even going as far as to raise her silk dress showing more of her smooth thighs before her eyes fluttered closed. V let the music take control of her body, swaying her hips to the music and she let the beat inspire her body to move to its beat, she can feel the eyes of other men on her, ugh she groans in her mind. All V wanted was his eyes on her, other men usually just see her as another fleshlight, as something to use for their own ecstasy. Johnny knew how to share it with the women he was interested in, sex with him was always something between equals no matter who you were, that's what he saw sex as. Something to enjoy, to relish in. It's not long before V can feel a pair of familiar hands resting upon her hips, his fingers are there yet they're not almost like the feeling of cool air against your skin. The aroma and the strong scent of nicotine wafted around the air, liquor clung heavily to his form, his lips bury themselves against the skin of V's neck, he inhales in her warm, human scent. She smelt sweet enough not to cloud his senses with whatever scent clung to her smooth skin, grinning warmly into her skin he lets his hands move up to her waist as he leads her body to his waist, to his hips. "A- ..." V nearly yelps, eyes slightly jump at the surreal sensation of his hips pressed against hers, she can feel his arousal pressing against her behind. "Slowly. ... Take your time, V. Hmm ... you feel that? Don't lie." Johnny purrs right in her ear, she can feel his heavy breaths against her cool skin, licking her lips a familiar warmth plagues the pit of her stomach, and butterflies crowd her stomach with hormones and sweetness.

"I can ... woah ... that's all you? Shit ..." V gasps in a short breath but bites her tongue before those stupid words can fall from her quick tongue, she can feel him all against her body, he's thick and lengthy. She can imagine he's nearly bursting in those leather pants of his, she finds herself imagining the mere sight of him in front of her, throbbing, eager, and selfishly hers. She's never been one to be selfish over someone but she'll be damned if she doesn't allow herself to indulge herself in him, indulge herself in whatever comes next for them. She grinds her hips against his, slowly swaying them against his eager hips that follow the movements of her own, both of them are eager to see where this goes. Both of them are eager to see each other's bodies, to admire their bodies, and to indulge in physical ecstasy. "Teasing me, are you ...? Come on, V ... be selfish and be greedy. Let's be greedy and selfish for one pitiful night, V. I know you want to." Johnny purrs, rugged slurred words entice her and her greedy need for him inside of her, her greedy need to have him and him alone. Turning around and snapping her gaze onto him, her eyes are hazed with lust and greed and become dark with need, her cheeks are flushed and she's moving her arms around his waist, she needs him. He needs her. She finds herself leaning swiftly into his lips, devouring and indulging in her need for him as her entire body is on overdrive, her entire body is bursting with adrenaline and it's getting hard to control it. Groaning into her lips, the warm feeling of her lips against his is a sensation he's missed, a sensation he's craved for a long time. His hand slips behind her neck as she devours his lips, her tongue parts his lips and they dance together sloppily and erratically. Moaning against his lips, V's hand rests and lingers against his bearded cheeks as they indulge in the ecstasy of the human body. Moments later, V pulls away with brightly flushed cheeks and slow yet heavy breaths leaving her heavy lungs. Everything is pulsating in her body with need, her heart, she hates how he can turn her into a puddle of mush with his words, with such ease. And he knew it too. "Ain't gonna make it home. The bathroom is the best place right now, V ... not the best or ideal ... but I'm gonna take real good care of you. Just watch." Johnny purrs, a devilish smirk resting upon his lips and a hand resting upon his hip before he glitches out of your view with a short chuckle leaving his lips. V's teeth grind against her bottom lip as she acknowledges how soaked her panties are, how he's made her feel and it's so humiliating but so embarrassingly arousing. V rubs her lips and quickly makes her way to the nearby bathroom across the club, she licks her lips and shuts the door behind her. The bathroom is fine for a public one but still has your fair share of beer bottles, bright blinding lights, and drunk passed out people in one of the stalls. "The stall ... not willing to it in front of some drunk girl," Johnny states in V's head and teleports into the slightly ajar stall, a smirk waltzing at his lips and wide legs with a heavy bulge in between his thighs, she could clearly the outline of it.

"Perv ... not that I don't mind you staring though ... just wanna hear you admit that you were wrong about my cock, V. Or are you still too stubborn to admit that ...?" Johnny taunts her, his words smooth with an edge that clings off every one of his words, he was such an ass but there was that part of her that valued that about him. "Keep the snark to a minimum or I swear to god Johnny-" V goes on, crossing her arms before Johnny chuckles and breaks her line of words. "Or what ...? Come on, darlin' ... come see my impressive cock. Admire it." Johnny purrs, words slurred and husky yet so ... commanding as he sits there, eager for her to give him some affection, and in return, he'd prove her wrong. V lets a heavy breath leave her parted lips before she enters the somewhat crowded stall with Johnny, she licks her lips before engaging in another heated kiss with the construct. "Mmh ..." Johnny groans, relishing in the sensations of her lips against his, he rests his metal hand upon her chin and he stares up at her, devilish dark eyes eager and prideful like always. "Don't you wanna see it?" Johnny purrs, hinting that she could always refuse if things were getting weird but V wanted him and he wanted her, it's very simple and yet so complicated. "I do." V strongly states before positioning herself on her knees, her mouth salivating at the mere thought of him in her mouth, she begins to undo his belt and she swiftly unzips his pants and her eyes slightly widen. Woah. Goddamn. He goes commando of course but it's there. It's pale with a flushed rosy head, veins all pumping through his lengthy leaking cock eager for any kind of warmth, he's grinning devilishly as he watches her expression of shock and slight amazement. Licking her lips once more, she wraps her entire hand around his cock, her hands look so small compared to his thick meaty cock and she moves her hand up and down and is still in amazement at how he hid it. She strokes his thick leaking cock, her eyes remain fixated on the mere sight of his cock that she can barely wrap her fingers around. His heavy lashes flutter close as he can feel sparks flood through him, he can feel her hand travel from the base of his cock down to his untamed bush of black curly hair. A short hum exited his throat as V continues to stroke his thick and lengthy cock, she continues to do so for a few moments before running her to along the sides. A shiver travels up his spine and the mere sensation of her warm moist tongue gently pressed against the sides of his throbbing cock, her curled thick eyelashes rested upon her eyelids, he watches as they flutter with the movements of her eyes. V's eyes remain fixated on the sight before her, she slowly runs her tongue along the sides before her eyes drift upwards to meet his, her eyes are gazing into his, the pure lust that clouds them is just plain arousing and tantalizing. "Fuck ...~" Johnny gasps, the heavenly curse falling from his sinful lips as he can feel V's lips wrapped around the head of his throbbing erect cock. Oh, Christ ...

"Hah ... V ... that's it ... oh, fuck just ..." Johnny groans, a short series of deep groans rumble from his throat at the warmth that consumes him, the warmth that sparks ecstasy that shoots through him like fireworks. V can feel Johnny's hands entangle themselves in her hair, running his thick ringed fingers through her locks of hair as she continues to softly suck on the throbbing flesh in between her lips. Earning groans and grunts of approval that only encouraged her to make him fucking moan her name, moaning she wraps her hand around his length, stroking and massaging the area. "Fuck ..." Johnny curses in a shallow breath, jolts and nerves of pure ecstasy course through him, it's been so fucking long since he's had someone, it's been so long since he's had the affection of anyone. He's a bastard. Selfish one at that. He's greedy and drunk off the touches V gives him, the mere sensation of her warm moist lips wrapped around him, the familiar sight of lust-filled eyes, eyes that darkened with an urge. Clutching at her locks for a few moments, his hands move down to her face, wrapping and placing themselves on her warm cheeks, caressing and gently stroking at her skin. "Take more of it. Take it all." Johnny growls in a ragged breath, greedy for more, and V is willing to indulge in his urges if he returns the favor. "Mmh ... patience, Johnny-boy ..." V purrs, his cock out of her lips before she wraps her lips back around the head of his cock before lowering her mouth even lower on his already generously sized cock. She can fill his cock, fill her throat almost entirely but she devotes herself to making him release so she does so, slowly bobbing her head up and down as she can feel tears swell in her eyes. Gripping his thighs firmly, she firmly shuts her eyes before firmly sucking on the throbbing pulsating flesh penetrating her mouth the reactions from Johnny are worth it though. The way his expression twists in pleasure, how he gnaws at his lips at the ecstasy that overwhelms him almost entirely and leaves him vulnerable to V, the way he runs his fingers through his hair before planting his fists in her hair. He's now clutching firmly at her hair, a smirk plastered on his lips as heavy breaths leave his lips along with ragged moans that fell uncontrollably from his lips. "Oh, shit ... hah ... oh, christ ..."

Suddenly he pushes her head off of his cock, pulling her swiftly into a heated kiss for a few moments, sharing a few moments of bliss before he's pulling away from her lips, eyes unable to look anywhere but her wondrous eyes. "On top, V." Johnny says, ushering her to his lap and V listens straddling his lap with her hands resting upon his shoulders and his hands slither their way down to her hips. It's not even a minute before you can feel his thick calloused fingers caress and circle around her throbbing clit, his fingers caress the sensitive nerve earning a whimper from her. He's talented with his fingers alright, he knows how to move his fingers around her clit, rubbing his fingers in continuous circles had her shuddering on his lap, gnawing at her lips, and falling prey to the heavenly sensations that shot through her. "Ugh, Johnny ..." V shudders, she can feel him bury his face into her neck, peppering multiple kisses all over her skin and it's not a minute before he sinks his fingers into her sopping, soaking heat. Moving his fingers lightly in and out of her, he's trying to prepare her for what's to come, she can feel his fingers glide without ease in and out of her before he curls his fingers into her sweet spot. "That's it ...! Hah ... fuck, oh fuck ..." V repeatedly curses, ragged breaths soon falling from lips she grinds her hips against his fingers, aching and racing to finish. "Patience, princess," Johnny mumbles into her skin before sucking firmly on her neck, leaving V breathless and gasping as she clutches firmly onto Johnny her thighs tremble and everything is throbbing with a need. "Hypocrite ... just ... mmh ... keep going." V pants, her words are slurred and she's nearly humping Johnny's hand as his fingers move almost perfectly in her, gliding at the perfect pace and he's hitting her sweet spot just right. Why hadn't she fucked him earlier? Ugh. "Fuck ...!", his fingers repeatedly hit and curl against her sweet spot, his fingers are now sliding swiftly into her and without much care. Her body is shuddering in bliss, her thighs tremble against him, her heart's pounding like a drum in her chest, and everything at this moment is perfect for her. "Really thought I was gonna let you cum, princess?" Johnny teases, his fingers slip out of her as he turns his attention towards her and a devilish grin rests upon his lips before his fingers enter his lips and he licks her juices clean off his fingers. "Wanted to keep you ... pleased enough to wait for the real fuckin' show ... to show you what it's all about fucking Johnny Silverhand." Johnny grins devilishly, firmly smacking V's ass earning a yelp from her before he's ripping V's panties off of her body, greedy to feel her on top of his cock, eager to feel that warmth you can't get anywhere but from a human. He missed being ... alive. Being human.

"Could've said that first asshole ..." V pouts, her eyes roll away from his as she wraps her arms around his neck, she can feel him rub himself in between her soaked slit, sucking in a breath he pushes V's hips down onto his large throbbing cock. "Oh, fuck ..." The words fall from your lips sinfully well, fullness and almost a complete sensation washes over her, her cheeks are flushed and almost as warm as the sun. She's so lovely. Johnny thinks to himself, his hands caress her waist and his dark brown eyes fixate on hers, and a weight is lifted off of V's shoulders. Peace. She inhales, taking in a breath before she begins to grind and roll her hips back and forth against his lap, heaviness fills her lungs as a whine slowly rolls off her tongue. Groaning, he rests his cool silver hand against her cheek, cupping and shaping his hand to outline her jaw before his fingers gently caress her flushed warm cheeks, her eyes flutter close as she bites her tongue. "Fuck ... you're .... so fucking ... big." V whines, sucking in a breath as he stretches her warm silky walls and fills all the space inside of her to the point she feels more than full, but the way another whine slips from her lips tells him she's enjoying it. "Told you so ... didn't I, doll?" Johnny huffs, a chuckle coughing out at the end of his words before he wraps his fingers around her throat earning a gasp from the woman above him, her eyes widen for a moment before she wraps her hands around his arm. "Don't make love to me. .... I'm begging you to fuck me." V grins devilishly at the man underneath her, she begins to move her hips up and down, taking in all of him inside of her with ease and bliss boiling up inside of her. His hand slips away from her throat for a moment before he decides "fuck it" and wraps his hand around her throat once more, lightly squeezing against her throat, a gasp falls from her lips once more before his name falls from her lips. "Johnny ..." It sounds so sinful, so sweet, so arousing, the way she says his name, his body perks up at the sound and it's not long before he's chuckling devilishly and gazing intensely into her eyes. The pure lust, the bliss, everything that he was feeling she could see clouded in his dark brown eyes, the way he gazed into her eyes set her body ablaze with bliss. Fuck it, she wastes no time in slamming her hips down onto his lap, his throbbing cock curls into her sweet spot, repeatedly hitting it and sending waves of bliss shooting and bursting through her. Groaning at the ecstasy that pulsates and throbs through him, he pulls her in by the throat and firmly entangles her into a sloppy kiss that has saliva on the sides of V's mouth. "Johnny ..." V moans once more, slamming and throwing her hips down onto his throbbing cock, she's so full and his cock is all that taints her mind. "Hah ..." Heavy breaths and low murmurs of his name are the only things that roll off her tongue, his hand trails down from her neck to her breasts that move along with the motions of her body. He squeezes her breast and can see the way she shys away from him, turning her head away from his gaze as she continues to ride him, chasing and aching for sweet release. It's not far ...

"Goddamn V ..." Johnny growls, biting at his tongue as burning bliss boils up into him, it's bubbling and boiling inside of him, it's hot, passionate, and fucking intense. Grabbing at V's hair, he yanks her in his direction, almost demanding she keeps eye contact with him, moans of ecstasy fall from her parted lips as her lips rush at his, groaning and moaning against his lips she is in pure heaven. Only pulling away when she can feel him thrust his hips upwards into her, bliss and ecstasy become one and it leaves V nearly screaming his name at the top of lungs. The sensations that move and course through her being are hot, intense, and everything in between, her insides are hot, warm, and mushy. He's all that is on her mind, his bliss, her bliss, it's all she can fucking think about and she doesn't care how fucking insane she may seem. "Johnny ...! Oh!" V gasps breathlessly, clinging to him and wrapping her arms around him, he's moving ruthlessly in and out of her, repeatedly hitting her sweet spot that sends her nerves into a blissful frenzy that leaves her aching for more and more. She's getting wetter and hotter with each moment of ecstasy, her hips continue to slam onto his lap with the sounds of her body slamming onto his echoing through the stall. "Gonna ... gonna fucking ... cum soon! Oh, shit ...!" She whines, moan after moan leaves her red and almost swollen lips as she wraps her arms around him firmly, her hands clutch a fistful of his black hair as many curses fall from her lips, she can feel her body burn up like a fresh fire is inside of her. Johnny can feel it too, he's panting like a dog in heat as heavy breaths leave his lips, he can feel her hot silky walls cling to his throbbing cock, she grips him firmly and takes the breath out of him. "Shit ... shit, shit shit ... come all over my ... thick cock, doll ... don't stop until you can feel me ... in your guts ..." Johnny purrs in a heavy breath, his hands move from her back and trail down to her ass, squeezing firmly at the round flesh. It happens. V boils over, her thighs tremble and jerk against him, as a continuous and brutal wave of ecstasy washes over her, it's exactly what she fucking needed. She nearly tears out his hair and he can feel her grasp soften on his hair as he clutches onto her, growling into her neck and into her smooth skin. It shoots through him, in a powerful heated wave that comes at once, he presses himself deeper into her, stretching and driving as deep as he can into her. His warm semen coats her insides or whatever kind of semen a construct can give you but it's hot and warm and leaves her shuddering at the heat that fills her. She gets off of his lap, her thighs still trembling and her cheeks still flushed, she gets up and finds herself against the door before she positions herself onto the floor, legs all wide and dress ruffled.

"Damn ... not even fucking alive ... yet you can still give it like it's nobody's business ..." V chuckles, grinning warmly at him, strands of hair are in front of her eyes as she can see him pull a cigarette out of pocket before he lights it up, inhaling the toxic stick of nicotine that he was undeniably addicted to. "Course' I can, V ... whether I'm dead or alive, I can fuck the shit out of anyone ... is that proof enough for you that Johnny Silverhand has had an impressive cock, or do I need to prove it to you once again ...?" Johnny challenges her with a taunting smile that curls onto his lips, a heavy wave of smoke leaves his lips before he presses the cigarette into his lips once more. " ... Yeah, you were right, dickhead ... now home I guess? I am more than exhausted ..." V huffs, getting up from off the floor and fixing out her crimson red dress, a cigarette is wedged in between his fingers as he fades away out of her view, glitching back into 1's and 0's. A deep sigh leaves her lips as she exits the bathroom stall, she can feel eyes glaring at her and staring at her only to add to her shame as she quickly scurries out of the bathroom. Immediately gets back home and smiles when she finally makes it to her bed, clutching at her pillow as her eyes flutter for a few moments before closing. Goodnight, doll ...

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny/v #cyberpunk johnny #johnny silverhand #johnny x v #cp2077 #johnny x reader #cyberpunk 2077 smut #johnny x reader smut

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ohmyasmodeus · 5 years ago

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♥ 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 ♥

such a cute request! i was going to do only levi at first, but i couldn’t help but do the rest of the brothers because of how adorable your request is. thank you so much, and i hope this hc cheers you up extra ! ♡

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳

✧ Your first kiss with Lucifer is explosive.

✧ Lucifer is hard to pin down. Constantly, infuriatingly, he seems to conveniently miss your attempts to make things official. You know that the romantic tension between the both of you could be cut with a knife, but Lucifer proves too prideful and stubborn to let you have what you want. It’s as if he’s having his fun making you chase him or deciding when you get your way.

✧ The study was quiet, the dusk fading behind the stained glass windows, and you had finally caught another moment alone with Lucifer. He takes off his gloves and smiles at you. “It’s late. You should be preparing for bed.”

“Enough,” you mutter, pressing yourself against his front. You had had enough of his games, of him thinking that he gets to decide when you make your move, as if the relationship between the both of you was nothing more than a chess game.

“Excuse me?” Lucifer asks, crimson eyes alight with amusement and a fire that you’ve never seen before. You find yourself cornered with your back against his desk, almost pinned in place by that gaze. He rests a hand on your waist almost expectantly.

“Enough of your excuses, Lucifer.” The kiss you pull him into by his collar is fiery. Immediately, both of Lucifer’s hands grip your waist to pull you close, his lips deepening the kiss with an almost frightening intensity. The facade he had put up crumbles immediately; he’s waited for this for too long, he’s wanted you for even longer. The control he clings to like a lifeline relaxes, and it almost seems as if he lets you take charge this time, as if you’ve proven yourself worthy.

And there are no more excuses from him.

♡ 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯

✧ Neither of you expect your first kiss with Mammon. It’s an impulsive decision, easily the best one you have ever made.

✧ Mammon doesn’t tiptoe around the issue, and it’s clear that he fully expects himself to be your man. However, it isn’t easy for him to fill the role when he thinks consciously about it, getting flustered the moment he thinks too hard about the affection you give him— it’s insanely endearing. You just wish something could give him that push to really pursue you.

✧ “Unbelievable! The way that jerk thinks he can talk to ya!” Mammon’s chattering is incessant, still obviously incensed about the way other demons had treated you earlier. Diavolo’s transfer student idea was genius, but it would take more than a couple of humans and angels to convince most demons to treat them with respect.

“Well, The Great Mammon was there to save me, at least.” You smile, wrapping your arm around his.

Mammon laughs proudly. “Damn right! Maybe you should give me a little reward for it, hm?”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to give the people he likes free money,” You poke at him, but can’t help but admire the way his eyes shine with triumph, and the way his grin is just so goofy and handsome. Thoughtlessly, you lean in until your noses nearly touch. “But I think I can do that.”

His cheeks flush red, but before he can stutter something out, he closes the distance between you with an eager smile. His lips are greedy, claiming yours as he throws an arm around your shoulders to show everyone around you just who you belong with.

♡ 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯

✧ Your first kiss with Leviathan makes his heart nearly collapse whenever he thinks about it.

✧ There was always that barrier between you and Levi; being the embodiment of envy makes him unintentionally drive you away when you want nothing more than to show him that he is just as good as those he envies. His skittishness around topics of romance and physical affection is the sweetest thing, but you wonder if either of you would ever be brave enough to take the leap.

✧ “Look at them,” Levi laments, and you cross your arms, knowing what was about to happen. It was fairly easy to predict when he would start his pity parties, especially after the two of you had begun to grow closer. You had suggested watching something together to de-stress after a long day at RAD, but maybe the rom-com you had chosen wasn’t the best idea.

“They’re… holding hands,” you say blankly.

“Yeah! It’s not fair, he’s such a shitty nerd but the hot girl likes him anyway, it’s not realistic! That never happens in-”

You hold his hand. He goes quiet.

Levi huffs, a soft blush spreading across his face. Under the blankets, his leg starts to jiggle out of nervousness as he looks away. “Okay, now- now you’re just making fun of me. But seriously, they’re kissing! That kind of stuff doesn’t just happen to nerds.”

“Why not?” You smile at him, leaning into his side as you continue holding his hand. Sometimes you wished he could see himself like you see him, or feel the way his antics and his smile makes your heart instantly melt. Stifling a laugh, you watch as his blush grows and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows nervously. “Some people like that.”

“But who would like a-” The rest of his complaint is muffled as you close the distance between your lips and his, throwing your arms around the back of his neck. You wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. Too stunned to fight it, Levi is still for a moment, before he starts smiling into the kiss and running a hand through your hair. He’s crushed on you for too long to let his shyness hold himself back this time.

♡ 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯

✧ Your first kiss with Satan is possessive and pyre-like.

✧ Satan has a thousand facades— but you see through them all. He certainly has never met someone like you, a mere human with more audacity than most demons. That audacity to touch him and get close to him is what makes you so attractive to Satan. You see him for what he is beyond his rage, and he can’t handle the thought of letting anyone get as enamoured with you as he is. He wants you to be his.

✧ You watch Satan with gentle eyes as he talks. Moments where he puts the masks away are rare but consistent when he’s with you, and you hold his hands as he talks to you about everything that’s on his mind. The smile he gives you is enough to make your heart sing.

“Ah, but I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” He gives your hands a squeeze, bringing them both up to kiss your knuckles gently.

“I like it,” you say quietly. “You aren’t like this with anyone else.”

“What can I say? There’s just something about you…” Satan chuckles, making your cheeks flush pink. He’s enamoured, charmed, devoted, so much so that he can hardly find the words to describe his feelings toward you, and your sweet blush makes him lean forward to gently grasp your chin between his fingers. “Are you… like this with anyone else, ______?”

You lean into his touch with a smile. “Only you.”

Barely a moment passes before his lips are on yours, pulling you into him like the undertow of a rough sea. Satan devotes himself to containing his emotions, his devastating wrath and desires, but with you… he allows himself to show who he truly is. And with the way you do nothing but kiss back just as hard and clutch at the front of his shirt, he knows you can handle it.

♡ 𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴

✧ Your first kiss with Asmodeus makes your heart ache like nothing ever has.

✧ It’s all too easy to worry when you start falling for Asmodeus. With the way he acts around other demons and the succubi he’s so popular with, there’s hardly a reason to think that you would be special to him in any way. It frustrates him when he tries to prove time and time again how genuine his feelings are towards you, but you simply never seem to get the point. He wants you. He wants to be with you and can hardly bother looking at anyone else, he just wishes you could see that.

✧ “You’re always so gorgeous, you know that?” Asmo threads a gentle hand through your hair, brushing locks away from your face as you smile at him skeptically, brow cocked. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was sucking up simply because he needed your help with something.

“Alright, you can stop with the flattery. What do you want?”

Asmo giggles and wraps his arms around you. The familiar scent of his perfume and the warmth of his embrace still makes your heart race, no matter how many times you’ve told your heart to stop reacting that way every time he pulls you close. “Just you.”

“How many witches have you used that line on today?”

“If I wanted a witch,” You feel Asmodeus kiss your head and rub your back tenderly, and all you can do is gaze up at him through your lashes as his voice softens, his bright amber eyes giving you such a deeply yearning gaze. “I would go to one. I want you, ______, is that so hard to believe? I don’t want to look at or touch anyone else anymore.”

When he leans in, you don’t have it in you to resist. His soft lips fit perfectly against yours, as if the two of you were meant to be from the beginning, and your heart aches.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘻𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘣

✧ It feels like it was just meant to be; your first kiss with Beelzebub feels as natural as breathing.

✧ Beelzebub has always been the brother you felt the most comfortable around, and the two of you seem to just fall into a routine as you get closer. You don’t need him to say the unspoken feelings between the both of you to know how much he cares for you. Beel says it enough in the way he always wraps an arm around your shoulders, or gives you a slice of his favourite cake during dinner, or lets you lean on him during movie night.

✧ “______… It needs more sugar,” Beel mumbles as he licks some cookie batter off his finger. You had enlisted his help with baking since Luke had shared an easy recipe for the human world cookies you were craving, but you’re beginning to think it had been a mistake.

But you’re weak, and it’s all worth it to be able to watch Beel adorably taste the batter whenever he can.

“You’re going to get a tummy ache.” Smiling, you come over to take the mixing bowl from him.

“No way,” Beel mumbles. He pats his stomach with the sweetest smile. “Iron stomach.”

“It didn’t save you when you ate Solomon’s cooking, did it?” You can’t help but tiptoe to ruffle his hair, before offering him a bottle of cocoa powder and a silver sieve. “Wanna help me with the cocoa? And then we’re all done!”

“Of course. Anything for you.” Beel takes the items and leans down, and before you can think about it, you lean up to give him a sweet kiss in thanks for his help. Beel hesitates in pulling away for a moment, only to return to leaning down to give you kiss after kiss, and you can’t help but let out a giggle. Maybe he’s finally found something other than food to be obsessed with.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳

✧ The way Belphegor first kisses you is magnetic, the slow kind of kiss that makes time slow and your mind drift. As far as you’re concerned, the world around you might as well not exist.

✧ There is hardly a spark between you. Belphegor’s feelings for you start as a slow burning candle flame that ends in a wildfire. The both of you give yourselves time to heal and time to understand each other. You spend your days apart before you drift back to each other, until it’s hard for the both of you to contain your feelings. Belphie’s feelings for you consume him, and he struggles to find the right time to reveal them to you.

✧ You throw your leg over Belphie’s hip with a sleepy smile as you snuggle into the sheets with him. He returns the smile in an equally sleepy but adoring fashion, fingers slowly tracing patterns into your back.

“Clingy,” he mumbles, as if he isn’t the one with his arms wrapped firmly around you.

You mumble, “You’re so warm, I can’t help it. Maybe I should just stay like this forever.”

“Fine by me, ______.” Belphie chuckles teasingly. “Just know that I’m never ever going to let you get up again.”

“Yeah? I think that sounds like heaven.” Your joke makes Belphie laugh, and in the quietness of his room, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It starts as an innocent brush of his lips against yours, but you’re quick to press your lips against his firmly. The way his legs tangle into yours and the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him breathing makes you forget the world around you. Belphie keeps you like that, refusing to let you go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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captainsimagines · 3 years ago

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption

Word Count: 14,600+

A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence.

MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm

“He did what?”

Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.

“He took a bullet for someone.”

“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”

“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.

“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”

Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.

“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.

“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.

Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”

“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”

Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”

Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”

Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”

They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”

Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”

“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”

Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”

Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.

“You sure your blood matches?”

You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.

In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.

He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....

He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn.

Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm

There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?

You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.

“You just... jumped out of the car?”

Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.

“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”

He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”

That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”

“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”

He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.

It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.

You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.

“Tengo preguntas!”

You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”

“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”

“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.

“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”

“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”

“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”

He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”

“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”

“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”

“Oh?”

“What are they like?”

Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”

“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But I would like to meet them, too.”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.

“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”

“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”

You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”

Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”

“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”

“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”

Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy.

“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”

Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”

Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”

Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”

Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”

“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”

Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”

Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”

There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”

“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.

“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”

“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”

Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.

“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”

Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”

“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.

Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”

You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.

Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”

“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”

The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.

The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes.

They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.

Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get.

One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years.

Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down.

The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with.

She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight.

The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier.

Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.

He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too.

“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”

She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”

He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”

“Shouldn’t we get-”

“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”

This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both.

The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.

Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them.

It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.

It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you.

You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.

You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust.

He really did die.

As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?

A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore.

You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.

“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”

You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”

Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”

“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”

“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”

“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”

Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But everyone-”

“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.

“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?

The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again.

The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t.

‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’

‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.

‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’

His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good.

“Had a visitor.”

You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”

“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass.

“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”

You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start.

Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”

“Hydra controlled drug routes?”

“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”

You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”

Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”

“Who was your visitor?”

“Maribel.”

“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”

“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”

“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”

“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”

You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”

“The soldier ever rarely lost.”

Your face contorts. “Bucky…”

“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”

The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly.

“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”

The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange.

“Are you saying-?”

“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”

Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”

There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”

Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them. The American was a doctor, after all.”

“A doctor,” you whisper.

“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”

“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”

Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry.

You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”

He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”

The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”

Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”

The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”

Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”

The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys.

Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds.

You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did.

Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”

“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.

“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.

“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”

“Means slutty.”

He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”

You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh.

“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”

He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”

“You know that’s not our call.”

“Still.”

You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”

“Lovers?”

“Lovers.”

He laughs out loud and goes to sit up. “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”

Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”

He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”

You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”

“Nope. I always refused.”

You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”

“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”

You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”

Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”

“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”

His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”

“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!”

He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”

“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder.

“That narrows it down, thanks.”

You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”

“What’s that?”

You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”

His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”

“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.

“Nat… Natasha.”

Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter.

“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”

Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”

“You would think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles.

Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets.

Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle.

“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”

Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”

“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”

“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”

“But you’ll be here.”

Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”

His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”

“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“Say it. You’ve found six.”

His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”

“Excuses.”

“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”

Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”

Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”

Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”

Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”

“So, I win regardless?”

She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”

They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected.

‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’

‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’

‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’

‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’

Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.

‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’

She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week.

‘The story of my life! I take her home,

I drive all night to keep her warm and time,

Is frozen!

The story of my life, I give her hope,

I spend her love until she’s broke inside!

The story of my life.’

She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.

‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die!”’

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?

“You wanna come?”

“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious.

Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”

Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”

It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.

“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”

Steve picks up another pillow.

Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party.

Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does.

As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head.

Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.

Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.

“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick.

“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of.

“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”

You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”

She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.” You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”

Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”

She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”

“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”

“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”

“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.

Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired.

He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare.

The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky.

Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating.

As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no.

Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.

“You really are a phenomenal actor.”

Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you.

“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”

He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”

Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”

His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”

You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”

Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”

“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”

“The second time, maybe”

Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”

His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”

“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”

A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”

“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”

“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”

“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.

You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”

He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”

“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance.

Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”

He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”

You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”

“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”

His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”

It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.

You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”

Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it.

You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider.

“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”

Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”

You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress.

A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though.

Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar.

When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion.

“Kind of you to show up!”

Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right.

You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season.

He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it.

You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank.

Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore.

Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw.

“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you.

“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”

You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”

A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you.

“I’ve been shot!”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”

“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”

“Dramatic.”

“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.

“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”

“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”

“Sam.”

Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn.

“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”

There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you.

“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be.

“Okay.”

Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you.

The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor.

The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds.

He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs.

The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.

There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference.

You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last.

Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda.

No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart.

“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”

“Seda-”

“Put the fucking gun down!”

Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed.

The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.

“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”

Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”

“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”

“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”

“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”

The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”

Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.

Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”

“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”

“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”

“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”

Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either.

It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’.

“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”

“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest.

“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”

You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up.

“Dejalo.”

You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae.

“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup.

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck.

“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart.

“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip.

“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”

“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise.

“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”

He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”

The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”

“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”

You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”

“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”

All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake.

“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”

He aims the gun at you and fires.

Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows.

The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter.

“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”

You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk. “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”

“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”

There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”

Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”

“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”

“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”

“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic.

It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar. “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”

“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.

“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”

“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip.

“Captain.”

Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”

“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”

“Have they shut down the border?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“

Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”

You sigh, “Seda was right.”

Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”

Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”

“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.

“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”

Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”

“I don’t know.”

Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”

There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.

“Doll, what are you thinking?”

He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”

Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”

“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”

“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”

Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”

“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance.

“I can’t just go.”

“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” you confirm.

He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”

You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”

Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him.

“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”

Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”

You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”

It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier.

“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”

Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”

He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”

You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”

“I had this coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”

He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”

“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”

“This will kill us both.”

“But it will give us a head start.”

“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”

“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut. “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”

“Que hago con esto?”

“No me llamas. But let me find this.”

He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”

Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.”

You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”

It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”

The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him.

Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.

“Where’d Ramirez go?”

If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”

He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”

“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back. “We should go.”

There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet. “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”

“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”

The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.

“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”

You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”

If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half. To protect and be protected.

“Let’s go.”

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

#steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers x reader #reader x avengers #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #to topple #a giant #by Moni #captainsimagines #mob fanfic #trigger warnings listed #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #mini-series #part eight #chapter eight #marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist

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tossawary · 4 years ago

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Chapter 27: “The First Day” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

Right now, deep into the safety of darkness, Shang Qinghua thinks about how he never actually expected to be lying in his bed with Mobei-Jun. No, there’s a reason his sofa is comfortable enough to sleep on! That was by design too! Sure, Shang Qinghua had lots and lots of bed-related fantasies, but he had no expectations of those fantasies ever coming true. He didn’t dare to have expectations.

It’s kind of weird, lying in bed with Mobei-Jun. It’s definitely weird lying in his bed partially on top of Mobei-Jun. With the way things were headed, Shang Qinghua was admittedly fostering some hopes about those bed-related fantasies, but he still didn’t think to mentally prepare himself for the practical details. He really wasn’t mentally prepared for the softness of Mobei-Jun’s hair, for the thickness and the weight of the man’s arms, or for the coolness of his skin against the warmth of the blankets.

Fuck, now there is no way that Shang Qinghua is going to be able to see Mobei-Jun with a plunging neckline without thinking about touching the man’s bare chest. It’s a nice chest! It feels great underneath Shang Qinghua’s hands now.

He can feel a steady heartbeat beneath his fingers.

He can feel the gentle rise and fall of it with the man’s slow breaths, as the man’s eyes have fallen comfortably closed.

Shang Qinghua has never seen Mobei-Jun this relaxed.

AN: Moshang in bed together is very good. I loved writing Moshang cuddles. I think it’s really nice when they’re allowed to be soft and relaxed, and everything is understood between them. Mobei-Jun at this point has learned to treat Shang Qinghua like a particularly anxious cat sometimes - if he just stays still and relaxed, eventually Shang Qinghua will calm down and chill with him.

Shout out to Mobei-Jun and all those years he spent trying to get some hint as to how human social everything worked, only to get nearly no help from Shang Qinghua. In this fic, part of the idea is that Shang Qinghua has been a slightly better communicator. Mobei-Jun can be a good listener when he doesn’t feel hideously embarrassed over his fuck-ups.

“I had made plans to speak with you at some point about… this,” Mobei-Jun agrees. “But that was not why I had come to see you that day.”

“Ah, what… what was it, then?”

Mobei-Jun sighs. “I had come from a gathering of demon lords, hosted by my father at their request. They have loosely agreed to each contribute to an attack on the next conference of human cultivators,” he explains, apparently annoyed at just having to recollect this event. “My uncle encourages my father to force my involvement. He must have trouble planned… or see an opportunity for it.”

Shang Qinghua processes this, then sits bolt upright in bed. “What?!”

Mobei-Jun frowns up at him.

“There’s a demonic alliance to attack the next Immortal Alliance Conference?!” Shang Qinghua demands, leaning over the demon lord beside him.

“Yes.”

“And you waited to tell me this?!”

“There are years left before this event,” Mobei-Jun points out.

Shang Qinghua stares at him.

Sure! But he feels like he should start planning now! He already knew that there was going to be a demon attack of some kind - the seal on Luo Binghe’s powers has to be broken - but demon lords getting involved is bad news! Multiple demon lords who are important enough to be socializing with Mobei-Jun’s father is worse news! Demon lords potentially including Mobei-Jun’s shitty father and shitty uncle is the worst news of all!

“You should warn your people,” Mobei-Jun says, dryly.

AN: Mobei-Jun doesn’t care about the sects, but he cares that Shang Qinghua cares. Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua really are villainous in SVSSS. Shang Qinghua just so happens to sometimes be on the protagonist’s (Shen Yuan’s) side and Shen Yuan has romanced a budding tyrant who has MBJ as a loyal minion. But, oof, I didn’t want to go that route with this fic.

I mean, I considered it! I considered having Shang Qinghua be forced to bring a demon invasion down on the sect he’s come to care about and his own nephew, but that felt a little too angsty for me. It totally could have been good, I was just like, “I can’t handle that.” Plus, with the world update, it felt fitting to jazz things up a little bit - to up the ante by inviting more demon lords and also have a little role reversal by letting Mobei-Jun be the spy. This way, I think, it really feels like Mobei-Jun is on Shang Qinghua’s side.

Shang Qinghua isn’t on the demons’ side. Mobei-Jun isn’t really on the humans’ side. But they are on each other’s side. They’re a team!

Again, what’s more romantic than your demon boyfriend actually doing the work of growth on his own? Moshang can be a little rough and with a lot of sharp edges (on both sides, they’re both kind of mean people) sometimes, so it’s sometimes nice to remember that they can support each other too.

Also, I’ve always been kind of curious about what Mobei-Jun’s family thinks of his relationship with a human. Mobei-Jun’s father is still alive throughout SVSSS, so it’s fun to think about ice demon politics, power and influence and loyalty in that court, and whether that factored at all into Mobei-Jun’s extremely slow-moving courting timeline of a human.

The person at the door knocks a third time, and Shang Qinghua feels the person beside him stir. He can feel a not insignificant amount of weight shifting, a low and unhappy grumble, and cool skin brushing against his own as that person makes to get up. Possibly to handle the person at the door? Shang Qinghua here abruptly remembers many important details about his current situation that make the sect potentially being on fire seem like a not-so-bad emergency.

“Demon invasion,” Shang Qinghua finds himself thinking. “Mobei-Jun. Fuck.”

“No, no, no! Don’t get up! I’ll get it!” Shang Qinghua cries, throwing off tangled blankets and flying out of bed. “I’ll handle it, my king! Sorry! Ahhh, sorry! I’ll take care of it, you can just stay where you are-”

Shang Qinghua, now on his feet, pushes firmly down against Mobei-Jun’s chest. He’s not expecting the man - a very, very strong and very, very stubborn demon lord - to go back down under his hand without any resistance at all. This easy obedience, this willingly being pushed down, leads to a surprised Shang Qinghua overbalancing and catching himself hard on Mobei-Jun’s chest and shoulders.

As though Shang Qinghua is actually pinning the man down.

Mobei-Jun stares up at him, eyes low-lidded, and raises his eyebrows.

Ah.

Wow.

Shang Qinghua is going to… well, he’s going to think about this for the rest of his life, probably.

AN: Mobei-Jun is so self-conscious in SVSSS that it’s kind of hilarious. So it’s fun to let him be a little more confident (rather than arrogant and lashing out defensively). Mobei-Jun probably thought to himself here, “You know what’ll be funny here? If I just go down now.” I feel it in my heart that Mobei-Jun is a teaser, especially when he’s relaxed and happy.

Shang Qinghua takes the time to fix up his appearance a little more - to get rid of the “I slept with a demon” smell - because if the asshole at his door has kept it up this long, they can wait a little longer. It turns out that he didn’t really need to bother, because it’s his fellow transmigrator and most dogged critic, Peerless Cucumber.

“Bro,” Shang Qinghua says seriously. “Do you have a deathwish?”

Peerless Cucumber - Shen Yuan, Shang Qinghua has to remember to call the kid by his real name - lowers his hand with a scowl. “...One of your disciples told me to knock on your door and keep knocking until you answered,” the other transmigrator says defensively. “After I said you said to meet you in the morning.”

“...Which one?”

“Wen Shufen, I think?”

“Ah, just for that prank, Sticky Fingers is going to be hauling fertilizer for Long Sheng Peak for a month,” Shang Qinghua says tiredly. “Bro, do not believe half the things your martial siblings here tell you. They’re pretty much all liars, cheats, and thieves.”

“Then why keep them around?”

“Ah, well, sometimes you need someone to lie, cheat, or steal.”

“...It’s nearly not morning anymore, you know.”

“Eh, I guess you get a pass this time, since I did tell you we’d have a nice long talk about things tomorrow morning. Come on in.”

AN: I don’t know if this vibe is coming across, but Shen Yuan feels a little ignored and neglected. They just got back from a mission and Shen Yuan has already been shooed off like twice. Shang Qinghua is so busy. Shang Qinghua is so experienced and so established here. Shen Yuan has latched onto SQH as his lifeline, though he’s trying very, very hard to be independent, and yet Shang Qinghua kind of has SY on the back burner most of the time.

Not only is Shang Qinghua the author of this world, but he’s also an important figure in this world. Shang Qinghua really lives here and if the plot wasn’t looming over them, SQH would be very happy here. This place feels 100% like Shang Qinghua’s | Airplane’s world and brand new transmigrator Shen Yuan feels like an unwanted intruder. SY is still lonely and scared.

“...Are you going to try to activate it now?” Shen Yuan asks.

“Hmmm… no, not right now,” Shang Qinghua decides, standing up off the dusty stool he was sitting on. “Cucumber, bro, I’m just not awake enough for tackling anything serious right now. Let me get a few texts and tools together first to test this thing properly, alright? Some safety equipment! Aprons and face shields! Thick, fireproof gloves! I’m still trying to figure out how to safely ask Duan Tianyu what he knows about this map the System apparently made him send me, when he might not even know what the fuck I’m talking about! Maybe he can give us some hints.”

“Who?”

“One of my Huan Hua not-disciples,” Shang Qinghua answers. “I picked up some extras a few deadly missions back. They’re good kids. All grown up now! Less naïve than they used to be! Duan Tianyu is teaching back at Huan Hua Palace now, so maybe I’ll have to be the one to wander over there on some pretense.”

Shen Yuan agrees that getting as much information as possible is probably the better course of action. Shang Qinghua ushers the kid out of his secret basement and his fellow transmigrator goes easily enough. Shang Qinghua complains about his shitty, no-good System on the way up for forcing them to do all the work by themselves.

“It must think everything is more ‘authentic’ if I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” Shang Qinghua suggests, removing his spiritual seal and causing the door to the secret basement to vanish. “Ah, I’ll admit that’s kind of cool to watch.”

AN: Throughout this conversation, SY is kind of reaching out, giving himself or Airplane excuses to let him stay. It’s not that he doesn’t want to cultivate, but SQH represents a sort of safety and familiarity SY doesn’t have right now.

In SVSSS, Airplane was always pretty direct with Shen Yuan, from what I remember, but he wasn’t necessarily open. He was direct about some potentially vulnerable or personal topics, like Luo Binghe’s insanity or his own general fear of his character’s planned death, but that’s not the same as actually being vulnerable. They snap at each other, they’re pretty direct about their personal goals, but they don’t actually get vulnerable with each other by confessing their personal fears and new relationship developments.

So I’ve tried to adopt that here, while making Shang Qinghua a little kinder and slightly more vulnerable, thanks to the efforts of Luo Jiahui. But Shang Qinghua still isn’t necessarily open here and neither is Shen Yuan. He’s just like, “Hey, it’s shit and I don’t like it either, but what can you do?” He’s not actually seriously talking about his breakdown or just how scared he is of his own plot.

For some people, there’s a certain kind of openness in confessing things to a stranger, so it’s kind of like that too. Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan have fallen into kind of familiar dynamics, because there’s nothing else to really do, and they are kind of acquaintances, but they’re still not friends yet.

I think I want to have SY and SQH actually address this soon. SY feels that SQH has been kind of dropping the ball when it comes to honestly helping his fellow transmigrator, though SY, being SY, can’t quite put his finger on the lack of emotional intimacy and affection that he’s starved for right now.

The day-in-day-out of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect can’t get him down today! He feels kind of like he’s walking on air! Sure, the work never stops and there are some fucking terrifying things ahead, but he just had a very successful mission overall! He just had a really, really successful conversation with Mobei-Jun! He and Mobei-Jun are romantically entwined and Mobei-Jun was very explicit about the fact that he expects them to be romantically entwined… pretty much indefinitely!

“There is no one else,” Mobei-Jun had said. “There will be no one else.”

Shang Qinghua fostered a lot of hopes over the years! More hopes than he felt that he should have reasonably fostered! And to have those hopes unexpectedly fulfilled like this is… really something! It’s really, really something! Mobei-Jun really isn’t the type of character to say that - to say any of the things he said, and wow, he said a lot of things back there - without meaning it completely.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t really know what to do with that.

Forever is a long time.

He understands, of course, that some things really do last an impossibly long time. He used to be pretty certain that all love matches faded eventually - that people were genuinely wildly in love… that people were sincerely in love with each other, sure… up until they inevitably weren’t anymore - but now he can’t really imagine Liu Qingge or Luo Jiahui ever getting tired of each other. Liu Qingge keeps bringing Luo Jiahui new recipes to try and rare ingredients to interest her, so she can make dishes for the two of them or her family as a whole, and Shang Qinghua can easily imagine the two of them doing that pretty much indefinitely.

Shang Qinghua can’t think about this for long, before he has to focus on greeting his disciples (it’s just Peng Hongpeng and Chen Xuan in here at the moment) and getting to work. “Good things last while they last!” he decides for now, because thinking about things not lasting kind of makes him feel like he’s dying.

AN: Shang Qinghua can’t quite bring himself to believe in a relationship lasting forever right now. Part of it is his commitment issues, but another part of it is his persisting inability to see past the looming plot. He’s still worried about Luo Binghe and the Eternal Abyss, so he’s having difficulty seeing past that hurdle, even though things like Luo Jiahui’s marriage and his new relationship with Mobei-Jun are forcing him to confront the fact that there’s still a life outside of and beyond the plot.

For Shang Qinghua, it’s kind of a “I’ll think about that later if we all survive” thing when it comes to him and Mobei-Jun.

“He made a mistake with good intentions and got a small injury for it,” Shang Qinghua says, as reassuringly as he can. “He’s fine! He’s in trouble with his shizun for it, though, but I’ll see what I can do about bringing you up to meet him or bringing him down here as soon as possible. I’ll do my best to make it happen!”

Luo Jiahui leans into Shang Qinghua’s side and admits, “I miss him.”

“He misses you.”

“I miss you too,” Luo Jiahui adds.

“...Ah, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” his sister-in-law says warmly. “I’d miss you even if you visited every day.”

Shang Qinghua is holding her hands, but it feels like she’s got an extra one wrapped around his heart. “Where’s that husband of yours? Doesn’t he come down the mountain every day? Should I be telling him off? Sorry I ran off with him for a little bit!”

“What does Qingge have to do with you and me?” Luo Jiahui demands. “It doesn’t matter how often I see everyone else, I still miss you and Binghe the most.”

“Hm, that’s a point! That’s a point.”

What else can Shang Qinghua do but admit that he misses her the most too?

AN: It was fun to follow up Shang Qinghua’s romantic developments with a return to his most important and longest relationship: the one he has with his “fake” sister. Luo Jiahui is and always will be important to Shang Qinghua and who he’s become. They have such a lovely relaxed feeling that’s nice to revisit. I’ve missed Luo Jiahui these past few chapters, as things get twisted up more and more in sect business.

It would feel dishonest to the rest of the fic if Shang Qinghua’s other relationships disappeared in favor of his new romantic relationship. They all have their own importance. Mobei-Jun and Liu Qingge don’t make Shang Qinghua and Luo Jiahui any less important to each other.

I am looking forward to making Mobei-Jun and Luo Jiahui meet again, and tackling some of Mobei-Jun’s thoughts on Shang Qinghua’s relationship with his family. Mobei-Jun has a really shitty family, so it’s interesting thinking about what family means to him and how loyalty/love plays into it.

While he's busy plotting around the plot, there’s a hum of power behind him, the cool whoosh and crackle of a portal opening, the faint hair-rising warning of demonic energy. Shang Qinghua finishes tapping at his own face in thought, looks up at the looming shadow standing behind him, and smiles. He kind of feels like he should run away, but it's too late for that now. He held on long enough that he made it too late for himself.

“Hello,” he says.

AN: I took this almost exactly from the first chapter of Part 3 of this fic. I can’t remember the chapter number, but it was the one titled “The Inevitable Plot”.

Parts 3 and 4 of this fic blend together a little. Part 3 of this fic kind of ends here, but I have a couple more chapters that I want to tackle before I feel that I can say we’re for sure in Part 4? I have some things I want to accomplish before we go into a slight time skip towards the Immortal Alliance Conference.

#tossawary commentary #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word

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losinqtouch · 3 years ago

Text

WHO: silver ostro ( @silverostro ) WHERE: near where the food is, tower gardens WHEN: afternoon, near the beginning of the party

THIS ISN’T THE time for a tea party, and Aven knows it, but with the way things have been going these past few days, so does everyone else. After the shitty time last weekend’s reception ended up being — thanks in no small part to that little twerp, Digit, but she’ll deal with her later, maybe once she’s gotten some alcohol in her system — it’s no small wonder everyone’s on edge today and very, very suspicious about this event. The timing feels a tad too on the nose, following the disappearances of a few particular personages, then their subsequent returns and/or deaths in the days after. There are messages being sent here, clearly meant for all of them, but it’s hard for Aven not to feel like they’re being pointed at her specifically, with both Slate and Silver getting the Capitol now-you-see-them-now-you-don’t treatment, and then her district’s Stylist, Halle, turning up half-dead the morning before in a floor that isn’t even their own, all happening within the same damn week. And now this. Whatever this is.

Passing by a mountain of multi-colored cookies, Aven grabs a biscuit for herself and finally approaches the other half of her missing buddies pair. She’ll admit, she hasn’t bothered Silver in the past days as much as she has Slate, the latter somehow more suited to dealing with her ridiculous coping mechanisms and harsh quips. With Silver, it’s mainly been business: updates, things and people to watch out for ( again: that little twerp, Digit ), dangerous discussions — the sort of things they only ever used to talk about in letters, using that complicated code of theirs. They do look a lot better today, though, she notes with vague, pleasant surprise, and certainly much more like themself: no scruff, a neater haircut, and a lot less, well, blood this time around. Their hands are hidden behind dark, sleek-looking gloves, and if one were clueless about everything that had gone on the past days, it would seem as if nothing were ever amiss with them at all.

“Looking good, Silv,” she says as she sidles up to them, resisting the urge to make some kind of joke about not having a Bacchus fit today, or maybe even a crass quip about Gazel, miraculously nowhere beside them. Slate’s good with her shitty humor, but Silver, in this state? She’ll have to check first. “Feeling better too, I take it?”

#figurin out aven's voice but i think i'm happy with this #give her permission and she'll make all the stupid dry jokes she can #. / silver ostro 001 #. / aven & silver #. / terrifying teatime

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catrasredemption-moved · 4 years ago

Note

I asked about the whole superhero thing no i dont mind

TW: Blood, mentions of serious injury, drugs, vomiting

Hey I just wanted to see if you’re

Delete.

I was wondering if

Delete.

You’re such a fucking idiot sometimes I swear

Delete.

Adora sighed heavily, staring at the blinking line mocking her in the text message box, Catra’s name adorning the top of the thread, the last text in the thread from Catra over a week ago - Looks like they’re replacing the door you broke. Still think they should leave it as a monument to your insanity

The blonde slumped back into her couch, staring at the ceiling, as if it would give her the words to fix whatever had broken between them.

“What am I doing wrong?”

There wasn’t a simple answer, unfortunately. Because Adora wasn’t wrong - she understood Catra wanting to help people. It was the whole reason she had signed up for army (and look how that turned out). But what Catra was doing was dangerous, and that hostage situation at the bank just proved how quickly something could go to hell. She’d been shot. She could have died.

And hearing her write it off as no big deal made Adora want to punch something.

She pressed her fist against her forehead for a long moment, then looked back at her phone.

You’re so annoying and I hate you and I miss you and I wish I knew how to make you understand that what you’re doing is dangerous and TERRIFYING and

Delete.

A heavy, single thud at the door drew Adora out of her haze. She waited for a moment, thinking it had been one of the neighbors, but then it happened again - one loud thunk against her front door. She set her phone aside and stood slowly, grabbing the baseball bat they left near the couch. She didn’t really need it, but she was alone for the weekend, and having backup never hurt, right?

Another, heavier thud. Adora stepped close enough to look out the peep hole. It was half blocked by something dark, although not in a way that seemed intentional. She braced the bat with one hand and reached out to open the door...

And almost screamed when whatever was out there fell with the door opening. A faint groan reached her ears; a slim hand wearing a fingerless glove braced against the doorframe. Adora dropped the bat and immediately threw the door open.

“H-Hey Adora,” Catra rasped with a weak smile. One arm was keeping her upright on the door frame, the other held protectively against her chest in a way that screamed ask me how many ribs are broken. Her goggles were hanging around her neck, lenses cracked. Her “patrol hoodie”, as Entrapta had endearingly called it, was ripped in several places, and Adora could see blood on the black fabric. Her eyes were glazed over, chest heaving as she panted and swayed. “Sorry, I... d-didn’t know where else to go...”

Her knees gave out. She dropped like a rock, only stopped by Adora quickly grabbing her and helping her stay upright. The hand left the door, clawed fingers digging into Adora’s shoulder instead, Catra’s face pressing into her shirt. She was shaking. Or maybe that was Adora. Maybe it was both.

Adora pulled her inside and kicked the door shut. Catra laughed breathlessly. “Thought we... talked about door kicking...”

“Shut up,” Adora said with no heat, bending over to tuck her arm under Catra’s legs and wrapping the other around her back. She picked her up, carrying her to her bedroom. “What happened?”

“Oh, ya know... stupid... vigilante stuff...”

Her voice was faint, wavering. “No, hey.” Adora nudged her a bit. “Stay awake. You gotta tell me what happened.”

She adjusted Catra so she could get a blanket off her bed, then carried her to the bathroom. “Just... Just gonna... make you mad...”

“It won’t.” That was a lie. But it didn’t matter. “It won’t, Catra, I promise. Just tell me what happened.”

They settled on the bathroom floor together, Adora wrapping Catra in the blanket and leaning her against the tub before getting the first aid kit out from under the sink. “That um... that gang, ya know? The Horde or whatever. The one with the shitty blonde pickpocket kid. Turns out they also got a big lizard guy.”

She shuddered as Adora helped her get her jacket off, then the long sleeved shirt. Catra wasn’t exactly an amateur vigilante, and she’d had an actual genius helping her upgrade her gear for months. Adora could feel the kevlar in the jacket and shirt. What the hell had they been using that cut through it so easily?

“Fucking baited me. Shitty pickpocket kid had some lady in a corner. Lizard took me down as soon as I hit him.” She hissed as Adora tugged off her binder - the last layer of her defense. The fur underneath was matted with sweat and drying blood, and there was definitely something shifting wrong under the arm she held close. “They got me pinned down ‘n’...”

She wiggled to free her other arm and tilted her neck to point out the fresh needle hole. Shit. “Dunno what it was. Kinda paralyzed me for a bit, though.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Fuck, I don’t remember...” Catra’s eyes fluttered, her head dipping. “Time s’it?”

Adora tucked her fingers under Catra’s chin to bring her head back up, and checked her phone. “Almost midnight.”

“Um... it was around six, I think? After Scorpia and Entrapta left.”

“Wait, they’re gone?” Adora demanded, momentarily distracted. “Do they know you went out?” Because that was the rule, Catra always told her roommates she was going out, and she stayed in contact with them. Entrapta had (happily) lost an entire weekend of sleeping souping up some earpieces so Catra could report back to them on a re-purposed police radio.

“They went home for the weekend.”

Home. Home for Scorpia was in the Fright Zone district of Grayskull, nearly three hours. Home for Entrapta was Dryl, just over two hours. There was absolutely no way Catra had been staying in contact with them.

“We’re not done with this,” Adora said fiercely as she started disinfecting the cuts. Catra hissed, gaze sharpening for a minute. “What happened after they drugged you?”

“I woke up in a warehouse and a bunch of ‘em took turns usin’ me as a punching bag and for target practice or somethin’.” Catra shrugged one shoulder wearily.”Think they’ve... figured out some of my tricks. There were no shadows.”

No shadows. Which meant no access to the Shadow Roads Catra used to easily escape. “How’d you get away?”

“They got distracted. They stayed really close at first, ya know, so I couldn’t break through, but a couple of them started swingin’ at each other. I got invisible and got out.”

She was so pale. It was scary. Adora tried to focus on patching her up rather than worrying about what wounds there were that she might not have been able to treat.

“M’d-dora?” Her voice was shaking, pupils shrunken to little pinpoints.

“Yeah?”

“Think I’m gonna be sick.”

Adora helped Catra turn and lean over the edge of the tub as she heaved, bringing up mostly bile. The drug, Adora was sure. She rubbed Catra’s back until the fit passed, and Catra collapsed against the ceramic, gasping. There was no blood, at least. That was good.

Catra drifted in and out of consciousness as Adora finished tending to the worst of her wounds, then carried her to the bedroom. She put one of her old army t-shirts on the smaller woman, who practically swam in the fabric. It wasn’t something she was too worried about Catra bleeding on.

“I’m going to get you some water,” she said as she tucked Catra into bed; a hand grasping her wrist stopped her.

“Stay?” Catra whispered, voice small. And how was Adora supposed to say no to that?

“Yeah. I’ll be right here. I promise.”

#askbox fic #Mystery Person #Sam Answers

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pillow-anime-talk · 4 years ago

Text

my anime crush.

synopsis: As an anime fan, you have your favorite 2D boy. At the same time, your own boyfriend is jealous of him. LMAO.

# tags: scenarios; current relationships; romance; comedy; fluff; boys as attention whores; maybe spoilers??; sfw

includes: female reader ft. shoto todoroki, izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugo, denki kaminari & eijirou kirishima {bnha}

— SHOTO (ft. Roy Mustang)

shobby; Hello, Y/N. Would you like to come on a date with me?

You looked at the phone and the message from your boyfriend, then at your laptop screen and sighed.

you; I’m sorry, love. I have a date with Mustang today. We can go tomorrow <3 Love u.

You answered quickly, then turned off the phone and resumed watching the next episode of ‘Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood’. There was a lot of your favorite character at this arc, so unfortunately you couldn’t stop watching it right now! ‘Sorry, baby!’

Todoroki, on the other hand, had been staring at his smartphone’s screen for two or three... or maybe four minutes, probably not catching your joke about your alleged date with a non-existent 2D character. Only after long thought he decide to go to your room in the dorm.

Shoto expected everything; that you will be getting ready for a mentioned date, that you’re drunk or something, that you will cry while devising a plan to break up with him... but he certainly didn’t expect that you will lie on the bed hugging a large and fluffy dakimakura with the anime character’s face and body.

“Y/N?”

You glanced to the side, pausing the anime episode, and raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Hi?”

“What are you doing?”

“I have a date. I wrote it, remember?” You laughed softly as you sat on the bed. “You want to join?” You asked, but seeing his surprised expression, you decided to explain it. “I just watch anime, Sho. It’s a inside joke that you ‘go on a date’ with your favorite character when you just watch your favorite title. And my favorite character is Roy Mustang! Come here, please and watch it with me.”

After a short while, you played a few seconds of the anime for your boyfriend, and he raised his left eyebrow.

“Why you like this ‘Roy Mustang’ if you have me? Plus, my power is much better and I don’t need gloves to activate my quirk.”

You looking in shock at the boy, then blushed hardly. A moment later you grabbed his hand and pulled him to you, hugging him.

‘I guess, I just like hot guys Shoto-kun.’ You thought, still hugging Todoroki.

— IZUKU (ft. Genos)

“Y/N why do you like this Robot-Man more than me?” Izuku pouted so you looked at him in big surprise. For a moment you didn’t know what the young High School student was talking about, but after the next few seconds you realized he meant your favorite 2D boy – Genos.

“I never said I liked him more than you, baby.” You laughed softly as you looked again at the black and white page of the manga, which showed the changing pictures and the fight of your favorite hero with the huge scolopendre-like monster.

“B-But... You keep reading about him, you have him on your wallpaper, you have his photos on wall, and you even cry to him while watching anime. Not to mention that you’ve watched this title about eighteen times already...! You love him more than me! I’m so sad, Y/N-chan!”

You raised your left eyebrow, laughing softly, looking at the book again and then closing it with a little, colorful bookmark. Of course, the bookmark with the image of Genos. Lmao.

“Izu-kun... No offence, but you know that well – all your room is in All Might’s things; bedding, mugs, pens, carpet and posters. When we kiss there, I can feel his smile and eyes on me. All. The. Time.” You said honestly, causing his pouty cheeks to flush after a short while, like two huge red ripe apples from an orchard.

“Yeah... B-But...”

“Anyway, I like this manga also because the main character looks like you. He also beats the villains with one punch! You should read this with me... I think you will like it, baby.”

This one, simple sentence was enough to interest Midoriya, who was (yeah, let’s face it) obsessed with physically strong characters/heroes/people.

Unfortunately, after a short time you turned your boyfriend into a monster who started buying various ‘One Punch Man’ stuff... Mr. Yagi Toshinori had a competition from now. Lol.

— KATSUKI (ft. Tobio Kageyama)

“Stop watching this shit and go out on a date with me.”

“Leave me alone! They’re playing an important game with Shiratorizawa Academy right now! I can’t, I just can’t! I have to support my favorite team!” You squeaked as your boyfriend pulls your leg and tries to pull you out of the safe ‘nest’ on the bed. “Katsuki! LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU BASTARD.”

“Shitty woman, let’s go on a date.”

“Piss off, let me spend time with my beautiful volleyball players! I missed them.” You almost cry holding onto the wooden bed frame while kicking your boyfriend in the face. “Let me finish watching the game and we’ll go on that date. I promise. I PROMISE.” You add quietly, looking at the screen again.

Bakugo snorted loudly, finally sitting down on your white carpet and leaning back against the bed. Then he took out his phone to browse his social media, but shortly afterwards he speaks back again. His raspy voice was irritated.

“I just don’t understand why you like that anime and that black-haired idiot so much... Like, I’m better in every fucking way.”

“Don’t offend Kageyama, you stupid ass.” You growled, poking him with your foot. “I like him because he’s so handsome and cute. He’s tall, he can play volleyball, he has beautiful, blue eyes...” You started exchanging softly, blushing, which made your boyfriend mad.

After a moment was heard a sound of a laptop hatch closing loudly in the room.

“KATSUKI, YOU SON OF A BITCH. I HATE YOU.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway. We’re going on a date. Now.”

— DENKI (ft. Takumi Usui)

“CJSDDKJDKVIDOLVDFK!”

The blonde boy looked at you with a very scared expression on his face. When he saw the tears in your shiny eyes and the blush on your both cheeks, he approached you, asking if you were all right.

“Nothing’s alright, Denki!” You screamed out, stopping the episode of ‘Kaichou wa Maid-sama!’ and then looking back at your still worried boyfriend. “Usui kissed Misaki. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’M SO JEALOUS!” You squealed as you grabbed your warm forehead. “I’d like to kiss him too!” You added, causing the fear on his face to turn into surprise and confusion.

“Baby, I... Huh?”

“I would like to be a character in this anime. Life is hard, Denki. Life is painful.” You sighed, glancing at the colorful screen again.

After a while, however, you felt a warm touch on your hand, and then a gentle tug of your body towards the blonde’s chest. You looked at him questioningly, but before you could ask what he was doing, your man pulled you even closer, finally kissing your sweet lips. The kiss was gentle, slow and sweet; it was that kind you liked mostly and personally.

When you pulled away from Kaminari, he smiled at you, tucking unruly strands from your head behind one of your reddy ears.

“You may not live in the same anime as Usui, but at least you live next to me. It’s nice, isn’t it, Y/N?”

Your cheeks flushed even more than a few minutes ago, when you watched the last episode of your favorite title with interest. So you nodded gently. “That’s very nice, thank you, cutie.”

— EIJIROU (ft. Light Yagami)

“Y/N, why do you like this bad and nasty man so much?” Kirishima looked at you, and you paused the third episode, looking at him with amusement in your both, bright eyes.

“He’s not bad at all. He does justice as he sees fit.” You ate some popcorn and the boy pouted. “Hm? What’s wrong, baby?”

“I just don’t understand why you like this anime so much... There are much more enjoyable series! Honey, please, let’s watch ‘Pokémon’ or something where good and love wins. Pretty please.”

“But, you know that I don’t like this kind of anime or manga. I prefer what I’m watching now, Eiji-kun.”

“Yes, but you know it by heart!” He said reproachfully, and you shrugged your shoulders again. Kirishima gave up for a few more moments, watching your cute face, which with each second of the episode turned to an expression of admiration and big as heck stress. It was kind of cute in his own eyes, but still... Why did you like someone who killed others so much! After all, you were supposed to be a pro-hero, not someone who kills people for your own judgment and fun.

Out of the corner of your eye, of course, you could see your red-haired boy’s wrinkled face, so you tapped his warm hand and smiled softly as you looked at him.

“Umm... If you want you can hug me, baby. It’ll definitely be nicer to watch all these murders. I guess.” You whispered, to which the High School student laughed out loud and immediately executed your soft words.

Eijiro cuddled up against your thighs, and your hand automatically combed his soft, red hair, which weren’t now styled with a hair gel or gum.

‘Well.’ If, while watching the actions of the evil-like Light, Kirishima could hug you and kiss your hands, he may turn a blind eye to Kira’s awful behavior.

#— 🍁#boku no hero academia #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero x reader #bnha imagines #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha x you #todoroki shoto x reader #izuku midoria x reader #bakugou x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #400

“it’s an age-old story: the first will be last, and the last will be kings / the small will be great, and the great will be weak”

Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? My mom; I thank her every time she cooks for me/us, and I really do mean it. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? Somewhere around a month. What was the last thing to really surprise you? My brother has a fiancee and is having another son! :') Have you ever found out that you have been sleep walking? No. Have you ever tried making something from one of those short cooking videos? How did it turn out? No. Have you ever written a review for a product you bought online? No. What was the last thing you had the urge to do? Idk about anything notable. Is there anyone you feel that takes you for granted? No. What is the last thing you had a craving for? A donut. Do you ever read the comments on social media posts? Sometimes. What was the last thing you felt like you wasted money on? It's so rare that I buy things with my own cash that I really don't know. What was the last thing you wanted to buy, but couldn’t afford? Venus' terrarium on my own. Mom has to help me with buying it. What is a recipe you’d like to try to make for yourself? I don’t cook, so. What goes through your mind when you look back at old photographs of yourself? More than anything, I get sad over how much weight I've gained. I was so healthy once upon a time. It also just makes me miss my childhood. What was the subject matter of the last email you sent? I believe it was about setting up an appointment with my therapist. How do you get your news? Facebook articles, really. What do you think about lizards? I love them! I was that kid that always tried to catch them when I saw 'em. Now I just observe because I don't want to terrify them by trying to pick them up. Have you ever done consumer testing (testing products before they come out on the market)? If not, would you ever want to? No, but sure, I'd do it. Have you ever received anesthesia or morphine? Both. The time I received morphine, it did jack-all for me. If you had to choose which video game to be in, which would it be? Hmmm... I would say Azeroth from World of Warcraft, but too much shit goes down, ha ha. Perhaps the top of the temple in Shadow of the Colossus? So long as I could have someone I love with me, I'd be in Heaven. Although... I doubt there's WiFi there, so I might drop that answer, lmfao. I really don't know. Between the two, would you rather live in a place where it’s only night or where it’s only day? Day. I need the natural light of day sometimes, and if I wanted to sleep, I could just find shade. If you had to be an actor/actress in a movie, what genre of the movie would you be best at? Fantasy. Out of fire, earth, water, wind, light, and dark, which element appeals the most to you? Dark. What’s one thing that you wish was real? Friendly dragons, haha. Is there anything (show, comedian, etc.) that you constantly quote or make references to? No. What’s your favorite Disney Channel movie? I have absolutely no idea. I don't even remember almost any of them. What’s your favorite holiday? Christmas. Do you ever have to do yard work? No. Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? Yes. Did/do you listen to Britney Spears songs? Yeah, sometimes. I genuinely don't mind her. Do you still make Christmas lists? Yeah, because I'm asked to. Do you watch the show Dexter? Never seen it. Which musical instrument do you think sounds the prettiest? I'm torn between the violin, harp, and piano. Is your mom or dad the older parent? Mom, by a year. Do you and your parents like any of the same bands/singers? A lot, actually. Is there any food in your bedroom? What? I have these tictacs I keep in my purse in case of a dry mouth. Medication makes me have that severely, and my psychiatrist recommended me to always have a hard candy available to suck on since it forces salivation. Do you know anyone who has road rage? Who? My younger sister, badly. How far away do your grandparents live from you? They're all dead, but they lived in far away states. Do you know anyone who wants to be the president one day? No. What kinds of chips are in the cupboards? None. It's a bad idea to keep chips in this house, haha. Do you have your mom's or dad's hair? Well, I was born with dirty blonde hair like my dad, but my hair is thick and more similar in color now to my mom's before the cancer completely drained the color. If you were going out with your celebrity crush, what would you wear? OH MY GOD LA;KSDJFAKLWJE I DON'T KNOW I LOOK AWFUL IN EVERYTHING. Have you ever cried when a teacher retired? Teared up, yes, multiple times. Do you swear and yell while playing video games? I might swear under my breath, but that's the extent of it. If you were adopted, would you want to know? At this point in my life, I don't really know. I kinda find myself leaning towards no. Has a best friend ever ditched you for a girlfriend/boyfriend? Pretty much. Do your pets chase after bugs? Roman sure does. When’s the last time you were so excited you couldn’t sleep? Why? I want to say that was the night before I was getting my tattoo redone. Do you own any flip-flops? Yeah, considering they're like... all I wear, ever. Did you ever really believe that the stork brought babies? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever had a dream about sleeping with a celebrity? (You don’t have to give details.) It was the only lucid dream I've ever had and I'm not complaining about it lmao. Have you ever had a dream that upset you or made you cry? Oh I'm sure. Has anyone ever told you that they needed you? Do you think they meant it? Not to my recollection, no, and I don't believe you should ever adopt that mentality and say that to someone. Do you own a laser? No. Is there anything you like to put on a sandwich, that some might find odd? Nah. I do enjoy a layer of potato chips on some sandwiches, like ham and cheese, but I know that's like an actual thing some people just like. What colour are the shoes you wear most often? They're black flip-flops. When was the last time you were required to put on a mask? In the morning when I go to the TMS office. And what colour was the last mask you wore? It's one of those normal blue and white medical ones. The last time you were in a queue, what were you waiting for? To see the woman who would give me my APAP mask. Have you had your Covid vaccine yet? Which one, if you have? Yes, Moderna. If you've had your vaccine, did you experience any side effects? None for the first shot, but my second shot bruised badly and I felt seriously shitty the following day. I was perfectly fine afterwards, though. Can any of your friends sing well? Which one has the nicest singing voice? Sara has an AMAAAAAAAAAAAZING voice. When was the last time you wore make-up, if ever? What shades/colours? I don't even remember, but I'm sure it would've been black. What is something that seems popular, but doesn't interest you personally? Fashion, various TV shows, etc... Are you clumsy or graceful? I am STUPID clumsy. Like it's just ridiculous. Do you like gloves? I like fingerless gloves. Does your sibling(s) have braces? My older sister did as a kid. Do you ever say "OMG" in person? No; it's a random pet peeve of mine, "Internet talk" irl. What was the last thing your parents got mad at you for? Dad, no idea. Mom, uhhhh. Not "mad," but "annoyed" probably better fits how she felt about me leaving the heating pad I use for my cramps on the floor. Do your pets have favorites? I'm definitely Roman's favorite seeing as he is my literal shadow, and I'd assume Venus trusts me more than anyone else, but realistically, she's in contact with almost no one else, so. Who was your first boyfriend/girlfriend? Why did you break up? The first guy to have the title of "boyfriend" was Aaron, and I broke up with him 'cuz I just wasn't as romantically into him as I thought I might be. It was puppy-dog love, and I feel I knew that. My first *real* boyfriend was Jason, who broke up with me because my mental illnesses began to affect his wellbeing. Which I now accept is fine, but he seriously coulda gone about things differently... When was the last time you got a new bed? Is your bed comfy? Late into my teenage years; idk the exact age and don't feel like doing the math. Teddy kept peeing on the bed to where it was just unrecoverable and needed to be thrown away. My current bed is comfy enough. What kind of games did you play on the playground when you were younger? My absolute favorite was digging tunnels in the sandbox, pretending to be a meerkat. The only trend I ever created, haha, seeing as my classmates got into it with me, allowing us to make huge tunnel systems. It was really cool. I also liked playing 4 Square (which I now don't even remember the details of) on the basketball court. Do you remember the first time you ever drove a car? Who were you with? Yeah, my driver's ed instructor and the guy who was on the same route as me. What’s your favorite thing to do when drunk? Would you do this sober? N/A Are you a fan of dogs? Do you have any as pets? I'm picky with dogs. I like interacting with any dog, but I don't plan on ever owning another. I don't like how hyper they can be, and I prefer more independent pets, like cats. Basically, I'll be hyped to meet a random dog on the street and give it some loving, but I don't want to take it home to be my own. Are you an elitist (even a little bit) when it comes to anything? What? No. I cannot stand elitists. Is just being fond of something enough, or does it take more than that to be a ‘real fan’? And I hate gatekeeping in fandoms even more. There are varying intensities of "being a fan," but regardless, if you like something, congratulations, you're a valid, "real" fan. What type of fabric is most comfortable for clothing? I don't pay attention to this, honestly. If you wear one – bras with or without a wire? I'll wear either, but without is way more comfortable. If you wear one – are you able to find cute bras in your size? God no. What length do you like your shorts to be? I don’t wear shorts. What was the last disappointing movie you saw? Warcraft, but not because it was bad. I've talked before how in the theater, the orcs' voices were just so fucking baritone that I couldn't understand almost ANYTHING they said. Kinda ruined the experience for me. What was the last disappointing book you read? Don't recall. Do you ever watch compilation videos? Of what? Very rarely. If I do, they're mostly of animals being silly. Favorite Disney character who isn’t royalty? Probably Dory, but idk. There's WAY too many options to fish through.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''this is the kingdom'' by skillet

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ceruleanwhore · 5 years ago

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Let’s talk about LoK’s shit worldbuilding

Technology is what I’ve seen the most people the most opinionated about, so that’s where I’ll start. Plenty of people out there share my opinion that having LoK be set in basically the American 20s is just some really shitty worldbuilding but I’ve also encountered plenty more who are of the opinion that since it’s technically possible, that means it’s good. For those who aren’t aware: just because something is technically possible does NOT make it good. AtLA is set in a more traditional fantasy world with a hard magic system where the setting, character design, and everything else are meant to feel older (even though this time it isn’t modeled after Europe). There is some technology in AtLA and what is shown works with the nature of their world and their society so it isn’t like, say, a lamppost from England being dropped right into this little fantasy world and disrupting things. The trains in Ba Sing Se are a perfect example of this with how they are operated by benders and also fit, visually, with the surrounding buildings and whatnot.

The issue with LoK is that it seems that there was no real thought around the development and incorporation of new technology in the context of the world. Instead, it’s as though they copied and pasted the American 20s in there and it’s really jarring. This would be the part where I said that just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s good writing- just because our industrial revolution was at breakneck speed doesn’t mean that having your fantasy world develop the same way is a good idea. For a little context, let’s compare this to the Lord of the Rings. Imagine that Christopher Tolkien one day decided to write a whole new four part series set a century after the end of Return of the King. So now, seemingly out of nowhere, boom, technology. Minas Tirith is basically 1920s Chicago, they have cars and stuff. And the thing is that there was a little bit of technology in LotR, just like with AtLA, so that is a fair comparison.

Also, like I said earlier, it feels lazy with how they’re just throwing in some of these different types of technology. For example, a glove that electrocutes people with no explanation whatsoever on how it works doesn’t make sense. Not to mention, the fact that anything relies on lightning bending, which is SUPPOSED to be super fucking rare (more on that later) is beyond stupid.

I think this reflects an ongoing issue with Korra where they clearly think that they should be trying to make things more “realistic” but either don’t realize or don’t care that in the process they’re wrecking that ‘fantasy’ feel their world used to have, which brings us to our next topic: people.

Just like how they decided to go the ‘realism’ route with a breakneck industrial revolution, they also decided to go that same route with homosexuality and, more importantly, homophobia. Friendly reminder that if you’re writing fantasy and you spice it some with some good, wholesome gay content, you DO NOT have to ruin it with fucking homophobia. It’s supposed to be fantasy, you dense fuck. It has its own problems but the Dragon Prince is an absolutely perfect example of how to write gayness in fantasy, i.e., perfectly common with zero homophobia to be seen. Writing it like Bryke did just to double down on “it’s been like 90 years since the war ended but did you know the Fire Nation is fucking TERRIBLE and Sozin is basically HITLER?” is weak, stupid, and fucking annoying.

The other thing I want to touch on is race. Basically, put whoever you want in your story and have them look however you want them to look but keep in mind that the way you do or do not introduce groups of people can affect the quality of your writing. What I mean is that with a fantasy universe like this, it’s all wysiwyg. When the gaang traveled around *the world* meeting and interacting with all kinds of people from all kinds of places in all 3 remaining nations (and showing memories of the air nomads that are now gone), that’s your chance to showcase all that wonderful diversity. By the end of the series, when their tour of the whole world is over, you should have a complete picture.

Again, think about LotR for a second. By the end of Return of the King, you’ve encountered all the different types of men that ever existed in any of Tolkien’s writings (kinda sorta including the dunedain, and there’s even a reference or two in there with Aragorn tying that in all nicely), multiple kinds of elves, dwarves, goblins, hobbits, ents, huorns, the eagles, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, the Nazgul, and multiple maiar (some good, some corrupt). The only race that hasn’t appeared in any of this that does exist in Tolkien’s other works is the valar but, otherwise, you, as the reader, along with characters like Frodo have been introduced to each and every race in middle earth, and, frankly, the Valar can be excused because they all are in the Undying Lands (plus Manwe might have been mentioned with the eagles.) Now, compare that to LoK where, with a Rowling level of retconning, they decided to just add some more races out of nowhere with no explanation 90 years or whatever after the original series.

I just know that, for myself, I would’ve loved to see all this included from the beginning and incorporated into the original series and the travels of the gaang. Instead, we have it so AtLA is pretty set one way and then in LoK there’s just that one random dude with an afro and then, going into the comics afterwards, they decided to start incorporating different races in a way that feels like a JK Rowling tweet (“Hermione was black all along, even though I described her in the books as having light skin and picked a white actress to play her, I swear!”) So, basically, when you’re writing fantasy, you kind of have to include everything like that because that’s how the genre works and it’s not like in normal fiction where you can just have a black character without any explanation. Once again, the difference between how fantasy writing works and things being “realistic”.

As for realism, yanking the white lotus out into the open by their ear like an errant child is so unspeakably dumb and unrealistic. They’re a SECRET society who transcend the four nations and operate in SECRET jfc. After the war ended and the old folks home was no longer fighting the Fire Nation, the rest of them should’ve been able to go back into hiding no problem. But to drag their asses into this mess just to make them like Korra’s personal bodyguards and guards at high security prisons is so fucking stupid it hurts.

So then, to finish this up, let’s talk about bending. First off, there’s the issue of how bending forms have just… ceased to exist and/or been replaced with vague yet aggressive punching. Remember when Katara had to learn all those water bending stances and there was even a scroll of them? Or when Aang had to learn fire bending forms from Zuko? Well fuck that, now everyone can just punch at stuff instead. Never been able to airbend even with what should be proper form? Try waving your fist around!

The other thing is how so many of these characters are just “so naturally gifted” and can either successfully bend well with little to no experience or casually do stuff that’s supposed to be hella difficult. An example of the first point is Zaheer who just got his airbending like 3 days prior but suddenly can fucking fly and an example of the latter would be the blood bending, just all of it. That’s kind of another thing, though, how they’ve taken these things that were special and notoriously difficult and then watered them down and made it so literally everyone can do it. You know how lightning bending was a really cool thing only Ozai and Azula, the Fire Lord and princess who are both also known to be especially skilled benders, could do? Not anymore, now pretty much any fire bender with a pulse can shoot lightning out of their fingers. Same goes for blood and metal bending.

Also, can I just say that I’m mad at how pro bending was done? The earth bending stuff with the Boulder and all that worked because that framework of wrestling is really well suited to the element. Now, it’s what I’ve been saying where it’s like ‘oh yeah we can just put all the elements together in this boxing type shit because everyone in this fucking series can bend by punching, right?’ They had an awesome opportunity here to figure out different styles of fighting sports tailored to the different types of bending and they said ‘nope, fuck you’ and gave us that shit. Or just sports, in general, based around if the people playing and benders and, if so, what type of bending they have.

The last main thing with bending though is the absolute horseshit of harmonic convergence and kinda just season 2 in general. For starters, Korra getting her bending back because dead Aang was like “here ya go” was bullshit. I feel like it would’ve been better if that had been when Unalaq got introduced as her spiritual guide and, through working with him, she eventually was able to reach Wan, see his whole backstory like we got in episode 7, and then, afterwards, she could contact Raava directly and somehow with her get her bending back. Then, afterwards, she could go back to Republic City and give everyone their bending back and start helping with reconstruction from Amon. Season 2 doesn’t need a villain and it most certainly does NOT need that dumbass ‘dark avatar’ bullshit.

Also, in terms of the air bending, seriously, fuck that shit. If air bending is going to come back then maybe, I don’t know, after following my other advice have Korra realize that not only can she take bending away (like Aang) but she can also give it so she could just go around to all the acolytes and make them airbenders. Or, if that would fuck up the balance or some shit, have her go around and make all the people who lost their bending to Amon into a fresh batch of air benders. You can’t really introduce something like energy bending and then expect us to believe that the only way to bring air bending back is for Aang to fuck a lot and then rely on following generations and subsequent incest, plus hc is fucking stupid when you have a character who can straight up just give people bending.

Oh and all that convergence shit brings up my last point of discussion, the way they retconned and fucked up the lore. Just like with what they did with lightning, blood, lava, and metal bending, they also decided to just do everything they could with those fucking turtles. Just like with Azula’s lightning bending, the entire fucking reason the lion turtle works so well is because of how it is so rare and special and all that so once you take that away, it doesn’t matter anymore smh. For most peope, champagne is special. You know why? Because most of us aren’t out here drinking the shit by the gallon every day. So yeah, between that and the way they threw away already established lore (that was further reinforced by experiences of characters in the show) makes it just a big old “yike”. All they had to do was fanagle a bit to keep Raava and Vaatu but ditch the whole hc shitshow and just maintain the parts that are already established.

#anti lok #bad worldbuilding #bad writing #anti legend of korra #lok #legend of korra #avatar #lok critical #lok criticism #legend of korra criticism #korra criticism #korra critical

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areiton · 4 years ago

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wanna be my baby - stucky

Read on AO3

~*~

Bucky is laughing and chattering, his eyes bright and happy while they walk through the city, and his nose is red.

Just the tip, bright red against his pale skin and dark hair and slate blue eyes. It’s distracting and

Steve catches his elbow, tugs Bucky into a little shop on the way to dinner. The shop is dark and luxurious--it reminds him of the little tailor that Tony dragged him to before their first charity outing.

It’s rich and dark, leather coats and elegant suits, and--

“Stevie?” Bucky asks, hesitantly and Steve hums, looking around until he sees the tasteful display of scarves and gloves, and he runs his fingers over one, tightly knit wool so soft it feels like silk.

There’s cashmere but he’s a traditionalist, and the blue wool will look nice, with the black. He taps the scarf and a pair of leather gloves, slim and lined with soft warm fleece. “These, please,” he says, and the salesgirl hovering a step behind Bucky scurries to box up his purchases.

“Cold, Steve?” Bucky asks, while they wait, and Steve smiles at him, waiting until they’re outside again, the air cold and brisk and making Bucky shiver in his heavy coat, before he digs the soft blue scarf out and loops it around Bucky’s throat

Bucky goes still, letting him tuck the end into the loop, adjust the fit until he was happy with it and a flush was rising in Bucky’s pale cheeks.

“Gloves too,” he murmurs, and Bucky tugs them on with careful fingers, while Steve watches, a rush of warm pleasure uncurling in his belly.

When Bucky spreads his now-gloved hands and blinks blue eyes--they’ve never been that blue--at him like he’s waiting for judgement, Steve smiles and nods.

“Better,” he murmurs, and turns them back toward their dinner destination, while Bucky leans into his side, warm and comfortable.

~*~

The problem about life in a future he didn’t ask for is that it’s strange and unfamiliar and more than that--it’s lonely. He has his team, but Natasha and Clint spend more time on missions than they do in country, Thor is off world, and Bruce hides in his lab.

Tony is friendly, they’ve worked through their initial issues, but there is only so much of his mania that Steve can stand before he needs an escape, needs the reality of the world they fight so hard to save, and he spends hours walking, aimlessly wandering the city and slipping into bookshops and bakeries and small shops that felt like stepping into the past, antiques and art supply stores and a upholstery store that smells just like his Ma’s laundry.

It’s how he finds Winter’s Brew.

It’s how he finds Bucky.

~*~

He doesn’t do it often--it’s only--

He has the money, a staggering wealth that makes him queasy sitting in his bank account, growing every month he stays on the rolls as an Avenger, a combination of backpay and a salary for being a super hero, neatly negotiated by Tony’s team of lawyers and Pepper Potts’ demanding smile, sugar and spice and everything he’d loved about Pegs.

So he has the money, what he never had in the forties, when he wanted so desperately to take care of his Ma.

And he doesn’t need it, is the thing.

Because Tony houses the team, feeds and equips them, and he merely has to muse about wanting something before it’s arriving, compliments of JARVIS and Tony both.

Bucky though--

Bucky is brilliant and hungry, a grad student studying and working on his thesis during late night shifts at the coffee shop. He walks dogs in the morning for the wealthy business men and women who can’t find the time for the animals they love and walks kids home in the afternoons to their drunk mothers and au pairs waiting with toddlers, and he hustles, works too hard for too little.

It makes sense, adds up to Steve, because he has this money he doesn’t know what to do with, besides stuffing a hundred or three into cups of tired eyed vagrants and pouring money into charities that he likes.

And that’s nice , it is, but--

But there’s something very satisfying about the smile, sunshine bright and strangely shy, when Steve buys Bucky something.

There’s something sweetly calming about the sight of Bucky in something he bought, like the silk blue dress shirt is a claim.

It scratches an itch to be needed , when Bucky stumbles into the coffeeshop with a bag full of text books he paid for, when he curls up on Steve’s sofa with a laptop he bought.

And sometimes--sometimes when he buys things for Bucky, it’s not because Bucky needs it or because he can .

It’s simply for the look, wide-eyed and pleased, a pretty flush in pale cheeks and wonder in slate blue eyes, that Bucky gives him in return.

~*~

They’re crammed into a small booth at a bar that Bruce insisted on, and Bucky’s a warm weight against his side, listing into Steve the more he drinks. He’s comfortable around the Avengers at this point, has spent enough time on Steve’s couch with Tony Stark crashing in without warning that he doesn’t even blink to see Clint and Natasha drop into the bar.

Bucky is drinking and happy and Steve’s team is around them, all of the people he likes best in the world and it’s perfect, even if Tony’s gaze keeps flicking back and forth between Steve and Bucky and Natash’s watching them with sharp eyes despite the vodka shots.

When his watch beeps, Steve nudges Bucky. “Time to go--you said you had class in the morning.”

“Class is stupid,” Bucky grumbles, and Steve laughs softly as he pats at his pockets, his motions growing choppy and desperate until he hisses a curse, and Steve tips his head down, toward Bucky. “What’s wrong?”

“My fucking--I don’t have my wallet,” he says and his eyes are big and worried and Steve frowns.

“Where’d you--”

“I gave it to Peter when we were walking home, so he could get some ice cream,” Bucky says, and Steve plucks the phone he’s tapping frantically against the table, tapping in Bucky’s password before scrolling--

“Peter has it, Buck, you’re fine.”

“But--”

Steve shushes him and slides two hundreds off his billfold, tossing them on the table before he stands and tugs Bucky after him

“I’m gonna help him home,” he tells the team, all of them watching him, and Bucky, Bucky is watching him with those damn wide eyes. “You can’t get a cab without money, Buck,” he says reasonably, and tucks Bucky’s scarf into his coat. “C’mon.”

He doesn’t think about the way his team watches him walking away or the way that Bucky allows himself to be led.

~*~

He only meant to get a cup of coffee. He didn’t mean to befriend Bucky, or maybe it was the other way, maybe Bucky befriend him, filling the afternoons and evenings in Winter’s Brew with quiet chatter, rambling about his classes and reading bits of whatever sci-fi he had found, or leaning over the counter to show Steve a particularly adorable picture of Alpine.

He slipped under the edges of Steve’s defences, until he was snug under the skin, nestled where Steve kept the people who mattered to him--the team and his Ma, Peggy and the Howlies--and it never bothered him, really, that Bucky fit there, so effortless and easy.

~*~

He gets the call while he’s on his way to the garage, and answers it with a grin. “Buck, you promised, you can’t back out--”

“I’m not,” Bucky says, “But you need to stop and buy my hair goop.”

His voice is pitched with panic and sharp with command it makes Steve’s spine snap straight, and he’s nodding, even as Bucky rambles on, “I’m sending the address, Alpine knocked it in the sink, I’m not going anywhere without my hair done.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll be over with it soon.”

“Thanks, Steve,’ Bucky breathes, and Steve shivers as a cool wind slices across the garage.

He gets the goop.

He gets some leave in conditioner and a mask and some bath salts too, because he thinks Bucky’d probably like it and he’s already here .

And the tiny smile Bucky gives him when he peeks in the bag--that tells him he was right, and sends a bolt of warmth through him that’s stoked a little every time he catches scent of conditioner in Bucky’s hair that night.

~*~

Bucky is normal, is the thing.

He knows who Steve is, Steve never tried to hide it, but Bucky never seemed to care . He smiled at Steve , listened to Steve complain about mission reports and overpriced fruit and the weird taste of bananas, and he rambled to Steve about school and his sister’s shitty boyfriend and the fact that there was a decent single guy left in the city.

Bucky is normal and it doesn’t matter if he’s curled up on Steve’s couch in Avenger Tower, or if they’re crashed in Bucky’s apartment fighting over the remote, it’s always easy, comfortable, being with Bucky.

And if he likes to bring new blankets for Bucky’s threadbare couch, and push a box with motorcycle boots across the table at him before they go upstate for a hike--if he likes to feed Bucky and buy him the little odds and ends that Bucky sees when they’re wandering through the city, it doesn’t mean anything.

It’s only that Bucky smiles at him, pleased and happy and sometimes--not always, but sometimes-- his eyes go half-lidded and his smile goes sly when he says, all smoke and promise, “Gonna have to let me pay you back for this sometime, Stevie.”

And Steve aches.

~*~

Sometimes they get looks.

When Bucky smiles at him, sweet and hopeful and Steve nods, and buys a series of books or a set of DVDs.

When they’re at the movies and Bucky is bouncing on his toes, trying to decide what candy he wants and Steve patiently says, “Get him one of each.”

When they’re at the Tower and Bucky says, “I love this blanket,” while he snuggles into Pepper’s favorite throw and Steve says, “JARVIS? One in blue, please?”

They get looks, and Bucky sometimes flushes when he sees the way people watching them, and it bothers Steve, makes him scoot closer, wrap an arm around his broad shoulders and squeeze until that flush and guilty embarrassment fades away and Bucky melts like sugar into his side.

~*~

They’re out with Natasha when it happens.

Steve’s been shopping with her often enough that he doesn’t even blink when she leads them into a high end lingerie store, just slides a glance at Bucky to make sure he’s ok.

He’s got a look on his face, wide-eyed, mouth a little parted, a delicate flush rising in his cheeks.

“Buck,” Steve says, concerned but Bucky’s already drifting away from him, fingers running over a pair of lace panties.

It’s unbearably erotic, pale fingers against midnight blue lace, and Steve swallows hard.

“It’s pretty,” Bucky breathes.

Steve swallows and says, not real sure where it’s coming from, “You--you like this kinda stuff?”

Bucky flushes, glances at him from under long dark lashes. “Yeah. I--it’s expensive, so I don’t got very much, just a teddy and a couple pair of panties for special occasions.”

Steve stares at him, and then, so soft it’s barely a whisper, “Show me what you like.”

Bucky blinks at him, big blue luminous and does as he’s told.

Later, when he’s home and the image of Bucky’s long pianist fingers brushing reverently over lace and silk and satin is burned into his eyes, he makes an order.

Two days later, Bucky sends him a picture, a broad chest wrapped in delicate silk the same deep blue as his stealth suit, a pair of boyshorts trimmed in white lace cupping a thick cock that makes his mouth water, and a simple thanks to caption it.

It’s followed quickly by a text. Tell me how to say thanks properly?

If he closes his eyes later, strokes himself to the image of Bucky wearing white lace and miles of pale skin, and eyes wide with gratitude and devotion--well.

He keeps that thought and the spine-meltingly good orgasm to himself.

~*~

It doesn’t mean anything.

He’s still Bucky, and sometimes when Steve looks at him all he can think about is the little black lace panties he’s got on under those skin tight pants, but for the most part--he’s just Bucky. Beautiful and brilliant and everything Steve didn’t realize he was missing.

And that’s all Bucky wants from him--just Steve. The friend. The guy who shows up and listens and hangs out when Bucky needs to get outside his head and quizzes him before a test.

He doesn’t want--doesn’t need-- to be kept and cared for, he’s been taking care of his sisters since his dad died when he was sixteen, he’s completely capable of taking care of himself.

They’re friends.

It’s only--sometimes he wants to take care of Bucky.

Sometimes, he wants more.

~*~

He’s sitting in the workshop and flicking through a few tablets he thinks Bucky’d like. “Add that, would you J? And send it over to him?”

“Of course, Captain,” Jarvis says smoothly and he settles back into the couch, a book already open when Tony’s curious gaze makes him pause. There’s a smile curling at the corner of Tony’s lips, that too knowing gaze sharp and mischievous.

“What?” he asks, a little self-conscious.

“I never thought you’d be the one to get a sugar baby, is all. I mean--not gonna judge, I’ve had a few in my day, but--”

“What are you talking about?” Steve interrupts, his ears burning and his stomach twisting, and Tony stills.

“Bucky bear. He’s your sugar baby. Can’t even blame you, Cap, the boy’s got a mouth made to fuck,” Tony laughs and Steve goes scarlet, flushed with rage and embarrassment, and something in Tony’s gaze softens, just a little. “Shit. J, would you--”

The phone beeps in his hand, and he scrolls through the descriptions and definitions, the explanations and his fingers tremble, and he doesn’t know if it’s from shock or hungry want.

~*~

It sits in his belly, a kernel of knowledge he doesn’t know what to do with, doesn’t really want, and it makes him anxious, makes him question when he goes to buy something, when he reaches for his card and Bucky smiles, all sweet and happy.

When Bucky bumps his shoulder and says, “Gonna have to let me repay you sometime.”

It’s that--Bucky’s familiar throwaway comment one night after they’re leaving a musical he’d been talking about for weeks, when Steve says, “You don’t have to, you know. It’s--I don’t know what Tony said, but it’s not like that.” He laughs, the sound rusted and awkward in his mouth, and Bucky is watching him, eyes big and curious and cautious. “It’s not like you’re my sugar baby.”

Bucky blinks at him, and when he smiles, it’s smaller, somehow.

~*~

Bucky stops answering his calls and when Steve shows up at work, he’s brusque and distant, almost cold, and it doesn’t make sense, it just--it burns in his chest, this place that’s empty and aching where Bucky should be and he knows that if Bucky is done, if he’s tired of this friendship that doesn’t give him nearly enough--he’s taking care of a seventy year old disaster, for fuck’s sake--that’s fine, that’s Bucky’s choice, that’s something Steve’s gotta respect.

He does.

He just--

“I miss you, Buck,” he says, earnest and Bucky stares at him wrapped up in a soft scarf and heavy coat and Steve can remember buying both, and he loves that even as angry as Bucky is, he’s still dressing himself in Steve’s clothes.

“Fine,” Bucky says. “We can get lunch. But I’m buying.”

~*~

It goes like this--

Things get better.

But Bucky is prickly now, about Steve buying things for him, almost snapping when he reaches for the bill, when he sends over gifts, when he shows up with food and movies and coffee, and he doesn’t understand because it’s nothing different, this is what they’ve always done.

It stings--a rejection he doesn’t understand or like.

It comes to a head on a Saturday morning after Bucky’s semester ends, when he shows up at Bucky's apartment with bagels and coffee and a new handheld gaming system because Bucky worked hard, and he deserved it, even if he’d never get it for himself.

Bucky stiffens when he sees Steve, laden with breakfast and a shiny red bag dangling from one finger and he pulls back, all stiff faced and closed off and Steve is tired .

“Why won’t you let me spoil you,” he snaps and Bucky recoils.

That isn’t--

That wasn’t what he meant to ask.

“Buck--”

“You don’t want me,” Bucky snarls, the momentary paralysis bleeding away and leaving fury in it’s wake. “You said you don’t want a sugar baby.

“I want you, ” Steve shouts back.”I wanna take care fo you and spoil you and you won’t let me.”

“Well, I wanna suck your cock and call you daddy, so I guess neither of us is getting what we want,” Bucky sasses back because he’s a brat and he’s beautiful and he’s everything Steve didn’t know he wanted.

He drops the coffee and the bagels, the stupid little toy his baby will coo over later, and Bucky makes a startled noise as coffee spills across hardwood, and then Steve is kissing him, licking into his mouth while Bucky is clinging to him and whining, hot and sweet and sucking on his tongue.

Maybe, Steve thinks, before Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders and levers himself up , maybe they both get exactly what they want.

~*~

Bucky looks beautiful in the pretty panties Steve bought him, sprawled across his silky sheets Steve gave him.

He looks even better naked and sucking cock, and when he can think again, all he can say is, “Tony was right--you’ve got a mouth made to fuck, baby,”

#arei writes fic #stucky fic #sugar baby bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky

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pascalls · 4 years ago

Text

Bedroom Confessional

After rebuffing the reverend’s attempt to garner pity under the guise of some evening company, Charlie abandons his makeshift hovel to seek solace elsewhere, if only just for one night.

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

His clothes reeked of acrid smoke, his gait staggering down the sidewalk as he squinted against the illuminated advertisements that loomed over him. Having abandoned the storage unit that Lovejoy had put him up in for the foreseeable future - as long as the so-called insufferable Bode was still in his home - Charlie found himself fairly unable and unwilling to determine just where to go from there. There was no way he was calling the reverend back. Not after putting up his defenses so expertly and, perhaps stupidly, pushing him away. It had been a taste of his own nasty medicine. Rejection in the most blatant, dismal way.

And maybe he regretted it.

But the hybrid was no quitter. He stuck to his guns, despite what his hovering conscience told him at every turn. Stupid stupid. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

A sudden clang of bone against metal and a surge of pain in his nose told him that he’d run headlong into a street light. The flimsy mask that hid his features did little to blunt the blow, and with a curse uttered against the sound of traffic in the middle distance, he pressed a hand against his plastic beak, as though that would soothe the ache in his face.

“Yanno, usually people do that when they’re walking outta the bar.”

Charlie turned to face the source of that churning accent, though he didn’t need to see to know who it was. He’d somehow ended up outside of Moe’s, the bartender having caught his eye and watched, in apparent dull interest as Charlie had smacked straight into the light.

“Yeah, well…” The hybrid began to mutter in a near snarl, but caught himself before he got too testy, the taste of whiskey on his tongue still fresh and yearning for more. Before him stood an opportunity. Drown out the pain. A doctor might do the same. It was a homeopathic remedy for depression.

...Of a sort.

“Got too excited,” he finished, adjusting his mask and hat before walking towards the other and giving him a cordial pat on the shoulder. “You have time to serve me a few? I know it’s a bit late.”

Far be it from Moe to not acquiesce, and he grinned with his usual skeeviness, hoisting the broom he’d had in hand over his shoulder (why had he been sweeping the sidewalk, Charlie wondered?) and waving Charlie through the door and into the musty bar. Smelling of tobacco as he did, the hybrid was certain that he fit right in with the other bar flies that likely frequented the place. Strange outfit aside, anyway.

He settled into the seat, adjusting his weird cloak to make sure it didn’t get tangled in the legs of the stool as he breathed out a slow exhale. Already drunk, he was really just looking to continue chasing the feeling of release. To forget Lovejoy’s stupid, pathetic face. To forget his confusion and the despair; the disappointment in his expression. To forget why he was so obsessed, why he was so enthralled, why he was so -

“Thirsty?”

Charlie glanced up at Moe and nodded at the question posed to him, holding up two fingers.

“Old-fashioned. Double.”

“Uh-huh,” Moe replied, turning to throw together some nondescript concoction, the act of which told Charlie that he was probably going to get whatever the hell he had sitting back there and would have to be grateful for it. But whatever. He didn’t care. He’d let Moe decide his fate, watching as a glass was slid in front of him with some sort of muddy, sloshy mixture that had what seemed to be a slightly moldy orange peel in it.

Whatever!

He hadn’t quite considered how he was going to drink it, but… he could pull the mask up enough to get to his mouth. That’d have to do, tossing his head back to swallow the drink all at once. It nearly choked him; tasted like something terrible and foul, but he had a hard time complaining, setting the glass down once he was done with it and letting out a few haggard coughs as he got it down and into his stomach.

“Woah, okay!” Moe exclaimed, quickly making his way to whip up another. As long as the doctor was drinking, he would keep on churning them out. Easy money, he figured. “What’s eatin’ you? Figured you woulda been the type to talk about all that… health garbage, not hammerin’ them back with ol’ Moe on a Wednesday night.”

“Alcohol is…” Charlie began, trying to come up with something… smart. And… befitting of the character he’d been playing. But nothing came. He let out a little snuff of frustration and threw up a shrug of his shoulders. “Y’know. Good.”

That was all he had to offer Moe. Not that the other man could disagree.

A gnat buzzed somewhere in his peripheral, but he only noticed it briefly before the door to the bar swung open again. Charlie almost didn’t look up, but being in between drinks, he lifted his head, nearly turning away immediately when he caught sight of a familiar face. But that would’ve been too obvious. Downplaying his internal panic, he remained where he was, taking the second of the drinks that Moe continued to feed him and sipping it carefully this time. Careful with his mask. Don’t let anything slip.

He would not allow Waylon Smithers, the quickest way to get him back to Burns’ fucked up shit shed, to see who he was.

“Hey there Moe,” Smithers said as he drifted over to settle in one of the empty seats, only one away from where Charlie was. Despite the quickness of his heart, the hybrid glanced over. Curious. Smithers had never seemed to be the kind to drift in and out of the bar. But a better look told him that this was probably not the kindest night to either of them. The man looked disheveled, shirt slightly untucked and without his suit jacket at all. His hair was slightly unkempt and it seemed as though Charlie was not the only one who smelled of cigarettes and liquor.

If he wasn’t so keen on being inconspicuous, Charlie might have let out a rueful chuckle. The universe didn’t hate him specifically, at least.

The bartender’s attention was suddenly split, serving drinks to them both as Smithers began to wax poetic on how terrible the muggy weather was while Charlie nursed his own comfort.

“Moe, have you ever been in love?” Smithers asked. Moe responded with a noncommittal noise, like he didn’t want to have the conversation.

“I mean, YEAH, but who hasn’t?” Nevermind. Moe’s flip floppery betrayed his interest. Meanwhile, Charlie peered over his beak at Waylon. More subtly tuning into the conversation. Smithers? In love? The thought was a heinous one. The only thing the man seemed to love was his shitty, terrible job at the plant. Or something about it, anyway.

“Huh. Then you know how terrible it is.” Smithers slumped, hand cradled around his own drink (which seemed to be better looking than Charlie’s, what the fuck?) as he continued. “It lets you get so comfortable and then wrenches itself away.” Dramatic as he explained. His somewhat slurred speech told Charlie that he was already well on his way to metaphorical Flavortown. Maybe he could let his guard down. Slightly. At least enough to join in on the conversation. Seemed right up his alley, apparently. And his own lowered inhibitions urged him to scoot over to settle into that empty seat next to Waylon, reaching out to give him a little pat on the shoulder as he’d done to Moe the few moments before.

“Sounds like somebody got jilted today,” Charlie replied with a little snort of amusement. “Besides me, I mean. That why we’re both in this dump?” His voice lilted with the swill of his drink, offering as much of a friendly expression as he could with his face obscured by the silly mask.

“You too, huh?” Smithers glanced over to meet Charlie’s gaze, as if noticing him for the first time. It wasn’t their one and only time in the same room. Springfield was notoriously small; it meant that they ran into each other from time to time. But neither acknowledged one another. It hadn’t mattered. But now they found themselves in the same shoes. For some reason, Charlie thought, that was pretty funny. His fear began to shed away as he nodded in response.

“You?” Moe interjected, his stare pointed at the cross that Charlie wore around his neck. Though it was no secret that the hybrid was somewhat affiliated with the reverend, he was not a holy man. But he understood how the assumption could be made.

“Of course,” he said. “What, you don’t think I could get a date?” He pointed at himself with a gloved hand, rolling his eyes as both Moe and Smithers glanced at each other skeptically.

“...Rude.”

“I guess if you ever took off the whole…” Waylon gestured to Charlie’s outfit. To which the hybrid brought up a hand and waggled a finger at him.

“A doctor never reveals his secrets.”

“I thought that was magicians?” Moe mumbled partially to himself. Had he gotten that saying wrong his whole life…? As he pondered it, both Smithers and Charlie laughed. An easy feeling. One that Charlie had sorely needed, even if it was at poor Moe’s expense. It opened the door to warmth. Not like the stuffy, confined feeling of sitting in the dark of a storage room. But there was a life to his impromptu companions. And even engaging with Moe was less of a strange drag than it might have been otherwise. But the hybrid’s attention was primarily on Smithers. Who knew such a straight-laced, tight lipped son of a bitch could be so interesting?

Maybe interesting was the wrong word.

As the night wore on and Moe began to allude to cutting them both off, lest they drink up his entire store, Charlie gave Waylon a gentle nudge with a shoulder.

“We should probably get out of his hair. Can I walk you home?”

It wasn’t the first flirt that Charlie had shot Waylon’s way that night, but it seemed to be the one that caught the man’s attention the most.

“Polite of you. I think I can manage, though.” It was a polite no, and Charlie was prepared to take that at face value. It hadn’t been the first time he’d been rejected, after all. But as Smithers pushed himself away from the bar and moved to leave the seat he’d been warming for several hours now, he staggered, woozy from his own swill. The hybrid moved to get hands at his back, steadying him - steadying them both, really - and keeping him from falling over on his face in the middle of Moe’s bar. Charlie felt his own buzz at its height, but he was a well practiced alcoholic. He could keep himself standing up, even if he couldn’t prevent himself from walking into light poles.

“...Maybe you should walk me after all,” Waylon said after finding his balance properly, offering the doctor a sheepish smile. But the hybrid was pleased to oblige. The longer he could postpone his return to that lonely storage unit, the better. He’d see Smithers home, maybe stagger off to sleep outside somewhere, and then return in the morning, going right back into drinking to stave off an angry hangover.

Offering his arm to Smithers, Charlie bid Moe goodbye, instructing the bartender to ‘put the drinks on the reverend’s tab’ before escorting Waylon out of the bar and back into the street. He gave the light pole a wide berth this time as he allowed the other man to give him the directions back to his apartment. Together, they stumbled and staggered, a few times into the street, with no shortage of drunken giggles and shared stories. It was almost enough to wipe clean the memory of Lovejoy’s more-than-apt insult.

Almost.

By the time they were around the corner to Waylon’s apartment, the man was leaning heavily on Charlie’s shoulders. The hybrid had little problem with it, having come to the conclusion that he could overlook Waylon’s affiliation with Burns, if only for the time being. To let himself have a reprieve. As long as Smithers wasn’t aware of who he really was, Charlie saw little danger in the prospect.

“Ah. Here.”

Waylon came to a stop, pointing up to his building as they came to the entrance. Though he seemed loathe to take his weight off of Charlie who kept him propped up as best as he could. He wasn’t exactly light…

“Glad we made it,” Charlie said with a little hum in his voice, his buzz still lingering. “Was getting scared that you might topple over and just sleep in the street. Couldn’t leave you alone then. Would be irresponsible.” He laughed, a gentle, easy laugh that he was sure hadn’t left him in several weeks. His heart leapt, briefly, as he considered that he’d need to savor that sensation. It would drain out of him within the next day. When Tim came back or texted him or tried to pretend that nothing had happened. Charlie wouldn’t be able to keep himself from falling into that familiar routine. Forward and forward and back with a harsh hand against his chest. Yearning and aching and suffering all the while.

“...Wanna come up?”

Shaken out of his revelry, Charlie glanced down at Waylon with a lift in his eyebrows, though the other man wouldn’t have been able to tell. His surprise was palpable, however, in his voice. Soft as it was, like a man who saw a glimmer of a watery mirage in the middle of a desert, he hesitated to accept.

“...You sure?”

Smithers nodded. The man was not sober. But neither was Charlie. And nothing said that this was an invitation for more. Just- to make sure he made it up the stairs. Most likely. Yes, that was it. A mantra that the hybrid bore into his skull with a metaphorical drill. Hopes were for other people who got to fully feel. He wasn’t allowed that. The notion firmly in mind, Charlie turned to lead Waylon inside and up to his floor.

The elevator was a blessing - God forbid they try to traverse the stairs in their state. But in the quiet, surrounded by only tinny muzak which sounded from the speakers, Charlie glanced down at Smithers again. He’d gotten the idea that the man was… like him. Maybe it was in the way they both spoke; the way they behaved. There was a mutual connection. And it wasn’t until the elevator came to the correct floor and Charlie began to guide Smithers to his door that Charlie felt fairly confident that he was not off base in his assumption.

If he was, then that would just be another mistake in his growing list.

With some fumbling of his keys, Waylon pushed the door open to his apartment. Charlie reached to try and find a light, lucky in his guess as they closed the door behind them and ventured inside. Waylon squinted against the bulb’s glow, finally pulling his weight off of Charlie’s shoulder and snagging him by the hand. In the glove, the hybrid’s claws felt warm. But his attention was squarely on the very flagrant collection of…

Was that-

“...Malibu Stacy?” Charlie asked with a little squint at some of the nearby shelves.

“Shut up.”

Well. There was no possible way in hell Charlie could be wrong now.

He let out a little chuckle and a gentle ‘sorry’. He’d seen stranger things, he supposed. He was in a fucking storage unit full of someone else’s junk. Throwing stones at glass houses seemed unwise. Especially since he was being summoned down the hallway where he followed Waylon’s awkward drunken gait into the man’s bedroom.

Oh. Okay.

“Uh. Do you need me to… check to see if your humours are in balance?” He said, slightly embarrassed. Surely, he was not being propositioned so brazenly. Had he been giving off THAT many signals? Oh jeez. Oh fuck. Suddenly, he was very keenly aware of just how flirtatious he’d been at the bar…

“You can drop that now,” Waylon said as he made his way over to the bedside table, working clumsily at the buttons of his shirt, though he was turned away from Charlie who stood in the doorway. Panicking now. What?? Huh??? Drop what??

“I uh- Don’t know what you -”

“You really don’t think I buy any of that doctor mess, do you?”

“Are you insinuating I’m not a doctor, because-”

Charlie’s suddenly sweaty attempt at defending his false profession was cut off as Smithers stumbled back over to him, his shirt half undone and glasses slightly off kilter. Reaching up, he poked at Charlie’s beak. Accusatory, though his tone was kept even.

“Look, I don’t care about that. You think I didn’t notice what you were doing the whole time at Moe’s? I didn’t bring you here so you could stick leeches on me.”

In a last minute hasty cover, Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a withering snail. Not a leech at all. But maybe one could be confused if looking at a distance. “Are you sure? Because I can totally-”

“No!” Smithers smacked the snail out of his hand and it tumbled away. Now Smithers had a snail in his apartment. He’d deal with it later. For now, Charlie was at a loss for words. He’d never been called out like this. “If I have the wrong idea, tell me, but you weren’t exactly making eyes at Moe all night.”

Ah. Yes. Well. You see, Charlie’s brain reasoned. He wasn’t making eyes at Moe because Moe was fucking weird. But Waylon was… less so. And… he was…

“...You’re like me,” the hybrid finally responded with a gentle slump of his shoulders. The jig was up. “It’s hard to ignore the impulse to… relate.”

“Duh.”

Huffing out an embarrassed exhale, Charlie stared at Smithers. Skeptical. But wanting to pretend, for a moment, that that was indeed why he was there. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that he was wanted. Not unless it was spelled out for him in so many ways that it was irrefutable.

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

“I want to.”

Smithers tapped his foot with impatience. Charlie suddenly felt nauseous. It was hard to remember why he’d been so keenly against removing his disguise when they’d been at Moe’s earlier… The whiskey had done a number on him. Those damned inhibitions. Smithers was… Something. Something something. Take off the mask and let him see you DON’T take off the mask and let him see you but he WANTS to and what is he going to do anyway? His brain cranked on sluggishly as he grappled with his inner self. Trying desperately to find some sense in his earlier desire to stay hidden.

“Nevermind,” Waylon finally said when he was tired of waiting, an agitated sigh escaping his lips. “I’m not really interested in standing here and waiting for you to figure yourself out.” He began to turn away, undoubtedly to collapse into that bed that Charlie wished he could lay in and never get out of. Blankets were always good at hiding people. Hiding him. It had been hard to hide without enough cover. Bed. The bed was nice. Smithers was nice. But he was forward. Oh so very forward and with so much pretense and waiting and watching and pining, Charlie was not used to forward, but - Panic!

“Wait!” Charlie placed both hands out as if, by some unseen force, he could make Waylon turn back around. Pay attention to me. Pay attention to me. Won’t someone please pay attention to me?

Smithers did not. Until Charlie continued.

“Okay! Okay. But- Look, you have to decide. I do this and you tell me. Right then. Right there. Whether I stay or go. Okay?”

Pay attention to me.

Arms crossed against his bare chest, Smithers turned slightly to face the hybrid, an eyebrow cocked in vague, but waning interest.

Pay attention to me.

Charlie summoned up his will. Now or never. A silent prayer went up to the invisible Almighty. That he wouldn’t be rejected again. He wasn’t sure he could take the spiral that might send him down. He would. Of course. But that didn’t mean he had to be so certain about it.

Reaching up, he removed his hat first, though his bright and blazing orange hair was still hidden underneath the cloak. That came off too, setting it aside on the floor. And without any further hesitation, Charlie pulled himself free from the mask, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his glasses and affix them to the bridge of his nose. Long ears sprang up from his hair and his gloves were peeled away to reveal those claws, scales speckling his flesh in ways that he wished they didn’t as he stood there in normal clothes. Like a normal person.

Like a normal person with a tail.

His eyes met Waylon’s for that silent, heavy moment as he set all of the bits of his costume aside. Held his arms out, as if goading Smithers to fire away. His insults, his hatred, his vilification, his rejection.

Pay attention to me.

Negative attention was still attention.

But the silence persisted. As Smithers took a few steps forward to look him over. Stare at those reptilian features. Meet his gaze. Like he were appraising a fucking car. And Charlie oh-so desperately wished he would just boot him out and get it over with. Tell me, tell me tell me you don’t want me.

Pay attention to me.

Before he had the opportunity to say it aloud, before he was able to turn around and kick HIMSELF out when he could take the silence no longer, Waylon’s feet carried him forward as he snagged the hybrid by the collar of his shirt and pulled him further into the room. Whatever, his movements seemed to say. You’ll do. Charlie was vaguely aware of what had brought Smithers to Moe’s in the first place. Love, love, love. A rejection all his own? Were they both there for the same reason? His mind came up with solutions to the problem that he knew nothing of, but those were wiped away entirely as he felt the other man’s lips crash against his own. He’d removed his glasses, shut his eyes, and was kissing him. A desperate, sloppy, and sudden kiss that gave Charlie opportunity to do little else but return the gesture.

You’re paying attention to me.

Suddenly, he felt parched, those claws grasping for Waylon’s shirt to finish what he’d started and began to undo the rest of those buttons. The other man returned the favor, clumsily working to peel of layers and find more of those scales, though he was hardly paying attention. Waylon’s concern was getting what he wanted. What he’d brought Charlie back home for in the first place. And Charlie realized that they were both just seeking that solace they couldn’t find anywhere else.

Warm hands accompanied breathy sounds, the furniture creaked with their weight as they descended into the sheets. Charlie’s shortcomings were somewhere in the distance. Waving frantically but left behind. He had someone’s attention.

It was not Timothy’s.

For tonight, that was okay.

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

Light leaked through a window somewhere above his head. A bird twittered excitedly as the morning sun called out to it, though the sweet song only signaled the fresh hell of a throbbing headache as Charlie came back into consciousness. He hesitated to open his eyes, the comfort of darkness feeling familiar, but fighting a losing battle against the light.

Eventually, he peeled them open, wincing as he pushed himself up to sit, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he brought a hand up to rub tiredly at his head. His mouth felt raw. There was a subtle hint of blood and the tang of liquor on his tongue. His body screamed at him to go back to sleep. His conscience told him the opposite. Get up. Go.

He wasn’t alone. His addled brain only began to make connections as he glanced over to the other figure in the bed next to him. Short hair peered over the top of the blankets and the sheets slowly rose and fell as the other slept on, not yet roused by the hybrid who stayed where he was. Processing. Squinting at the other.

Pieces falling into place.

Oh.

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

Charlie was suddenly and alarmingly aware of the fact that his scales were in full view. His head pounded as he glanced down at his arms. Reached up to feel that his ears poked out from his mussed hair. His tail hung over the side of the bed, twitching in growing agitation. How. How how how how HOW?

That was Smithers! Smithers SAW HIM. His scales! His claws! His tail!!!

Oh God, he would tell Burns.

Ignoring the pain in his limbs - and mostly in his head - he began to slowly move away from the bed, lifting the blanket off his legs as he dragged them over the edge of the bed to place his clawed feet on the floor. God, he was totally fucking naked. STUPID. Stupid stupid. His brain screamed and railed against his poor decision as he moved at a snail’s pace to reach for his underpants. Slowly; steadily pulling them on. To give himself some dignity. Leaning down to try and collect his jeans. Almost almost. Just a bit longer. Then he could be gone. And Smithers would think it was just a drunken dream. A figment of his imagination. Sleep paralysis gone wrong! Yes!

“...You’re the worst at being quiet,” croaked a voice that made him nearly jump out of his skin. Fuck. FUCK.

He slowly turned to glance back at Smithers who had leaned up on his elbow, blinking dully at the hybrid who was doing a piss poor job at collecting his clothes. Feeling sweat bead at his forehead, Charlie let out a little nervous laugh.

“Sorry, I just- There’s… You know. Somewhere I gotta be and uh-”

No, he couldn’t just. Say that. He couldn’t just run away. This was clearly not Waylon’s first rodeo. And he seemed startlingly sober. Even if his stubble was scraggly, his hair unkempt, and his glasses somewhere on the floor nearby.

“Uh-huh. Back to the reverend’s?”

Charlie nearly choked. He was getting fucking punched in the gut at multiple angles here.

“No! Just- I’ve got some errands. You know. The rest of Springfield’s still gotta think I’m a doctor.”

Stupid. Why did you say that? His mind jabbed cruelly at him.

“Did you hide because of Burns?” Smithers asked, glancing down at Charlie’s tail, the spines having bristled in clear agitation and panic at the question. He thought it weird. But he wouldn’t say so. “You know he’s forgotten all about that little pet project of his.”

Waylon let out a little low, muttery laugh. “Hah… ‘pet’.”

“What?” Charlie asked, confused. Still panicking. Up on his feet now next to the bed. Trying to get his PANTS on but his stupid TAIL made it DIFFICULT.

“He’s got other things to do now,” Waylon continued, sitting up entirely and giving a lazy stretch. Charlie’s eyes widened as he saw his own handiwork in the form of bruises and welts along the man’s skin. Fuck’s sake, did he do that? He wouldn’t notice his own hickies until later on. He had several along his neck, more on his shoulders closer to his back. “So as long as you don’t hover around him in plain sight, you can go on doing whatever it is that you.”

The hybrid swallowed. His spines began to relax. But hesitantly. He still wasn’t sure.

“So… You’re not interested in selling me out?” He asked. Tentative.

“If I was, I would’ve drugged your drink and dragged you back myself.”

Inwardly, Charlie shuddered. That is not a JOKE.

“...Th-thanks?” The hybrid said. He wasn’t sure how comforting that was, but…

“You keep this… whole thing between us and I’ll make sure you’re left alone,” Smithers proposed. Rubbing a bit of the soreness from his arms. They’d undoubtedly gotten a bit rough the night before. The part of Charlie that was not currently recovering from his earlier heart attack found a smug sense of satisfaction nestling somewhere in his gut. A rare feeling, but one that he welcomed. Somewhere inside.

“...Deal.”

Charlie continued to get himself dressed. It wasn’t exactly a romantic foray, but… Still okay. Yes? Maybe.

“...Did you at least enjoy it?” He asked as he slowly buttoned his shirt back up, glancing over his shoulder. Like he was shy. Like he didn’t want to hear the answer. His memories of the previous night had been mixed and splashed throughout, the timeline of events not making much sense. But he knew that… Some part of him had been fulfilled. Even if only for a little bit. Someone like him. On the same page. Dancing to the same waltz, singing the same melody.

“Sure. Not that I think this’ll be a regular thing or anything, but…I wouldn’t rule it out again.” Smithers sank back against his pillow, clearly not keen on getting up from his warm bed. Only kind enough to put Charlie’s fears to rest and little else. He knew what he wanted, Charlie thought. The hybrid admired that. And the suggestion of another rendezvous, well…

It was a little flicker of a bright spot in his otherwise depressing day-to-day.

“Good to know,” Charlie said after a moment, offering the other a genuine, if tired smile. Okay. It was fine. This was fine. He had paid attention to Charlie. And that was good.

Why can’t you do the same? A voice said somewhere in the back of his head; that angry, accusatory tone fired at the metaphysical aura of the reverend that hovered on the edge of his conscience. He shook it away. He wanted to let the endorphins sizzle in his nerves for a little bit longer and pretend like Lovejoy didn’t even exist. Not yet. Not yet not yet.

When he’d gotten himself dressed again, hat placed upon his head - foregoing the cloak and mask in favor of a plan to slink about in the early morning haze to get back to the storage shed - he drifted towards the door. But he paused, briefly. Glanced over at Waylon’s bedside table where he had a pink little frou-frou diary. Malibu Stacy branded, no doubt. A detail he’d have to remember for later. But he took a few steps to go over and nab a nearby pen. Flip to a page in that stupid diary and scribble down his phone number. A brief moment of boldness.

“In case you get sick of love again,” Charlie murmured, slightly shy about doing it at all, but writing his name above the digits all the same. They could, at least, relate in that way. Pain could be chased away with company. If only for a little while. And familiar company was better than the unknown of a stranger.

Waylon glanced down at the page and then up at Charlie. And though he seemed to think it over for a moment, he eventually gave a little nod of acknowledgement. Sure, the gesture said. He’d keep that in mind. And from there, he turned around and settled back into the bed where he could doze. Charlie smiled to himself and let him be, making his way back to the front door and showing himself out. Taking one last brief glance at Waylon’s ridiculous Malibu Stacy collection and shaking his head. What a fruit.

But the sweetness that remained on his tongue would linger. For long enough.

Until he could catch someone else’s attention.

#tj talk #oc #simpsona #tj writes #I GUESS???#anyway here's a long fic about Charlie being gay

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