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delirious-donna · 1 year ago

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Museum Mishaps [Part Six]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: It's been two days since that night at the bar, and Kento is the one to suggest a trip to the museum. Leaving you to wonder... is it a date?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: SFW except for one small mention of masturbation, humour, forced proximity, two oblivious idiots, misunderstandings, a little bickering, Kento is a museum nerd

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

The weekend came and went without further incident between yourself and Kento. That wasn’t to say that things were perfect, but it no longer felt awkward when the two of you occupied the same room. It was much like living with a roommate, which you supposed it was, and you had dealt with that in your first year of college without maiming or killing anyone. Although, you couldn’t recall wanting to fuck your roommate either, so perhaps the comparison wasn’t accurate after all.

Whilst the memory of almost blurting out your late-night wandering hands still burnt freshly in your mind, the rest of the evening had been saved by it. The heat of Kento’s rejection didn’t sting too badly once he turned those hazel eyes on you, suspicion pinning you in place. Anything was better than the look he had given you in the bar.

Thankfully, the banter and easy conversation returned. It was easier to tease him about the incident than dwell on it. Heaven knows you weren’t going to make another move like that. You’d play it off as some silly joke rather than see your feelings hurt. Kento wasn’t interested, and that was okay. You weren’t everyone’s cup of tea, you understood that. Knowing where you stood now, it was a lot easier to build those bonds with your best friend’s brother—for that was all he could ever be.

Kento, on the other hand, felt like an opportunity had slipped through his fingers. It was gone before he could react or try to claw it back. Whilst he was glad that your good humour returned, he couldn’t help but fixate on those unspoken words. It was hard to look past the idea that something was staring him right in the face, and he simply couldn’t bring the image into focus to understand it.

So many times, his mouth had opened, words on the tip of his tongue, only to shut it again. His lack of courage irritated him. Handfuls of his neatly parted hair pushed back to hide how badly he wanted to scrub a palm down his face.

He was no coward.

Except he was.

The dreams were worse than ever. There were never full scenes but enough lingering fragments that tormented him each morning upon waking. Bright sunshine smiles, the warmth of a touch he wasn’t accustomed to and the sound of his name. Such torture, and perhaps, if he weren’t wearing his obliviousness as armour to protect his heart, he would realise that his brain was trying to tell him something.

He was ashamed to admit that he had masturbated more in these three days than he had in almost an entire year. He was more ashamed that he felt more relaxed than he had in an even longer time than that. Whilst he still followed a lot of his daily routine, being able to deviate or change things around was rather freeing, and of course, he wouldn’t put any of it down to the relief he was giving to his body. Preposterous.

Kento missed your presence when you skipped out the door on an adventure he wasn’t invited to. Raising a hand half-heartedly when you waved your goodbyes and clock-watching until you returned. Your stories were fast becoming the best part of his day. Listening raptly to you rave about this quaint little second-hand bookstore you discovered and expressing so emphatically how much you were sure he would love the place, he looked forward to it. It felt like he was rediscovering the city he had lived in for years through fresh eyes and he enjoyed your unique take on the world.

His smile was genuine, if not tinged bittersweet. It was warming that you thought of him when he wasn’t around, but it would be so much better if he could be there with you, and that was quite the realisation to swallow.

In the end, it was that sense of missing out that caused him to blurt out an invitation this morning. The two of you sat side by side at the kitchen island savouring the coffee he had brewed for you both, whilst you thought out loud about where today might take you.

“There’s a wildlife photography exhibition at the National Museum. Kento paused, pretending not to be eyeing you over the corner of his newspaper. “I was thinking of going… would you like to join me?”

He waited with bated breath, silently cursing how nervous he felt and already working on how he would cover his disappointment when you inevitably declined his offer.

“Yes, please! That sounds like fun. I’ve never been to the National Museum before, could we look around as well?”

Kento blinked. In his head, he was ready to say not to worry and that he’d go by himself, but your enthusiasm bowled him over. Shutting his paper, he turned to you and bowed his head in a nod. “Of course. We could leave in around an hour and have most of the day to explore. I’ll just go change out of these sweatpants.”

You watched as he practically scuttled out of the kitchen and down the hallway. It was very unlike him to move so swiftly, and you stifled a laugh before preparing for the outing yourself, dancing along to the soft music playing over the apartment speakers in your excitement for the day ahead.

It was hard to look in every direction as you traversed the wide-open atrium that served as the central hub of the museum, but you gave it a damn good go. More than once you bumped into Kento when a new curiosity stole your attention, apologising almost half-heartedly, and not because you weren’t sorry for nudging him so often, it was more that your brain was too busy processing everything it could see.

A large bronze statue of Buddha caught your eye, and you skittered across the polished floor to stand in front of the information plate, eagerly absorbing all it had to tell.

Kento couldn’t help but smile. Your enthusiasm was proving infectious, and he strolled with newfound intrigue towards you tapping photo after photo of the statue on your phone. “I didn’t take you for a museum connoisseur. Every time I’ve come here with Karin, she has whined and pleaded to leave almost as soon as we got here.”

“Oh, tell me about it. I tried to get her to go to this really cool space exhibition that our college was hosting and she flat-out refused.” You harrumphed at the memory of her expression filled with disgust. “I’m not your sister, Kento.”

You moved away to grab up one of the folded paper guides with a map of the place, and Kento was glad of the second’s reprieve after that last comment. No, you weren’t his sister. He swallowed and raised a hand to loosen the knot of his tie only to remember, at the last moment, he wasn’t in a shirt and tie. Another stark reminder of how little downtime he ever afforded himself. Perhaps, it was time for a change.

“If you enjoy space, follow me,” he said with a subtle wiggle of his eyebrows when he walked towards you for the second time. Waving towards the open entranceway to the left, you turned and glanced up into the skeletal remains of what you guessed to be a T-Rex. It made you giggle, and Nanami followed you closely, shaking his head in good humour at the renewed spring in your step.

He led you through a gallery filled with animals of all shapes and sizes, from the long-extinct to the endangered to the thriving. Creatures of the sea, land and air hung suspended from invisible supports, and even a baby blue whale graced the visitors with the enormity of its skeletal shadow. You would have stopped at every sign and interactive spot if not for wishing to keep pace with your guide. Whilst he wasn’t storming ahead, his pace wasn’t meant for the careful reading of every fact you could digest.

It was worth it when you reached an area darker than the previous section, with minerals and twinkling geodes shown behind glass cases. The remnants of a lunar capsule marked one corner with children standing around an employee giving an enthusiastic talk about the moon landings. Models of the solar system in varying sizes caught your attention, but what really stood out was the black dome in the centre.

Stopping short of the hidden entrance you spied when a woman and little boy slipped inside, you tapped Kento’s shoulder. “What’s inside there?”

“Now, why would I spoil the surprise, hm?”

Without another word, he marched inside to leave you standing there, blinking in amused confusion. This playful side was interesting, fun even, and you hoped it would last throughout the visit.

Never in a million years did you think you’d find yourself lying on your back staring up at the celestial bodies that made up the Universe with Nanami Kento by your side. He was seated on the floor along the wall when you found him, grateful for the small pillow he’d managed to secure for the both of you given how crowded it was inside. The noise of families, friends in little groups and the odd couple or two died down when the low lighting completely extinguished to bathe you in darkness. You found that you had to lie closer to Kento than you would have chosen, but he didn’t seem perturbed by your nearness, in fact, he turned his head to give you a smile that made your stomach flutter with rambunctuous butterflies.

Denying your attraction to him was growing harder once more, and you did your best to focus on the story above you rather than trying to identify the notes of his cologne that wafted into your nose. The heat of his body licked at your own, warming you thoroughly though you were far from cold. This felt… intimate, or it would, if it were a date.

Was this a date? No.

A mighty boom echoed through the sound system to symbolise the moment of the big bang, and you audibly shrieked in surprise. There were titters of laughter from every side, heat filled your face instantly, and you lifted your hands to cover your eyes in embarrassment.

“Are you alright?” Kento’s concerned voice whispered in hushed tones only loud enough so you would hear. His breath fanned your ear from the action of shuffling closer, and you had to fight the urge to shudder in appreciation.

“Fine, I’m… fine.”

He wasn’t buying it, and honestly, he didn’t feel too hot himself. If he spread out his fingers he would brush your hand, that’s how close you were. The near blackness illuminated by the twinkle of projected stars overhead intensified the already far too intimate setting, and despite how crowded it was, everyone faded from his mind as he thought of only you. Kento imagined the two of you spread out like this on a warm picnic blanket, the real heavenly bodies above you and how nice it might be to kiss you beneath their ethereal watch.

The lights came back to life without warning, although had he been paying attention to the experience, it wouldn’t have been such a surprise. Blinking and slightly dazed, Kento sat up and quickly got to his feet, dusting down his trousers and smoothing away any wrinkles. He reached out to help you stand before thinking twice, your hand slid into his with perfect ease, and for a moment, he simply stared at you in longing.

His hand was warm, the texture rougher than expected, and when he finally pulled it back, you wanted to tighten your fingers and refuse to let go. The hustle surrounding you both wasn’t enough to sway your attention nor was it enough to calm your racing heart. Your gaze caught the attention of a young couple, hand in hand and laughing about something unknowable, and you coveted what they had, and you didn’t—couldn’t. He didn’t want you like that, and no matter how much you wished this could be a date, it wasn’t.

“Come on, let’s get moving or we’ll never see everything else.”

Kento heard your words. He saw your smile and the wave of your hand to beckon him onwards, but he didn’t believe them. For that brief moment, when your hand was in his, he felt your fingers twitch almost imperceptibly. More wishful thinking on his part? He wasn’t sure, but he was determined not to spoil the day by moping in his uncertainty.

The hours melted away much like the sun rising and dipping in the sky outside. An air of fragility lingered despite both your efforts to dispel the effects of earlier. The exhibitions and various collections were intriguing, but none more so than the man trailing a few paces behind you. An enigma that you were sure you’d started to unravel, but now… you weren’t so sure anymore.

He offered tidbits of information that only a history buff would be able to, the tips of his ears blushing beet red whenever you pointed that fact out. So many times you wanted to sneak up real close when he was engrossed in reading something, the desire to run your fingertips over his ribs and find out if he was ticklish or not, but you knew that wasn’t a good idea.

The wildlife photography exhibition was far quieter than you suspected it would be, and you were grateful to be wrong. After a good few hours of trailing around the massive building, fatigue was setting in and finding a soft seat to rest your tired feet was a pleasant result. Leaning back on your elbows on the overstuffed leather rectangle that sat in the middle of the gallery, you could watch the comings and goings from every angle.

Kento stalked between the various shots that lined the walls, pausing and tilting his head in keen fascination. He was your sole focus, the unexpecting prey with a jaw cut from pure marble. Your lips quirked involuntarily each time he rocked on the balls of his feet—a habit you had not long noticed. If you weren’t much mistaken, Kento seemed to favour long shots where the subject was captured in action; a tiger swimming through a moss topped lake, hyenas circling the kill of a lioness and a vibrant green frog leaping majestically towards a tree branch.

“Do you dabble?” You asked quietly, having approached after your short rest. “In photography, I mean.”

“Hm? Oh. No, nothing like that.”

Kento shuffled awkwardly towards the next picture, a flock of wild birds taking flight from the long grass of a savannah. “How come? You sure seem interested,” you pressed further, eyebrows knitting at the discomfort you sensed in him.

“It wouldn’t be an effective use of my time. I don’t have the hours to sink into a hobby that would see me gain nothing in return,” he explained to your utter aghast.

“What about happiness? Indulgence? There doesn’t always have to be a measurable outcome for something to be fun and worthwhile.”

He scoffed, and you scowled. “You’re still young…”

“Well, I’d rather stay young than become a jaded corporate slave like someone I could mention.” You stalked away to the other side of the room, perturbed by just how little stock he seemed to put into his own mental and emotional well-being. “And I’m not that young, Kento.”

He couldn’t understand your sudden ire. What did it matter to you what he did with his free time? More like what he didn’t do, he supposed. Sure, there had been a time in his adolescence when he carried a Polaroid camera around with him, the bulky piece of equipment tucked into his backpack and brought out to capture those moments that weren’t posed for, finding a special kind of beauty in the raw exposure of life.

It had been nothing but a phase. One left behind when he entered college and started to work towards the life he wished to live. Only now, he wasn’t so sure he was living the life he dreamed of. He achieved the successes he set out to, but was he happy? That was a hard question to stomach, let alone try to answer honestly.

“Why do you look like you want to yell at me?”

Glancing sideways, you frowned up at his towering frame and felt the heat of his anger wash over you to meld with your own. “Because you make it sound like any interest outside of endlessly working or working out is redundant. Irresponsible. Stupid!” Your voice rose higher, the words punched out with a flap of your hands.

“Do you care so little for what makes you happy? It makes me… mad,” you continued with a slight pause. The familiar tight, itchy feeling invaded your throat whilst the prickle of tears stung your eyes. Goddammit! You hated that you wanted to cry when you were angry, and the last person you wanted to see those tears wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t.

“Oh, Howard, look there. Doesn’t that bring back memories?” The amused voice of a woman who appeared in her early sixties caught your attention. Quickly wiping at the stray tears at your lashline, both you and Kento turned to the couple who were staring right at you.

The man chuckled indulgently at his wife, patting her hand that was secured through his arm and whispered something that couldn’t be heard. His wife nudged him playfully, and you could only look on in complete bemusement. They walked closer, the woman offering a kindly smile as she reached out to pat Kento’s arm, then yours.

“They say that couples shouldn’t bicker, especially in public,” she said with a slight laugh. “But don’t listen to such rubbish. Howard and I used to snipe at each other regularly, and we’ve been married thirty-five years.”

“Oh, no! You misunderstand, we’re not…”

She held up a hand to silence your stammered protests, shaking her head with a chuckle. “My dear, when you’ve been around as long as we have, you start to trust what your gut tells you. I won’t say anything else except to offer this one piece of advice. Don’t go to bed angry, and don’t wait to go after what you truly want.”

“That was two, dear. Come on, let’s not bother them any longer.” With wisdom imparted, the older couple bustled away, leaving you to blink in bewilderment.

You could feel Kento by your side, his body rigid and unmoving. So badly you wanted to glance up and find out what his expression was, but honestly, you weren’t sure if it was a good idea or not. What could the couple have seen in you? Was it so obvious that you were interested? Even if that was true, surely his disinterest was just as plain to see?

“Well… that was unexpected. I’m sorry for yelling. It’s your life, after all, you should do whatever you believe is best. Can we go get a bite to eat and head home–I mean, back to your apartment?”

Kento could only nod. He couldn’t help but feel as if everything he had come to believe as true was crumbling around his ears. The ideals and principles he set for himself all those long years ago no longer seemed important. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d taken time off work, albeit enforced this time, and he had never felt so unsure of himself.

It was you. Your presence was the catalyst, and he didn’t know whether to thank or curse you. How could one person cause so much inner turmoil without trying? He watched as you wandered towards the archway that would take you back to the main atrium, the light from the skylight caught across your face and your simple smile blinded him.

Don’t wait to go after what you truly want… would he take the advice that continued to ring in his head?

#delirious writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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cinnbar-bun · 1 year ago

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Would you be willing to write what kind of fan would ace, sabo, shanks, and law for the reader!! I loved your last one!!!

You got it dude! Sorry for taking so long.

Ace, Sabo, Law, and Shanks- Reversed AU HCs

AU: In which YOU are the character of a very famous franchise, and they are regular people who are fans of your series.

Note: GN!Reader, crack, very unserious, SFW

Part 1 with Straw Hats here!

Ace

Broke ass guy who can’t afford anything for you minus like, a bootleg or something small. Has buttons of you.

Highkey think he would be a menace and just wear something so off with you on it (you are free to decide what that looks like).

If people ask why he’s got you on his phone or like a keychain of you, he just beams and responds that you’re the love of his life and refuses to elaborate.

Lies, he WILL be elaborating and making it everyone’s problem.

Marco wants him to shut up about it.

Thatch jokes around often and makes cakes of you for Ace on his birthday or something. Ace refuses to eat it for like two seconds before he’s quickly trying to fight off the others from taking a slice.

Whitebeard has not realized you’re fictional and still asks about meeting you soon… he just wants to meet the one his son keeps raving about.

Ace has to lie and it becomes a whole ‘my partner is in Canada, actually they can’t see you now.’

Whitebeard is so impressed with the fact you travel all over the world <3 wow, you must be so worldly!

Sabo

Rich boy who I don’t think would directly get merchandise of you, but he would totally buy things that have your signature color or remind him of you. Very subtle things. I could see him buying one expensive figure of you, but otherwise it’s just subtle things he will proudly wear in public.

Doesn’t have much time for gaming, so I don’t think he would be playing the mobile gacha games but he will admire the artwork and units of you.

This is actually a partial truth, he had them at one point but was sinking so much money into your units that Koala had to step in and get him to stop this addiction.

He’s been doing his best okay… but your alt unit is so tempting he wants to GET IT HE NEEDS TO GET IT LET HIM ROLL ONE MORE ONE MORE ONE MORE-

Sabo’s phone is now under parental controls and he needs Koala or Dragon’s permission to download or buy any in-app purchases.

But he’s like, so normal about this, okay? He doesn’t have a problem.

Likes to eat your favorite snacks or food on your birthday as a sort of ‘celebration’ of you. Again, pretty subtle things like buying a dessert you like from that one bakery, or ordering a meal that you ate one time on the show.

On second thought I could see him having special editions of the manga, but that remains in his office never to be borrowed by anyone.

Law

“Why the hell would I be into this?”

Acts like he’s above watching cringe animes when he’s got better taste in his consumption of media like House MD or Scrubs or something.

But you know, he’s always getting dragged into silly shit with his friends so everyone is forcing him to watch this popular anime with over 1000+ episodes.

Law feels like performing surgery on himself with no anesthesia at the sheer number of episodes.

It isn’t until like 400 episodes in when you’re introduced and everyone swears they can see the light in his eyes return and he’s entranced.

Suddenly this is his favorite show, although he refuses to entertain that.

He totally has a few figures of you, but when asked, he just yells that they’re Bepo’s and he’s keeping them safe.

The others know he’s not going to buy merch so they just buy him silly trinkets of you and he tries to keep lowkey and hidden so no one knows about his love for you.

He’s not the same man he was 400 episodes ago. He still can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad one.

But you’ve invaded and latched yourself into his mind and damn it, he’ll keep you there.

Shanks

Cringe but free.

Buggy got him into this show (Buggy made a slip up once and has tried to deny that he’s liked this series since) and Shanks casually watches a few episodes when he’s free.

Has a couple of figures that a kid Uta always wants to play with (hell no, put that shit back!!!)

Lies to Uta whenever she asks who this figure is of and he dramatically will hold the figure of you and tell her this is, in fact, who her other parent is.

Great job, Shanks, you weirdo. Of course, Uta knows when she’s older that he’s lying out of his ass, but when she was younger she was deadset on meeting you.

So Shanks was forced to include her in his watches so she can see her ‘other parent’. Shanks makes wild stories when Uta asks why you’re in the TV and says you’re so so cool they just had to make a tv show about you.

He’s the kind of guy who forgets Uta is a kid and whenever something super violent or adult happens, he goes ‘oops’ after a few seconds and shoddily covers her eyes, to the point she can pretty much still see everything.

So both of them kinda get in a feedback loop where when he gets something, she wants it, and when she wants to do something, he’ll do it when it comes to you.

You are a staple in that household. Shanks isn’t the best at maintaining your figures but he does remember to dust you off once in a while (mostly after Uta screams at him to keep it in good condition).

He’s tried to get into the card game (Uta insisted), but he finds the rules too hard and difficult, so him and Uta made an easier version (which he often lies about to be able to win).

His luck is crappy too when it comes to the blind packs, so when Uta got the rare card of you he was practically gonna wrestle it out of her.

He’s also weird and rich enough to get any crazy or out there merchandise of you if he felt like it.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #reader insert #one piece hcs #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace #ace x reader #ace #sabo #sabo x reader

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hocuspocusbabyy · 3 months ago

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Like a Prayer - Casey Novak x Reader.

Neighbour Casey Novak?! Who always seems to be in the hallway between your apartments at the worst of times.

Like when you got locked out after a rave down town, covered in UV paint and smelling like a brewery.

Typically dressed to the nines, her hair being the only true depiction of her day. She’d leave perfectly tamed only for it to deteriorate throughout work. She has that habit of putting her hands in her hair, you noticed it with every passing conversation.

She’s usually wittering on the phone to someone, yet always stops to smile at you. Her hip cocked to keep the elevator open gesturing for you to get on first.

You avoided being in enclosed spaces with her since you’d spilt laundry detergent all over your favourite sweater when she appeared behind you in the communal laundry room.

“Hey there hotstuff.” She’d breathe out, her chest mere inches from your back.

She always smelt of something thick, like oil, it’s floral. Lavender? Though it isn’t peppery or sweet, it’s just Casey… and that mingled with the inevitable sweat that covered her body after softball practice. It was your undoing.

The camomile scent bleeding out over you as you squeezed the bottle in response.

“Someone’s excited to see me.” She laughed, looking over your shoulder at the mess. Strong, calloused hands gracing over your bare skin as she turned your shaking body towards her.

“Let’s get you cleaned up honey.”

You’d struggled not to bite your lip as she fussed over you, your back pressed to the washer as she gently scrubbed the stain from your clothing.

She’d insisted you take it off, your only regret now that you’d worn different underwear as you glanced down at the near see through, Stars and Stripes bra you had on > it was hardly your fault all that was left on wash day was from a Fourth of July boat party in college.

“Very patriotic.” Casey mused as she rolled the sweater from your body. A small laugh escaping her at the bewildered look on your face.

“It’s uh— it’s old.” You’d argued, failing to notice how often the other woman’s gaze had flicked towards you as she leant over the washer tending to the spill. Yet your focus remained aimed at the soft rise of her shirt. The smooth strip of her lower back that revealed a tattoo of a dragon, that curved between the dimples above her arse.

This woman was seriously trying to kill you. Turning to push the fabric over your head. The backs of her fingers gracing your neck as she fixes the collar.

“There.” She grinned, purposefully brushing down your front. Your own nails curling into the detergent draw behind you. “Good as new.” She whispered cheeky as she lent in and tucked a strand of hair away from your cheek.

“Thank you.” You jittered out, focusing on the hand which now grasped your own. Folded over yours as it clung to the plastic draw.

“Anytime.” Casey grinned, still utterly invading your personal space. You glance down to catch the shimmer of silver that lay against her neck, a familiar ring resting against her chest. One that used to reside on her finger.

She pulls back, fluffing her hair with an informed laugh. Removing her items from the washer beside yours before clutching a stupidly red basket to her waist.

“I’ll uh see you around Y/N, try to stay out of trouble yeh?”

“You too—“ you stupidly agreed, nodding without thinking as you stalked the woman’s exit from the room.

“Oh Y/N.” She called again, her head hung cross the door frame.

“Yes Casey?”

“If you ever want somebody to.” She stalled stepping back into the room. No more than three steps between you as she exaggerated a stretch. Shirt bunching, lifting to revel she was in fact not wearing underwear similar to you - in fact she wore none at all. Her hand drifts through the air, playing with you as though collecting her words.

You knew better than to accept Casey didn’t know what she was doing, the smirk that lay persistently against her face when she spoke to you said different.

“If you ever want someone to be…” again she stopped, taking that final step towards you, her laundry basket trapped against your ribs as her view traced your shape. “Patriotic with.” She ended with the briefest lick of her bottom lip. So close to your own that you could almost taste it. “You let me know.”

You barely even registered that she’d left the room, only the lingering scent of lavender as proof that you hadn’t imagined the entire thing.

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #hocuspocusbabyy #casey novak #casey novak x reader #casey novak x you #law and order svu #law and order #Spotify

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grapeautumn · 2 years ago

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update the eyeliner. isn't coming off im gonna look like the joker forever

worst diy accessory I've ever made and it's a black lanyard and some jaunty looking tape NOOOO

#scrubs scrubs scrubs #too powerful for makeup remover #great rave tho!#grapeposting

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witchingwithscissors · 4 months ago

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Agathario AU | Everyone notices Agatha smiling. Rio’s allergic to commitment.

Rio was supposed to breeze through town. It was just another stop in her restless life. Twenty-nine years old, a nurse from New York, she thrived on chaos and kept attachments at arm’s length.

She hadn’t counted on Harkness Boxing & Fitness, an unassuming gym near the harbor, or on Agatha Harkness—the forty-one-year-old local contractor and apparently kickboxing instructor everyone in town seemed to know.

The night they met, the gym was closing, the air thick with the tang of sweat and disinfectant. Rio was winding down on the treadmill, but her attention was locked on Agatha, who stood at the center of the mat demonstrating a pivot move to a last straggler.

Agatha was all lean muscle in a faded flannel thrown over leggings, hair pulled into a low ponytail, face free of makeup. Shorter than Rio by a few inches, but exuding a calm, steady confidence that somehow made her seem larger than life.

When the final student left, Agatha’s eyes flicked to Rio. She smirked, low and warm. “You here to sweat, or you just like watching me do it?”

Rio hopped off the treadmill, heart pounding for reasons beyond exercise. “Maybe both,” she shot back.

Their early interactions were supposed to be casual.

Agatha gave Rio a few kickboxing pointers; Rio teased her about being the “local hero contractor.” They fell into banter, mutual attraction simmering.

One evening after everyone left, Rio found herself pinned against the locker-room wall by Agatha’s sure hands, the sudden press of soft lips sending heat coursing through her. The next thing she knew, her shirt was half off, Agatha’s mouth tracing a path down Rio’s jaw, her breath hot in the hush of the empty gym.

That night, Rio told herself it was just stress relief. But when she tried to sneak out, Agatha’s voice caught her:

“You don’t have to run, you know.”

Rio paused, but fear spiked in her chest. “I’m not running,” she lied, grabbing her bag. “This was fun. I’ll see you around.”

Salem was too small for secrets. Rio discovered that everyone seemed to know Agatha: from neighbors whose roofs she’d fixed to baristas who claimed she’d built their café’s patio 35% under budget. Locals raved, “Agatha’s the best—she’s so happy these days. Must be you, huh? You’re all she ever talks about now. What’s Agatha like behind closed doors, is she the top?”

Rio blushed every time, uneasy about how publicly people tied her to Agatha. She was used to breezing through life without leaving footprints. Yet, she couldn’t stay away from Agatha.

Between hospital shifts, Rio found herself at the gym late at night, eager for a spar session that usually ended in tangled limbs and stolen kisses.

Sometimes Agatha brought her homemade dinner, or teased her about her coffee addiction.

“You’re important to me,” Agatha would say whenever Rio claimed she was going overboard. The sincerity in her tone always left Rio’s heart racing—and her mind screaming that this was too good, too real.

More weeks passed.

If it wasn’t at the gym, they’d end up at Rio’s small apartment or Agatha’s half-renovated old house—where the smell of fresh lumber mingled with sweat whenever they’d tear at each other’s clothes after a long day.

One night, Agatha eased Rio onto her bed, gently tugging off Rio’s ER scrubs. “Rough shift?”

Rio nodded, tension coiling in her shoulders. “Too many emergencies, not enough staff.”

Agatha’s palms slid up Rio’s thighs, a soothing warmth. “How about I make you forget for a while?”

Rio’s laugh turned into a soft gasp as Agatha pressed hot kisses along her belly, her breath sending shivers. Slow, deliberate, Agatha coaxed every ounce of tension from Rio’s body, until Rio was arching off the bed, moaning Agatha’s name in a voice cracked with need.

Afterward, Agatha cupped Rio’s face and murmured, “I’m falling for you, you know.”

Rio’s eyes flickered with panic. She kissed Agatha, hoping to mask the tightness in her chest. “Let’s just…sleep.”

Rio finally promised a full weekend to Agatha—no hospital shifts, no last-minute bailouts. Agatha took time off from her contracting jobs (a rarity) and even scored reservations to a pop-up museum Rio had mentioned wanting to check out.

Everything was set.

Then Alice crashed the scene.

An old fling, Alice was a cop transferring a detainee to Salem’s ER. Rio’s shift was brutal, adrenaline sky-high. Seeing Alice brought back old patterns: they grabbed drinks, bantered with flirty familiarity, drank too much mezcal, and shared a cab.

They ended up back at Rio’s place near dawn.

Alice tried to kiss her, smirking, “Come on, remember how good we were, babygirl?”

But Rio instantly recoiled.

She pictured Agatha’s smile, her gentle but firm hands, her soft murmurs of appreciation. “I can’t,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m… kinda with someone else now. And I don’t want to fuck it up. Not like this.”

Alice backed off, nodding. “Alright. I’ll crash on your couch if that’s cool. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Rio let her, guilt gnawing her insides.

Agatha showed up at Rio’s door bright and early, carrying coffees, bagels, and that excited smile she wore when she had a day planned just for them. But Alice answered the door in Rio’s worn college softball shirt, hair a mess, and lack of sleep apparent on her face.

Agatha’s eyes clouded with immediate heartbreak. “What… is this?”

Rio quickly stumbled out of her room, hair disheveled, panic twisting her gut. “Agatha, wait! I swear, nothing happened. This isn’t. I—she—”

Agatha’s jaw tightened, tears brimming. She set the coffees on the table with shaking hands. “I thought this was our weekend, Rio. I thought you actually wanted me.”

Rio tried to reach for her, but Agatha stepped back, voice trembling. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Then she walked away, shoulders rigid, heartbreak palpable.

For days, Rio was a hollow shell. Work felt colder. The gym emptier. People asked where Agatha was; some even noted how sad she looked. It pierced Rio’s heart every time.

She finally realized she’d been sabotaging something good out of fear. Agatha was offering her a love that could be stable, consistent, real. The thought of losing that forever hurt more than any fear of vulnerability.

So one cold evening, Rio gathered her courage and marched up to Agatha’s old house, half of its siding still being replaced. She rapped on the door, heart hammering.

Agatha opened it, paint smudges on her flannel, eyes puffy from tears or maybe fatigue. Seeing Rio made her set her jaw, guarded and hurt.

“You’re busy,” Rio said softly. “But please—just give me a minute.”

Agatha let her in, silent. Inside, the house smelled of sawdust and unspoken tension.

“I messed up,” Rio began, words tripping over themselves. “Alice was an old habit, and I stopped it once I realized that because… I only want you. I do. I really really do. I was just too damn scared to admit that before. I don’t do feelings, like ever. But I can’t lose you, Agatha.”

Agatha’s eyes watered. “You can’t keep playing with me like that.”

Rio stepped forward, took Agatha’s paint-stained hands in hers. “I’m not playing, Aggie. I’m fucking terrified how to do this right but I want to learn. I want you so bad. Please let me prove it. Let me stay.”

Agatha exhaled, tears spilling over. “I need to know you won’t run again.”

Rio’s voice cracked. “I’m done running. It hurts my knees anyways, so as of right now, I quit. I promise, baby.”

With the house half-finished around them, they tumbled into Agatha’s makeshift bedroom.

Agatha’s kisses were desperate, searching like she needed reassurance as much as Rio did. Clothes fell aside. Warm skin on warm skin, no barriers left.

Agatha pressed Rio against the bed, a familiar yet somehow brand-new intimacy. She cupped Rio’s face, a tear still clinging to her lashes. “Show me,” she whispered. “Show me I can trust you.”

Rio answered in slow, reverent touches, her mouth trailing along Agatha’s neck, down her collarbone. She took her time, hands mapping every line of Agatha’s body—scars, muscles, the softness that made her sigh. Agatha moaned softly, arching into Rio, voice full of longing.

They found a rhythm, hips rocking together in a sultry push and pull, breath ragged. Each gasp spoke of weeks of unspoken emotions, each whispered name a pledge of honesty and passion. When they reached that trembling crescendo, the tension in their bodies eased into something gentle, healing.

Afterward, as they lay tangled in sheets, Agatha brushed hair from Rio’s face. “So… tomorrow?”

Rio smiled. “Yeah?”

“Brunch?” Agatha teased. “That new café down the road. I might’ve built the rooftop patio… would you wanna see?”

Rio laughed, tears of relief catching in her throat. “I’d love to. Think Salem can handle us officially together in public?”

Agatha’s lips curved. “I want them to see us. I want to show you off, if you’re serious about this. Us.”

Rio pressed a soft kiss to Agatha’s shoulder. “I’m staying. I promise, sweetheart.”

Agatha curled an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Good, because I love you, Rio.”

With that, the empty ache in Rio’s chest melted away, replaced by something warm and certain—a life she hadn’t expected, shared with the woman who made her finally want to stay.

And, for the first time, she felt like she was truly home.

“I love you too.”

#what if I just #modern domestic agathario makes me asdfghjkl #agathario au #agathario fic #agatha all along #rio vidal #agatha harkness #agathario

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cod-thoughts · 7 months ago

Text

How far must i go to prove that i love you?

Word count: 6k

Relationships: GhostPrice, PriceGhost

Tags: PricGhostweek2024, love confession, Blow job, hand job, Ghost has dick piercings hehe, they're so in love, truly whipped its great.

This is for Day 1 of GhostPrice week: confession + Kneel and the title is what i was listening to while editing: "Mx Sinister - I dont know how but they found me"

Ghost swallowed; his throat suddenly tight. He’d never seen Price so relaxed, so at ease, and yet he looked right, like he belonged here. Against a kitchen counter as Ghost made him tea, warm from a fresh shower and relaxed. A kind of longing Ghost couldn’t name settled heavy in his chest, an ache that made him want to close the space between them, to pull Price close and tell him he didn’t want this to be temporary. Price noticed his gaze, eyebrows raising as he let out a soft laugh. “What’s with you then? Never seen a man out of a shower?” OR Ghost is so enamoured by a domestic and relaxed Price he blurts out his feelings and has to convince Price he does want this This is my first time writing actual smut please be kind oop 0_0 Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The mission went without a hitch, for once, no bad intel, no secret mercenaries waiting for them and most importantly. No injuries. Ghost couldn't be happier with how it turned out because this meant they had an extra three days in the safe house. Technically they weren’t on leave, but they might as well have been.

The safe house was a modest, worn place—a dusty sort of charm that only Price would’ve found this endearing, raving on about how cozy and homey it felt. It reminded him of his cabin in the country-side apparently. Even Ghost found himself oddly settled by the familiarity of it. Today was their last full day in the safe-house and they already managed to slip into a comfortable rhythm, both of them falling into a rare, quiet routine that felt almost… normal, domestic in a way.

Price was in the shower, water pattering softly against the old tiles, and the faint warmth of steam drifted out into the narrow hallway. Ghost could hear the occasional clink as Price moved about, no doubt scrubbing his face and muttering about the “bloody water pressure.” A hint of a smile tugged at Ghost’s mouth, something barely there, but the comfort of the moment made him less guarded, even if it was just him in the kitchen.

It was strange, the ease with which they’d fallen into this—how simple it felt to share the silence, to just be here. Price’s footsteps, his quiet huff of laughter, the way he leaned against the counter with that small smirk Ghost had memorised. These were details Ghost never let himself hold onto, and yet here they were, filling him with a warmth that was as terrifying as it was grounding.

God, what he wouldn’t give to have Price with him like this all the time, soft and comfortable, the lines in his face smoothing over in his relaxed state, his laughter more prominent and not marred by the world they live in.

He’d finished heating up a tin of beans, stirring it absently before putting the lid on it to keep it warm, and set the kettle on for tea, knowing Price would be done soon. The small tasks felt grounding, almost domestic—there’s that word again, strange but, maybe, it was what had been playing at the edges of his mind for a while now. This rare ease, this strange new rhythm. Ghost found himself watching the steam rising from the kettle, a bit lost in the warmth that filled the air.

He wasn’t quite sure when it happened—when the lines between Price as a superior, a mentor, had blurred into something… more. It was a disquieting thought, one he’d been trying to keep at bay, though not with much success. And here he was, cooking up beans and making tea, so utterly settled in Price’s presence that the prospect of leaving, of returning to the job, made him feel something uncomfortably close to hollow.

He never imagined this was even possible for him. To be alive and wanting something so fiercely. To want a life outside of being a soldier. It was all he ever knew but as the kettle clicked and he made them a cup each, exactly how Price liked it, it hit him like a blow: this was it. This was what he wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Price emerged, towelling his hair. He’d discarded his usual gear in favour of an old grey t-shirt, soft and worn, that clung to his still-damp skin. He looked… ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Ordinary was the wrong word entirely for that man, Ghost realised, because there was something extraordinary in the way Price took up space, in how naturally he filled the room.

There was something about Price that Simon couldn’t look away from, something that drew him in every time. It wasn’t just the way his shirt clung to the strong lines of his shoulders or the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends—it was him. The way Price moved with such unassuming ease, filling the space without even trying. The quiet strength in the way he stood, the subtle command he carried even when he wasn’t speaking.

And his face. God, Simon could stare at it forever. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes that deepened when he smiled, the way his beard softened his jawline but couldn’t hide the sharp angles beneath. The ruggedness of him—like he’d been carved out of something weathered but enduring—made Simon’s chest ache with something fierce. And then there was that scent, familiar and grounding: the faint trace of cigars, soap, and something woodsy, something unmistakably Price.

It wasn’t just the physical, though that certainly left Simon weak. It was the way Price’s presence seemed to settle the air, how his quiet confidence made even a dusty, cramped kitchen feel like the safest place in the world. How he could glance at Simon with those piercing blue eyes and, without saying a word, make him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

Simon realised, as he stood there, that he didn’t just want Price. He adored him. Every detail, every quiet moment, every laugh that felt like it was meant just for Simon. He wanted to keep this, to keep him—the man who somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel like home.

Simon didn’t realise he’d been staring until Price’s movement snapped him back to the present. He blinked, catching himself, but Price had already noticed, his gaze flicking toward him with a faintly amused tilt of his brow.

Price spotted the tea, grunted approvingly, and leaned back against the counter. “Bit of a treat, this. Thought we’d be stuck with the stale packs from camp.” He nodded toward the kettle, that subtle glint of humour in his eyes, as if a decent brew was the most luxurious indulgence he could imagine.

A kind of longing Ghost couldn’t name settled heavy in his chest, an ache that made him want to close the space between them, to pull Price close and tell him he didn’t want this to be temporary.

Price noticed his gaze, eyebrows raising as he let out a soft laugh. “What’s with you then? Never seen a man out of a shower?” His tone was light, teasing, but Ghost could see the slight furrow in his brow, as if he were trying to decipher what he was seeing in Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost’s mouth opened, then closed. He could feel the words pressing up against his chest, aching to escape, but he didn’t know if he had the right to say them. What if this ruined everything? What if he’d read all of this wrong? What if Price didn’t want this with Simon?

But looking at Price, standing there, comfortably out of uniform, looking so impossibly good and real, Ghost felt something snap. He couldn’t keep holding this back—not when every moment with Price felt like a promise he wanted to keep.

“I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed felt both endless and instant. He watched Price freeze, shock flickering over his face as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. For a second, Ghost’s stomach twisted, instinct screaming at him to retreat, to act like it had been a mistake, a momentary lapse he hadn’t meant. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t take it back.

Instead, he stood there, unwavering, rooted to the spot by something stronger than fear. There was a sense of calm clarity in him, as if finally saying it—finally letting it go—was exactly what he needed to feel at peace. For the first time, he wasn’t hiding from what he felt, and it was terrifying, but also… grounding. This was his truth, as clear as any mission he’d ever undertaken. It was too much a part of him to deny, and he knew now, with a certainty he couldn’t ignore, that he wouldn’t take it back even if he could.

Price’s mouth opened, closed, the faintest line of vulnerability shadowing his face. “Simon… no. You don’t—” He stopped, eyes flicking away. “Why… why would you even say that?”

A part of Ghost had expected this. He’d seen how Price held people at arm’s length, always careful, always cautious with his own heart. But Ghost had spent enough time by his side to know that Price’s doubt was more than scepticism—it was insecurity. And knowing that broke something in Ghost, making him want to close the space between them, to make Price see himself the way he did.

Without thinking, he took a step closer, each movement slow, deliberate. He needed Price to understand. There was no question, no hesitation in his heart, and he wouldn’t let his own fear stand in the way of this. “Because it’s true, John,” he said softly, his voice filled with an intensity that surprised even him. “Because I mean it.”

Price shook his head, trying to look away, a faint, pained laugh escaping him. Ghost could see it, see the struggle on his face, the disbelief that anyone could love him like this, let alone him.

Ghost’s chest ached seeing Price struggle, watching the disbelief play across his face, the doubt that someone could love him, truly love him. He reached up, taking his mask off, wanting Price to see his whole expression. He cupped Price’s face in both hands, guiding him to look back, to look him in the eye.

“John,” he said, his voice low, steady, the words carrying a weight he’d never let himself show. “You’re not just my Captain. You’re the one person who’s… who makes sense to me. Every time I think about us, about this—it feels right.” He paused, his thumb brushing over Price’s cheek, the warmth of the touch grounding them both. “I’ve thought about it more times than I can count. Tried to fight it. But I can’t, not anymore.”

Price’s eyes searched his face, looking for any flicker of doubt, anything to convince himself that this was just a passing feeling. But Ghost didn’t let him turn away; he needed Price to understand how long he’d kept this inside; how much he wanted this to be real.

Every inch of him was screaming to make Price see that this wasn’t some twisted sense of duty or loyalty or a skewed understanding of the bond of brothers-in-arms. It was something that went beyond all of that, something he’d felt in every quiet moment, every time he found himself leaning closer, craving Price’s presence even when words went unspoken. And now, with Price standing here, with that soft shirt and his damp hair, looking so human and so his, Ghost knew he’d never be able to go back to pretending this was just camaraderie.

Price’s lips parted, a faint tremor in his voice as he asked, almost pleadingly, “Why me, Simon? Why would you…”

Ghost let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing over Price’s cheek. “Because I want this with you, all of it,” He gestured around the cabin frantically, trying to convey what he means. “I want this to be our normal.”

“Why… why now?”

Ghost swallowed, the rawness of Price’s voice piercing through him, and in that moment, any doubt he’d had about telling him vanished. “Because I want this. With you. I want the quiet moments, the domestic nights on a couch. I want to wake up to you next to me-” He paused suddenly, his thumb tracing along Price’s cheek. “I didn’t know how much until I got a taste of a life with you outside of the 141 these past few days. I thought I could live without you knowing but I can’t. I want you, John.” He took a breath, his own voice rough but steady. “And if you don’t feel the same, I understand. But I needed you to know.”

The look in Price’s eyes was one Ghost had rarely seen before—unguarded, vulnerable, and full of a quiet yearning that had been hidden for far too long. And at that moment, he knew he’d made the right choice, that he’d do it all over again if it meant being here, standing close, telling Price everything he’d kept buried.

When Price’s hands moved up to Ghost’s face, mirroring his touch, Ghost could feel it—the release of years of restraint, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted. “You… you really mean that?”

Ghost nodded, the relief and quiet happiness flooding through him. “More than anything.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Price’s hands tightened on his face, grounding them both. “Alright,” he whispered, voice thick. “Alright… Simon.”

Ghost leaned in, their foreheads touching, each of them grounding the other. In the quiet, Ghost could feel it—all the years of restraint, the walls they’d kept up, finally crumbling as they found each other, both feeling, for the first time, what it meant to be truly together.

They stayed close, heads tilted together, letting the newness of it settle, feeling the gentle thud of their heartbeats in tandem. Then, almost as if on impulse, Ghost—Simon, now—leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Price’s forehead, then his cheek, and then another, barely brushing the bridge of his nose. Each kiss was soft, almost giddy, like he couldn’t contain the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Price let out a soft laugh, an amused huff as he tried to dodge Simon’s unrelenting affections, but he didn’t quite succeed, and it only seemed to encourage Simon further.

“Bloody hell, Simon, give a man a moment to breathe,” Price grumbled, though his voice was edged with laughter, his own smile finally breaking free as he watched Simon beam with a kind of unabashed joy he’d never seen from him before.

Simon chuckled, his lips still grazing Price’s face as he planted another playful kiss just above his eyebrow, and then another on his jawline, lingering a moment longer as his grin grew even wider. He was thoroughly enjoying the way Price looked slightly flustered, a bit pink around the edges.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” Price muttered, shaking his head even as his hands settled comfortably on Simon’s waist, holding him close.

“Oh, I’m a menace?” Simon quirked an eyebrow, his tone teasing as he brushed his lips against Price’s nose, a sly smile lighting up his face. “This coming from the bloke who said he doesn’t need shit like this. Look at you now. Practically melting,” he teased, his laughter warm, delighted, bubbling up from a place so deep it surprised even him.

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “S’pose I am, at that,” he admitted, his voice softening, a hand coming up to cup the back of Simon’s neck. He looked at him, taking in the joy in Simon’s eyes, the warmth in his expression, and for the first time, he allowed himself to relax fully, to let the happiness settle.

Then, with a steadying breath and a smile that was soft and sure, Price looked into Simon’s eyes, holding him close. “I love you too, Simon,” he murmured, voice quiet but unmistakably certain.

Simon’s face lit up with an almost boyish grin, and he pressed another series of kisses to Price’s face, each one full of relief, of warmth, of a happiness he could barely contain. He laughed, the sound bright, full of life, as he finally allowed himself to believe in this moment, in the closeness he’d longed for.

“You’re a bloody nightmare,” Price teased, laughing softly as Simon practically smothered him with affection.

“Think you’ll survive it?” Simon whispered, his tone playful but the sincerity in his eyes clear.

“Aye,” Price replied, his own smile unguarded, hands still resting firmly on Simon. “I reckon I will.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, laughter mingling with quiet promises.

As their laughter faded, Simon’s hand lingered on Price’s cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding them both. They stood there, close and quiet, the moment stretching between them, soft and unhurried. Simon’s gaze moved over Price’s face, taking in the lines he’d memorised a hundred times over in the field, but here, now, he allowed himself the luxury of just looking, of feeling.

Without a word, Simon leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Price’s mouth this time, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of his neck. Price returned it just as slowly, the firmness in his grip telling Simon all he needed to know. There was an intensity in the way their mouths moved together—deliberate, deep, each kiss pulling them closer, as if the space between them was something they couldn’t bear.

Simon’s thumb brushed along Price’s jaw, and his other hand found Price’s waist, holding him steady as they leaned into each other. Price’s hand slipped up, fingers threading through the short hair at the back of Simon’s head, grounding them both, drawing him closer.

A low hum of contentment escaped Simon, their breaths mingling as he let himself get lost in the feeling of it—of them—no longer holding back. There was no rush, just the slow burn of realisation and a shared understanding, the unspoken promise that they were finally here, together.

When Simon finally pulled back, he stayed just a breath apart, his gaze fixed intently on Price, the weight of his affection clear in his eyes. His thumb brushed slowly along Price’s jaw, his touch confident, knowing, as he leaned in again, lips ghosting over Price’s in a way that was both teasing and familiar.

There was an unmistakable warmth in his gaze, a playful glint that Price recognised, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it in this situation. He felt his pulse quicken, as if somehow Simon had shifted the entire mood with just that one look.

“Y’know,” Simon murmured, voice low and steady, each word lingering in the space between them, “I could show you… just how much I mean it.”

Price’s eyebrows lifted, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process the words, that quiet intensity in Simon’s voice leaving little room for doubt. Simon’s hands slipped down to rest at Price’s hips, steady and sure, anchoring him, but there was a spark of mischief in his expression, a challenge that was somehow both serious and playful.

Price opened his mouth to respond, to say something, but the words didn’t come, leaving him standing there, a bit off-kilter, entirely captivated by Simon’s quiet, unwavering confidence. He could barely believe that this was happening, that this was real, but the heat in Simon’s gaze left no room for uncertainty.

Simon chuckled and brought his lips firmly back onto Price’s, making him release a small gasp at how forceful Simon was being. God, that noise. It went straight to Simon’s cock, fuelling his arousal. He had to hear more, had to hear Price fall apart.

He shifted his hand on Price’s hip, moving under the thin shirt Price had on. Simon grabbed at the soft layer of fat around Price’s abdomen, groaning into the kiss. Fuck, he wanted to bite at the softness.

Using his hold on Price, he pushed Price against the counter, connecting their whole bodies together in a sinful grind. Their chests brushed against each other, and Simon could feel their hard nipples poking through their shirts, could feel Price’s arousal against the thigh he’d shoved between his legs, effectively pinning Price down.

He moved a hand into Price’s slightly damp hair and tugged on it, drawing another soft noise out of the man underneath him. It only added fuel to the fire being stoked within Simon. He shifted his hand to cup the back of Price’s neck, pushing his thumb into the junction of Price’s jaw, making Price gasp in response.

Simon licked deeper into Price’s mouth, claiming him. Pressing him harder against the counter, grinding into him and running his tongue over Price’s. The man keened, thrown slightly off balance, using his hold on Simon’s waist to hold himself upright.

Simon scraped his teeth against Price’s bottom lip, gasping before pulling away abruptly. He felt Price chase after his lips, but Simon placed his hand on his captain’s chest to slow him down. He brought their foreheads together, just breathing in each other’s air.

“Fuck, Simon. Been wanting this for so long, didn’t think it was allowed,” Price choked out, chuckling as if trying to hide his sincerity.

Simon moved his attention to Price’s jaw, laying kisses across his beard, letting the surprisingly soft hair tickle his lips. Moving to Price’s neck, he had to restrain himself from outright biting at the smooth skin in front of him. Instead, he nipped it teasingly, running the tip of his tongue over the tendon, feeling Price shiver against him.

Resigning himself to not actually marking Price, not yet at least, he started tugging at his shirt, trying to get it off. Simon knew he should separate from Price even a little bit to get the shirt off, but it was a monumental task when Price smelled so good.

He finally relented when he felt Price shaking slightly with laughter against him. Simon did not pout as he was forced to move away, and if he did, Price couldn’t see it, his vision shrouded by the shirt for a few seconds.

They’d seen each other in various stages of undress; this shouldn’t be as world-shattering as it was, but God was Simon savouring every single second he got to ogle shamelessly at a shirtless Captain John Price.

His hands roamed over Price’s chest, feeling the hair that was just as soft as he thought it would be, squeezing his chest, feeling Price jolt at the sensation.

“Didn’t think you’d be so sensitive when I pictured this.” Simon smirked as he pinched Price’s hard nipples with purpose this time.

“Ah!” Price hissed, pulling his chest away from Simon’s harsh treatment. “Didn’t know I was either, to be honest.”

“Are you really telling me no one’s paid attention to these before?” Simon breathed out against Price’s lips. “Because I can’t help myself, love. Not when I get a reaction like that.” He added with a nip to Price’s lips and another tug of his nipples.

“Fuck, Simon. That feels good,” Price muttered. “Never thought you’d touch me like this, never let myself picture it. Ah!”

“Well, that’s a shame. I’ve thought about this for years, Captain. Thought about you under me, on top of me, thought about you inside me, about tasting you.” Simon said as he pressed fervent kisses and small bites over Price’s chest before finally actually biting him and sucking right above his left nipple, fulfilling that desire to mark him.

“Ah, shit! You menace, should’ve known you’d be a biter. Can’t say I’m complaining, though.” Price threaded his fingers in Simon’s curls, pulling him away from his chest and bringing their mouths together again, like he couldn’t resist it, before pulling back, murmuring, “Please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing. Please, Simon, you have to—I can’t do this once and forget about it.”

Simon’s gaze softened, his hand coming up to brush along Price’s cheek. “This isn’t a one-time thing, Price,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure. “I’m here because I want to and because I love you. One day, you’ll truly believe me.” He held Price’s gaze, letting the words settle, feeling the faint tension ease from Price’s grip.

Price swallowed, still searching Simon’s face, the lingering doubt flickering in his eyes. But Simon only smiled, slow and sure.

He leaned in close, his lips ghosting over Price’s in a barely-there kiss. “Let me show you, yeah?” he whispered, his voice warm and earnest. “Prove to you how much I want this. How much I need this.”

Simon slowly lowered himself to his knees, trailing his hands down Price’s chest to his thighs. Settling into a comfortable stance, Simon just sat there, on his knees in front of his Captain.

Price was speechless; he didn’t think Simon had it in him to be so bold, but he couldn’t complain—not when those doe eyes were looking up at him like he held all the answers to everything Simon could ever want.

Finally on his knees, Simon pressed his face into the bulge of Price’s jeans, savouring the feel of him. He had to get his mouth on him properly, and soon.

Simon pressed his mouth to the bulge in front of him. “Fuck, John,” he muttered to himself. “Can I? Please?” he asked, looking up at Price again.

How was Price supposed to say no to that?

“Yes, fuck, yes, Simon, whatever you want, darling.”

Simon began unbuckling Price’s belt, then his jeans, he started pressing open-mouthed kisses through Price’s underwear, he wanted to tease Price; to really rile him up but his own desperation won over and he tugged them down and pulled out Price’s cock.

Simon resisted the urge to get his mouth around it instantly, wanting to get a proper look at the picture Price made. God, but he looked good

Leaning against the counter, face and chest flushed, Simon’s bite from earlier was darker too. Simons eyes traced the flush all the way to Price’s trim waist before going further. His belt and jeans were hanging open, held up by strong, thick thighs that Simon couldn’t wait to get in between of. His underwear was pushed down revealing, in Simon’s opinion, the prettiest cock he’s ever seen. He never thought he’d ever describe a cock as pretty, but John Price never ceases to surprise him.

The head was flushed and slightly wet from pre-cum and Simon’s spit, the shaft thick with prominent veins running along it with a neat bush at the base. His balls resting against the waistband of his underwear and Simon had to stop himself from actively drooling.

Pulling himself out of his reverie and silently promising to himself that he’d take his time and worship Price properly another time, he shuffles closer so he’s really at eye-level with Price’s cock.

Slowly, his tongue poked out and dragged up the underside of Price’s cock, swiping across the head with extra care. Simon wanted to make sure he tasted every centimetre. Price threw his head back and clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the, frankly, whorish sound that feeling and visual managed to drag out of him.

Simon sat back on his heels. The position caused his trousers to stretch across his aching arousal, showing Price just how much this was affecting him.

“I want to hear you, don’t hide from me, love. There’s no one here, it’s just us.” Simon pleaded.

Price relented and removed his hand from his mouth and instead he brought it down to rub his thumb along Simon’s bottom lip, almost reverent in his touch. Simon gave his thumb a teasing nip before pulling away and repositioning himself. Too desperate to tease Price further.

He chose to wrap a hand around Price this time and squeezed gently, just feeling his arousal in his hand. He hummed at the responding groan he got before stroking up as much as he could and back down. The dry pull only heightened Price’s sensitivity, and he bucked into the unforgiving drag.

Simon brought his face down towards Price’s cock but bypassed it and instead started licking at the base before moving his tongue further down and licking around Price’s sack.

When Price looked down Simon’s eyes were glassy and looking up at him with so much adoration his cock pulsed against Simon’s cheek at the sight below him.

Simon couldn’t help himself; he gasped at the feeling of it against his face, twitching and beading with pre-cum from some light teasing.

Finally, he pulled himself together and he guided his face to the tip of Price’s cock and brought it into his mouth. Humming at the taste of his Captain on his tongue.

Price above him moaned loudly and was rewarded instantly for his efforts. Simon’s pupils widened and he started bobbing his head slowly bringing more of Price’s cock into his mouth. He made it nearly halfway to the base before softly gagging and pulling away a bit to go back to laving his tongue around the head.

Simon hadn’t done this nearly as much as he wanted to and he regrets not being able to take Price all the way down his throat the way he wants to, to savour the stretch, knowing all his senses would be surrounded by Price. Maybe he could convince Price to let him practice? Judging from the noises above him, he doesn’t think there will be much protest.

Pulling off he let a string of saliva connect his lips to the head of Price’s cock for a few seconds before it broke off, not missing how Price twitched at the sight. He brought his lips back to the base of Price’s cock, licking around it and pressing kisses to it. Simon couldn’t help how the musky smell that lingered even after Price had showered affected him. He’d always loved how Price smelt, cigars, sweat and aftershave, but here? It was a completely different experience.

“Simon, you feel so good, love. Not gonna last long with you down there.” Price warned.

Simon hummed before wrapping his lips back around the head of Price’s cock, eliciting a choked-out moan from the man above him. He tongued at his slit, wanting to get more of Price’s taste in his mouth.

He spent a few minutes just using his mouth to pleasure Price before he brought his hand to the base to jerk off the rest of what he regrettably couldn't get in his mouth. His other hand was rubbing and squeezing anywhere he could reach from this position. He slowly trailed his hand up towards Price’s chest, pinching at his nipples and squeezing his chest, thanking his towering frame for being able to reach.

He felt Price twitch in his mouth every time he scratched, pulled, pinched or squeezed his body.

He’s so lost in the sensations that when Price gasps and says, “Simon,” all ragged and breathy he realises that Price is about to come in his mouth and is trying to warn him off.

That just won’t do. He just moans and pushes as far down as he can without gagging and sucks harder, suddenly desperate to have his mouth full of what Price really tastes like.

“Simon,” Price gasps again from above him. “I can’t—fuck! Shit! Stop, love, I’m gonna—”

Then Simon feels Price’s hips twitch, can feel him pulsing in his mouth before its filled with the salty-bitter taste of Price’s orgasm. He moans and swallows as much as he can, but some still escapes around the sides of his lips. He keeps sucking and bobbing his head until Price is pulling him away by his curls, panting above him.

Price pushes off the counter and drops to the floor in front of Simon startling him slightly before using the grip he has in Simon’s hair to tug him forward and kiss him. Simon’s lungs burn as Price steals his breath away, groaning as he tastes himself on Simon, licking the stray drops from his mouth.

He pulls back resting his forehead against Simon’s. “So, fucking good,” he pants out. “Gonna take care of you now, love, gonna make you feel good too. That what you want?”

Simon nods his head furiously, knocking their foreheads together. He moves to bring Price into a deep kiss again, his hands running over every inch of his body.

Not having touched himself at all yet he felt Price reach down towards his trousers, unbuckle them and snake his hand into his underwear. He didn’t think to warn Price, but he felt him gasp against his lips, pulling away, a look of shock across his face.

“Are you fucking pierced?”

Simon couldn't help but let out a laugh at that, “Yeah, I got them a couple years after Roba, wanted my body to feel like my own again,” Simon paused to gauge Price’s reaction who was looking at him in disbelief. “They a problem? I can take them out?” he added timidly.

“You’re kidding right? Fuck, as if you could get any more perfect. Can I touch them? Do they feel good?” Simon blushed at Price’s words.

“Yeah, feels really good.”

“Hmmm can’t wait to find out how good they’re gonna feel inside me.” He whispered into Simon’s ear making him gasp and moan at the thought of Price on his back, legs around his waist, or straddling him, or bent over. Fuck, anyway he could have him, really.

Price tightened his hand back around Simon’s cock, stroking upwards before pulling his hand away, spitting on it and bringing it back around Simon, twisting his hand when he reaches the tip.

Price moves to pay attention to the five piercings across the underside of Simon’s cock. Twisting the barbell that was threaded through each one, from his frenulum to the Jacobs ladder leading all the way down. Price kept going from stroking his entire length to paying special attention to the piercings and oh, fuck, that feels really fucking good.

“Faster, please!” Simon cries out, he didn’t realise how close he already was just from sucking Price off.

Price pulls Simons cock out of his pants and spits on it directly making the man under him keen.

“God look at you. Need to feel you inside me, Simon.” He pants into Simon’s mouth.

They’re not quiet kissing anymore, just breathing into each other’s mouths, making each other dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Price pulls back to lick and nip at Simons neck, knowing that his balaclava will cover up any marks he puts there, he doesn’t have to hesitate. Biting and sucking wherever he pleases, relishing in each broken sound it draws out of the man.

Simon’s hips stuttered and he fucks his cock into Prices fist. Moaning unabashedly at how good it feels. He’s never this vocal but Price’s fist and his presence is enough to make him feel like he’s on cloud nine, he always felt like he could let go around the man with no negative consequences.

Simon kept fucking his cock into the tight and slick fist around him, running his hands all over Price’s body, feeling the hair on his chest, the solid weight of his muscle beneath. He couldn’t believe he was able to touch him so freely. The thought made him even more frantic.

“Price, fuck! John, please, please, don’t stop. I’m so close John, please. God!” He gasped out.

“You gonna make a mess all over me, Simon? Yeah? Go on, love. Let go. Let me feel you.”

Simon, like the loyal soldier he is, couldn’t deny his captain anything and with a thrust of his hips and a twist from Price’s wrist he’s gone.

Crying out John’s name, curses and “Please, don’t stop! Feels so good!” He rides the wave of his pleasure for what feels like hours before he shivers and slumps forward onto Price’s shoulder. Panting and sweating like he ran a marathon before he looked down and groaned at the sight.

Price’s fist was covered, still pumping him gently making Simon jolt with overstimulation. He grabs Price’s wrist to stop him, gently coaxing him off. Price smirked at him and brought his hand up to lick at his fingers, holding Simons shocked expression as he did so.

Price barely got a taste before he was being shoved backwards and kissed within an inch of his life. Simon pulled back and loomed over him, his dark gaze hungry despite just finishing.

“Wanna take this to an actual bed?” he murmured into Price’s neck.

“Oh? I thought you’d get it out of your system, and you’d be done.” Price smirked knowing now how much Simon meant those words he said to him earlier.

“We’re just getting started.” Price shivered at that, eagerly anticipating what comes next.

“Well then, lead the way.”

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john price #q writes #Captain john price #captain price #ghostprice #priceghost #priceghostwek2024 #ghostpriceweek2024 #nerves waaaa

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zaynes-nieve · 9 months ago

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Spoilers for all of Thorns Under the Moon

Back into Aether core lore. Let's go!!!

We got some new hunter models

Bruhhhh, even Carter's model looks slimey 😭

Zayne did not want me to take those flowers lmfao. Not that I would. Who tries to poach people's patients wtf

Yeahh we already know Carter is batshit insane.

This entire scenario is a little too much like Finding Tobias 😭

Greyson showing us the videos of the hospital and this dimensional Wanderer is making so obvious we about to isekaied into DawnBreaker world bruh.

I'm tried of people playing god with these protocores especially cause Astra is an asshole 😭

Yooo Zayne and Greyson in scrubs???? My man is great with his hands lmfaoo. No but fr really good surgeon ten out of ten, no one is better than my boy Zayne.

God damn these metafluxes wtffff. Where tf is this Wanderer.

Not the Wanderer taking out a sandwich. What do you mean he woke up???? Ain't no way he is awake already. Wtf is Xander Sciences doing???

This man is raving mad. Wtf is the dawn breaker world. Is it an alternative universe? A spliting timeline? In the future? In the past? Now yall telling me it's a protocore dream?

Oh shit we finally fighting this Wanderer? Or we getting....yup we got isekaied now the question is...

Dude is that Zayne or Zayne.

Cause he is wearing the Dawnbreaker fit. I think he is straight up lying to my face rn. He is trying to pretend that he is our Zayne. Or is it our Zayne stuck in Dawn Breaker. Or are we not even in Dawn Breaker world just Zaynes dream.

Bruh this dreamception is too big brain for me at 8 am in the morning.

This is definitely Dawn Breakers house. It's got those weird energy drinks. But Our Zayne could have easily seen this just like Dawn Breaker could see our Zaynes life. Idk anymore.

Lying about the chocolate is crazy work. Not carrot flavored 🥕🍫

I'm like 85% certain this is Dawn Breaker. He is just slightly enough different to be not our Zayne at least fully. But the dark ice and light ice is confusing me again. Are they merged in this one? Cause William is our Zayne, but George and his mother is Dawn Breaker

Also this resonance isn't it. To me it doesn't look like it's working very well. Especially when It looks like we got knocked out cause of it. Also he is taking the ice from us. So is it like an Astra thing or when we do that resonance to take the ice from Zayne we end up taking it for ourselves?

Also, I haven't fought with a non-exclusive companion in so long. Seeing the Dawnbreaker fighting set is crazy again XD. Just make him an exclusive set, too, with the myth story I beg 🙏🏾

It's implied that we know that that wasn't our Zayne. So I guess that was Dawn Breaker. It isn't the first time that they've made reference to the fact that we can recognize Dawn Breaker as separate from our Dr.Zayne either. But Zayne was also sucked into the protofield, too.

Zayne needs his rest. I hope he won't have anymore nightmares 😔

Ain't no way that Wanderer was summoned by that fucking tool, are you kidding me??? Bruh when I get my hands on Carter, Xander Scicnes and fuckign Ever. I swear I'm pulling up with a demolition squad.

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jomiddlemarch · 5 months ago

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the last man in the world

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a sole proprietorship coffee shop in possession of an ideal location and a reliable source of ethically harvested beans must be in want of adequate staff.

Elizabeth would have taken one measly part-time barista who could create a competent Rosetta in a latte.

Or someone who was not related to her, because when her sisters came to “help out,” she ended up short cash in the till (Lydia and shockingly Mary), running low on clotted cream (Kit), or with the entire kitchen scrubbed clean but with all the shelves rearranged in a way that was completely unintuitive unless you were also deeply influenced by feng shui (Jane, who needed to stop worrying so much about cultural appropriation but also needed to stop moving the espresso cups to the north side of the room.)

It was getting dire and that was not only Elizabeth’s opinion. Charlotte, her closest friend from uni and also her accountant, had started to have an expression halfway between concerned and skeptical when Elizabeth talked about the coffee-shop and had absolutely vetoed the vintage La Marzocco espresso maker.

“You’d need what they call an angel investor in the States to pull that off, Lizzie, and nothing about Bluestockings would attract an angel,” Charlotte said.

“You still think I should have accepted the offer from Collins,” Elizabeth replied.

“I’m not idealistic,” Charlotte shrugged. “Not a romantic like you. He made a solid offer and he had the cash—”

“He looked like a toad in a Fair Isle jumper and he kept calling me Bettina,” Elizabeth said.

“This is London, the costs are only getting higher, between the bloody Tories and the foreign nationals buying up entire streets— You may regret saying no."

“I’d rather that than the alternative,” Elizabeth said. “The look on his face was priceless.”

“Oh, there was a price,” Charlotte said. “You just don’t know how much it’ll cost you.”

“How much?” the tall, dark-haired man in what was very clearly Savile Row asked, after Elizabeth, most definitely not looking her best since not one sister had shown up to help, not even Jane, had pushed across a sloppily poured London fog latte and then had forgotten to ring him up.

“Four quid,” she said, rounding up. He was wearing monogrammed platinum cufflinks and had the attitude of someone with a vast estate he referred to as “the country house.” Plus, he’d ignored her the whole time she’d scrambled around to make the drink, even when she nearly knocked three tins (Jane, why, why?!) from the shelf where the Earl Grey was kept and she’d yelped most unbecomingly.

“I meant how much do you need for the back-taxes and the rent. It needs a renovation, but we’d need to get an architect in for that, Annika de Bourgh at Rosings is the best,” he said. “My friend Charlie was here last week, raved about it, said the very pretty barista with the bluest eyes told him you were her sister, the coffee-shop about to go under, even though she’d reorganized the cutlery five times to invite financial well-being, and he’s likely to do something very ill-considered unless I stop him, so how much do you need? The place is tolerable, I suppose—”

“Tolerable?” Elizabeth repeated. Sputtered, not unlike the milk frother which needed a repair.

“I’ve seen worse. I’ve seen better. It has some potential, the location is unimpeachable, the foot traffic alone should make the rent, as long as people want to walk in,” he said. “How much?”

“You’ve some nerve,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes. As well as the acumen and portfolio to back it up,” he answered coolly.

“I’d never take money from someone whose name I don’t know, who hasn’t worked with me a single day,” Elizabeth said.

“Darcy. Will Darcy. I hope you’ve a spare apron,” he said.

“I don’t,” she said.

“Then I’ll wear one of your tee-shirts,” he said, taking off his suit jacket and folding it over one forearm.

“It won’t fit,” she said.

“I’ll be careful then, not to spill,” he replied.

The tee-shirt fit, if by fit one meant that it made it clear how exquisitely well-built Will Darcy was, broad and well-muscled through the shoulders and chest, narrow waisted, the pale blue cotton concealing hardly anything, the swoopy swirly scrawl of Bluestockings seemingly designed specifically to make one consider whether he possessed a six or eight pack. And he didn’t spill a drop.

“Convinced?” he asked, after three hours, the best mid-afternoon rush she’d ever had neatly managed, the counters pristine. He’d rolled his sleeves up after the first hour and Elizabeth had resolutely determined not to give a name to the feeling the sight evoked in her.

(The name would probably include an obscenity, something she could confide to neither Jane nor Charlotte.)

“Give me a week,” she said.

“To decide?”

“Work here for a week. One afternoon doesn’t count. You might be lucky,” she said.

“I don’t believe in luck,” he said.

“Of course not,” she said.

Charlotte had been right. Elizabeth had had no idea what it would cost her.

Written but posted late (on a day when I feel like a lot of us can use a cheerful distraction!) for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month, Day 15, prompt: London.

#Janeuary 2025 #pride and prejudice #modern reboot #coffee shop AU #London #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #charlotte lucas #jane bennet #humor #lots of Netflix rom-com vibes #slow burn

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emwritesstuff · 2 months ago

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DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 9.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. (warnings: diving deep into humans as test subjects in this one. heavy self deprecation, pstd, panic attacks, a lot of apologies for some reason?) (6,670 words)

9: THE THIRD LAW OF NEWTON

It’s Friday morning. The Wakandan Princess arrived earlier in an airship that resembled something like a flying Bugatti and made the Quinjet look like a bicycle. Two spear-wielding female warriors - the Dora Milaje, you’ve recently learned - flanked her as she came out of it, which you thought was a little overkill. Royalty treatment, you suppose.

They’re now guarding the doors to the room you’re having your first deprogramming session in, pretending they don’t see you stare.

You’re nervously bouncing your knee up and down as you wait; up and down. Up and down. Up and down. One of the warriors flick her eyes in your direction.

It makes you stop. The movement resumes involuntarily when she looks away.

You’re hoping you won’t regret this. Like every other decision you make, it was an impulsive one; stemmed out of the need to delete every trace of HYDRA that was still in you.

You were born for the use of HYDRA.

That day, when you were showering your frustration away, you took a bath sponge and for the first time in your life, tried to scrub the numbers off.

7463000195.

The skin on your arm is still a little raw, their mark still inked deeply on it.

This procedure has to be the next best thing.

“Try not to look too excited, Shuri might get self conscious.”

You look up suddenly; Bucky is hovering above you, a smirk countering the usual exhaustion in his eyes.

“I just can’t contain myself,” You say, getting up and past him. “What are you doing down here?”

Bucky shrugs. “Moral support?”

Steve walks in just as his best friend says the words, and you hold back a groan. He’s been supporting your decision since you made it; of course he’d be here too.

You just have to pray Shuri is truly the genius people have been raving about.

The room Stark has assigned for the Wakandans is right down the hall from his own lab - and if that one was high-tech, then you didn’t have an adjective for this one. Shuri’s sleek, white and silver equipment now lined the walls, and holograms occupied the space physical screens would be.

“Impressive, no?”

“It’s a little flashy,” You grimace once you realize who you’re talking to; out of the corner of your eye, one of the warrior women tightens the grip on her spear. “Sorry, my…my lady. Your highness?”

The princess laughs. “Please, let’s end the formalities. I’ll be rummaging through your head for the next hour, it’s only fair you just call me Shuri.”

You hold back the urge to say As you wish, Your Highness and bow. “How exactly is this going to work?”

“Essentially the same process we’re doing to Sargeant Barnes. Find the source of your triggers. Unravel the memory and sever the connection to the problematic behaviors.” Her choice of wording makes you frown. “In generic terms.”

“You’re wiping me.”

HYDRA has never wiped your memories - at least you don’t think they have - so you don’t really know how it feels. All you know is that is not a fun time.

Your eyes find the two war veterans just outside the room, two armoire-sized men who could drag you right back in if you made a run for it. You’re almost certain they would never.

But still. They could.

Shuri speaks again as your breaths shallow, “We’re not taking any of your memories away. They will still be in your head, but have no effect on present you. This will be more like… unplugging a cable from the port.”

“Like disarming a bomb.”

It’s not exactly comforting. But it’s not wrong.

“Exactly.” Shuri shifts in place as if you’re making her self conscious. “Not that you—”

“Oh, I am.” You shrug. “Let’s do this, Your High— Shuri?”

Shuri hands you a sort of metal headband and leads you to something that almost looks like a tanning bed, but with all glass casing and soft padding inside. You try not to think of how it looks like a coffin, or a fancy cryopod, instead focusing on the memory of the machine that made Steve Rogers into a super soldier. That one’s a little better.

The contraption you’re getting into looks like all of these combined, with the sci-fi makeover all over it. Shuri takes her place behind a multitude of hologram screens and out of the corner of your eye, you see Rogers on the doorway.

Good to know the Dora Milaje let him walk about like that.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions so we can narrow in your trigger memories,” Shuri says, and you nod. There’s some beeping around your head. Your fingers flex at your sides. “Try not to move too much. We’ll begin when you’re ready.”

“Yeah… alright. Fuck it. I’m ready.”

A second passes.

“Where were you born?”

“I… I’m not actually sure.”

There’s a pause. It’s brief, but you notice anyway. You can’t really see anything from where you’re laying down, so you just keep your eyes to the ceiling.

“Where did you grow up?”

At least you know the answer to this one.

“The Brutkasten. 18 miles south from Erda, Norway.” You still remember vividly the trek through the snow during your escape, how you reached the tiny town in less than adequate clothing and with a bullet wound to your side.

You’re sure your raggedy, unexpected appearance raised many questions, but you couldn’t provide answers: mostly because you don’t speak Norwegian.

HYDRA made sure you were made into an island.

“Who was in charge of your programming? Who trained it into you?”

You pull a breath in - no wonder Bucky needed his quiet time after this. The questions are precise and equally invasive, and even if you tried skirting around the spoken answer the memory was already in your head. No running from it.

“Baron Von Strucker. Wolfgang Von Strucker. Head of all of HYDRA’s enhanced human projects, including mine.”

Shuri pauses again. “That’s… are you sure you remember right? I’m having conflicting results.”

Your hands are starting to sweat.

“Strucker trained the programming into me. He was always there to activate—” You interrupt yourself, as something in your head clicks. It makes you consider her question again, and chase another memory instead. “Steiner. Hermann Steiner said he made me. It has to be him.”

“That’s it. Keep going,”

“He…he tampered with my DNA to give me my powers. He said I needed an off-switch. A fail-safe. The-the whole purpose of the words is to keep them under control, I think. If they’re not activated I can’t use my powers properly, and if they are, I’m HYDRA’s perfect weapon.” Your lungs feel empty, and it’s suddenly hard to get them full again. It’s strange to echo Steiner’s words like that. It takes you back to that conversation.

To the warning.

You can hear something beeping and can only guess it’s to do with your vitals. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t—”

“You mentioned something about activation words. Can you recite them for me?”

Your fingers tighten against the soft padding you’re laying on. You need to get through this.

You must. “…and blood-black nothingness began to spin, a system of cells interlinked within one stem.”

“Shuri, perhaps we should—”

“One second, Captain Rogers. Just one second.” Shuri’s voice feels distant, and you can see her turn to someone out of your line of sight. Steve, maybe. The glass upper-half of your pod is open, but it weighs on you all the same.

“Vernetzt. Vernetzt. Change of momentum with change of time. Noether-Theorem. Hail HY- HY—”

“Got it.”

Your voice dies inside your throat. They’re talking, you can hear the muffled voices to the left of your pod. You’re buried under the snow, icy rubble burning your skin as your nails dig into cotton fabric and foam. “…not a fail-safe. I’d call it a muzzle.”

Getmeoutgetmeoutgetmeoutgetmeout

The words don’t come. Your limbs are stuck. You’re a vicious dog, too terrified to leave its cage.

You have no idea the damage you can cause—

The light dies for a few seconds.

Tony Stark’s wail travels from down the darkened hall: the Pac Man.

Not again…

“He really needs to get a no-break for that thing,” Steve’s voice cuts between your frazzled panting, pulling you back into reality all the way from Norway. The lights are back on. You make a pathetic little sound that should have been a chuckle.

Something warm and sturdy helps you sit up, and you realize too late it’s a pair of very muscular, very patriotic arms. “Can we take a break? I need… a minute. Maybe ten,”

“Of course. Let’s do fifteen,”

“I think we can call it a day here. It’s lunchtime anyway.”

“Lunch? It’s 11:30, Captain.”

“That’s lunchtime if you’re retirement home age.” You say matter-of-factly, hopping off the pod. “And he is way past that by this point.”

Steve rolls his eyes, and you shrug. “I’m not saying she’s right, but…” Bucky walks in as the Dora quit guarding the door. “Look I’m not saying retirement but—”

“C’mon, not you too…”

“A vacation! You really need it, bud.”

Steve protests. You nod your head solemnly, stifling a laugh. You push through jellified legs in order to leave the room, fully embracing the lunch time excuse.

“What, you’re not comin’?”

You bite your lip. You want to say it - you really want to say it.

“Where?”

“Lunch. The diner,” Bucky raises one eyebrow at Steve. “You didn’t invite her?”

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“I was going to—” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Was just going to make sure you’re okay first. You know, to go out.”

Bucky waves his metal hand between you and Steve. “Please. This isn’t a date. I’ll be right there.”

Motherfucker.

“Barnes—”

This isn’t a date.

Bucky is right there, across from you and Steve.

And you’re not making out with anyone except this cheeseburger.

They took you to a place named Nemo’s, a diner in Brooklyn that is traditional in every way: burgundy booths made out of that are cracked in places. Silver metal tables. Checkered floors, low lighting even though it’s barely noon.

It’s apparently almost as old as they are, and they’ve been coming here since they were teens; it doesn’t surprise you at all. Creatures of habit, these two. Not to mention the food is to die for.

“Easy, tiger.” Bucky says, making you look up from your sandwich. He tosses you a napkin. “Here. You got grease all over yourself,”

You roll your eyes, but wipe your mouth anyways.

“Let her be, Buck.” You look at Steve in surprise, but he only shrugs and takes a bite out of his own burger. Old-school, with the sliced bread loaf instead of buns and everything. Too many pickles for your taste though.

Bucky’s response is to slap the brim of Roger’s baseball cap, eliciting a laugh out of you.

This is nothing like you’re used to. You’ve been to dinners and Pizza Night at the compound, but those are different. It’s more crowded. There’s more pressure. Even Steve seems at ease here, his shoulders relaxed despite his disguise being flimsy at best. A baseball cap, that’s it? Not even a mustache? Even Bucky’s singular glove is more inconspicuous.

You realize you’re staring when he meets your gaze, a hint of a crooked smile curling his lip upwards. Maybe you should’ve shared the seat with Barnes instead.

“What?”

You breathe in. He looks awfully good under this awful lighting.

Get it the fuck together.

“There’s ketchup on your cheek.” It’s a lie.

But it works: Steve swiftly moves to grab a couple of napkins. The other super soldier is eyeing you suspiciously.

You have to resort to stuffing your face of his fries, which causes enough commotion to allow your cheeks to return to their regular temperature.

“Is Stark not feeding you enough? Jesus,”

You shrug. “These are just really good, and mine are gone. See?” You show him your empty basket and Steve mumbles something about ordering more. “Thanks for bringing me here by the way. I know it’s you guy’s thing.”

“Figured it could lift your spirits after this morning. Like ice cream after the dentist,” Steve says, and you nod. Your spirits are indeed lifted. It feels easy, to just be around them like this.

Because despite your resistance, these two know all of the terrible parts of you. They think there’s hope for you yet, which is the sort of optimism you’re still working on.

“Yeah. If you stayed back you’d just be overthinking yourself to death. And that’s not allowed here.”

You sigh. “It’s just a lot. You guys saw what happened today and it was only the first ever session. If Steiner’s right about me it could be a huge disaster. What if I lose control? What if—” A french fry is flung in your direction, turning concern into vexation.

“No overthinking at Nemo’s.”

“Dick.” You throw the fry back, and he pops it into his mouth with a grin.

“Buck’s got a point, actually. We need to take one step at a time and suffering by anticipation won’t help.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to look surprised. “You’re agreeing with me? Who are you?”

You chuckle. “Seriously, Steve? Not even him?” Bucky makes a face of resignation, shaking his head.

“Besides, you’re one to talk…” He added, quietly.

Steve exhales. “You two gangin’ up on me now? This friendship of yours is really something,”

“We’re the cryo-crew. The HYDRA… rejects. The frozen guinea-pigs?” You and Bucky do a high-five as Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’re both in remission now, the nicknames can stop—”

“I like cryo-crew.”

Steve groans. “I can’t believe this.”

Cryo-Crew it is.

Your body stiffens once you notice a man standing slightly northeast to your booth. He’s looking right at you; eyes too focused to have anything but recognition in them. You should’ve known your reprieve wouldn’t last. The months living in the compound made you forget how it felt like, to live on high alert. Bucky is next, frowning at your body language and turning towards your gaze. Then Steve. He streches his right arm across the table in front of your chest. The light bulb right above you flickers.

The man approaches the table, but he doesn’t seem nearly as tense as either three of you. Steve stands. Bucky remains seated but with a tight grip on the back rest of the booth.

Fight or flight, practical demonstration.

“S-sorry sir, Captain Rogers, sir. It’s so hard to find you out on the town like this, I couldn’t help it. Michael Lawrence. VP of the Sentinels of Liberty.” Steve lets out air through his nose, him and Barnes relaxing at the same time. He takes Michael’s hopeful, outstretched hand and shakes it, clapping an amicable hand on his shoulder then towing him away from you and Bucky.

“What. Was that…?”

“Must be ‘nother one of his biggest fans,” Bucky chuckles, pulling the strings of his hoodie. “He’s got a few devoted fan clubs, I always tell him the baseball cap is not enough.”

You scoff. “Right? Like, look at him. He can’t be thinking that’s making him anonymous.” Bucky grins. You’re still on edge, but the tension is dissipating slowly. You can see Steve’s back from here, shaking another few hands and displaying his signature Captain America smile. “I thought it was trouble for a second. Geez.”

“As much trouble as civilians can be. Buncha’ nerds geeking out over a bigger nerd,” He shrugs. “You’re off the hook, Sparky. Relax.”

“Look at where we live, Buck-o. ” He makes a face at the nickname, and you shrug. A Buck-o for a Sparky, it’s only fair. “We’re never off the hook.”

“You got that right.” He sighs. “Even if it was trouble. Those fuckers are not laying their hands on you, or me, ever again.”

You nod. The reassurance makes your chest tighten. You’ve been getting a lot of that lately. You didn’t know you needed it. “It’s not just them though. It’s… S.W.O.R.D. General Hoss, Fury. I feel - I know - they’ve got their eyes on me, just waiting for the moment I slip.” Even Stark. He was funny and he seemed to care, but his initiative towards the Sokovia Accords made it clear he held a high standard for fuck-ups. And you were a big one.

Your knee starts bouncing, making Bucky land a kick on your shin. You send him a glare, but he just smiles fiendishly.

“The Compound situation is… complicated. It’s Hoss’ kennel. The longer we stay, the more strings they got on us.” You nod again, slowly this time. Bucky drums his gloved metal fingers on the table, looking around the diner before speaking. “Won’t be our permanent residence for much longer, though.”

“What? You plan on running off into the sunset with Steve or something?

“Please. He’s not my boyfriend,”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I see the way you look at him. And vice-versa.” You roll your eyes.

“I don’t look at him any sort of way, Barnes. Except maybe disgust. Okay?”

Boyfriend. Some bullshit.

Bucky shakes his head. “Sure thing.”

“…he tell you anything?”

“Nah. He doesn’t kiss n’ tell. Should I ask?”

“No.” You refute quickly, and he narrows his eyes.

You’re not sure why he’s acting like this. Rogers wouldn’t have much to tell anyways.

“Right. Think you fool me with this act—”

You hold back the urge of pulling his hoodie strings and choking him with them, mostly because this place is public and because Steve is now back, shoving the cap back in his head like he’s not six-foot-four and super-soldier shaped.

He slides back beside you, and you scold yourself for relaxing when he does. Dammit.

Bucky gestures vaguely at the both of you.

“Sharin’ a booth and everything.” Now you really want to choke him. With his own arm, maybe. He shrugs. “Alright. I’m gonna go check if the bathroom stall has that poem we wrote still.” Bucky says, leaving you and Steve at the table with a wink.

Fucking goddammit.

“What’s he on about?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t seem like—”

“It’s nothing, Rogers.” You grit your teeth. You can’t have him noticing how transparent you are, too. He’s now got a hurt look in his eyes, making you sigh. “He’s a shithead. What did uh - Michael - want with you, anyway?”

“He’s got this World War reenactment event, and he wanted to know if I could make an appearance. Gave him an autograph and a picture and sent him on his way.”

Your jaw drops. “What?”

“I know, I know. I don’t really do autographs. But he asked for one—”

“That’s not— he wanted you to do war reenacting with him and his buddies?”

“Yeah. It’s not the first time someone’s asked me that.” Steve shrugs as you shake your head incredulously. “They wanted me to play myself in a movie, too.”

“That’s fucking twisted. Wait, you have a movie?”

“Yes and no. They got some bodybuilder to play me instead. ‘S coming out in a couple months.”

You let the fact sink in for a second.

“Can we go watch it?”

He glares at you. “Absolutely not.” Then laughs. You join him, imagining how ridiculous it would be to watch some action-hero-esque Steve Rogers next to the real thing. “Plenty of better things to watch instead.”

He leans his elbows on the table, looking back at you. The cap conceals most of his expression, but surprisingly you can still see his smile clearly.

It kinda sounds like flirting, even though you know it’s not. Your heart does a somersault regardless.

“Deal.”

Keep it together.

A waitress approaches you after a few minutes. “Can I get you two cuties anything? A milkshake, two straws?”

The table becomes a cacophony of - Oh, no; we’re not—; not like that - as the poor woman stands there with an awkward look on her face. You scoot away from Steve quickly - you hadn’t realized your elbows were brushing this entire time - while he looks around for Bucky.

“He’s been gone for a while, hasn’t he?”

“Yup. Think he got stuck in the toilet?”

“Dunno. Maybe he’s outside already. We should probably vacate the table anyway,” He says, getting up.

Reality sets in as he does, the blood that had rushed up to your face settling back where it’s supposed to be. You watch him drop a couple fifties on the table and half-cover them with his plate. “One for bill. One for tips.”

“I don’t think you know how tips work,” You quip, not at all surprised by his generosity.

Turns out Bucky was not outside. And neither was the car you rode into town.

You’ve been robbed. Three Avengers, actually maybe one and two halves, robbed. You’re 60% sure it was Michael, Cap’s Biggest Fan #37.

You’re staring exasperated at the empty spot on the narrow street you’d parked when Steve comes out of the diner. “Can’t find Bucky anywhere.”

“And we’ve been robbed! Look,” You cry out, pointing at where the Jeep should be.

A look of realization crosses Steve’s face and he groans, rubbing his face.

“What?”

“We weren’t robbed. Bucky took the car and left us here.”

“What?!” Your voice bounces against the brick walls of the buildings around you. “How? Why? You gave him your keys?”

He shook his head. “Must’ve swiped it off my pocket at some point. He’s good at that.”

Goddamn him and his nimble metal fingers. You’re more alike than you thought.

You were about to ask the universe why when the answer chimes in on both your phones.

Have a nice date. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! J.B.

“J.B. Fucking ridiculous.” You read the date part again and turn to Steve, showing him your phone screen as if he doesn’t have a twin message on his. “Did you plan this?”

He scowls. “Plan this? Bucky leaving us stranded in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah.” You don’t explain it’s because of the date thing. But you know he’s got it, because his scowl deepens and he suddenly looks offended.

“No. I didn’t plan this.” He takes a step forward, getting right on your face. “You think I couldn’t get myself a date if I wanted one?”

The mention of how easily he could score himself a piece of ass makes you see red for some reason. “Mr. D’Artagnan over here! Good on you,”

“That’s not— do you mean Casanova?”

“Please, don’t act like you’re the king of pop culture.” You cross your arms against your chest. “So you didn’t tell Bucky anything?”

“No. I didn’t.” He breathes out. “I didn’t ask for his help, either. He’s a shit wingman.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You feel betrayed, somehow. There’s no better way to explain it. Like this has been a trap, even though Steve has had nothing to do with it, but his best friend had and he wasn’t here to receive the brunt of your blows. “It’s just— he’s been an ass about this whole date-not-date thing all day, I’m sick of it. And now this.”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair that leaves it all over the place.

“I thought it was obvious there was nothing like that. This was his idea. A stupid wingman move, that’s it.” The way he says it makes you grit your teeth. “I just don’t get why you’re so angry about it— why do you hate me so much?”

“Because!” You explode. “Because you annoy the shit out of me. Because of you wake me up at 6 a.m. to run. Because you beat my ass during combat training every time, as if letting me win would give you hives. Because you’re too fucking nice and then you’re the Captain again and it’s fucking confusing!”

Because the idea of you dating Steve Rogers is fucking preposterous and you don’t get why suddenly everyone is bothering you about it.

“I’ve done nothing but try and help you. We were fine 10 minutes ago—”

“I can’t tell if you want to help or just sanitize me. You tell me I’m enough when it’s just so obvious I’m not. Just tell me you hate me back, Rogers.” He shakes his head, and you hit his chest, fruitlessly trying to shove him away. “Come on! Be angry back. Say it. I hate you.”

“Stop.” He grabs one of your arms, then the other when you don’t relent. He’s so gentle about it that it makes your eyes well up. “Stop—”

“You hate HYDRA. And you hate me. Just fucking say it—”

“I can’t! I don’t hate you. I don’t. I’m sorry.” His words finally do the trick; you slack on his hold, nearly collapsing into his chest. “I care about you and you— you need to start dealing with that.”

You suck in a sharp breath - the weight of today’s events crashing down all at once - and you finally understand the reason behind your mood swing. Despite Nemo’s rule, you have been overthinking non stop. He cares, even if you don’t deserve it. You only hate his guts some of the time. And you have to deal with that.

The reason why you can’t fucking stand all the nagging is because you know can’t allow yourself to want a silly, normal thing like a date. Not yet.

Steve splays a large hand at your back, the other resting at your hair as your breathing returns to normal. His steady presence helps - you even let a tear or two fall, but you’re composed again in a few minutes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out on you. Thanks for— everything you’ve been doing. And sorry.”

He moves as if he’s not going to let you step away, but his hands fall at his sides. “It’s okay. You’ve had a tough day.”

You scoff. “It’s not okay, Rogers! God. Stop being so… understanding.” You say, putting your hands on your hips but doing your best to keep your attitude at bay. Apologies are not your strong suit. “I’m sorry for a reason. So you have to say ‘apology accepted’ so we can move on.”

Steve raises one eyebrow. “Apology accepted,”

“Great.” You nod. “What now?”

He blinks, finally averting his eyes from you as he looks back to the main street. “There’s a station down two blocks away. Or we can… get a cab.” You make a face, and he nods in agreement. “I could hot wire a car. Maybe not the best idea.”

“You want to steal a car?” You frown. “You know how to steal a car?”

It’s not like the idea isn’t exciting. But the image of Steve Rogers hot wiring a car seems a little surreal to you. Then again, he’s been in the army. He probably knows how to do a lot of illegal shit.

“I’d just return it tomorrow.” He chuckles when you deflate. “Guess we’re taking the train. We can ask Nat to get us at the Compound station.”

“God, this is so humiliating.”

“Sam, then.”

“That’s not better.”

“Better than walk—” His words are cut off by the screeching of tires next to you.

It’s the Jeep.

It’s James Buchanan Barnes.

“Yeah yeah, I was nearly at the Interstate but I felt bad. I think it’s gonna rain. Get in.”

You don’t waste any time. He’s here and it beats asking for Sam, or Nat, to rescue you. Even though you’re itching to get home, to barge into her room and tell her all about it.

“Fucking hell, Bucky. You’re an asshole. Fuck you.”

He grimaces. “Deserved that. Sorry.”

Steve is still out of the car, bracing his hands on the passenger window. “Get out. Let’s switch.” Bucky tilts his head. “You don’t have a license.”

“I’m 93 years old. I know how to drive.” He pauses, then entering a glaring contest with Steve. “I’m an Avenger - sort of. Doubt my lack of license will be their first concern when pulling us over.”

Steve just stares. Your eyes flit from him, to Bucky, and back. Finally, Barnes just sighs and allows the other nonagenarian to take the wheel.

“I could drive.” You’re also an Avenger - sort of.

They both turn to you at the same time. “No.”

Jesus. Okay then.

You don’t go back to the diner on next Friday’s deprogramming session - Steve couldn’t make it, so you and Bucky decided to not go without him despite his protests. Neither of you have valid licenses, after all. Instead you two lounged under the sun and Bucky made you a rum and coke so large that kept you drunk for three hours.

It’s for the best. You went for the intensive program - between two or three sessions a week - and you were in need of something to take off the extra edge.

Shuri’s prodding at your brain is showing results - if those are good or bad, it’s yet to be decided. Your powers have been slipping out of control more often. Tony finally got that nobreak for his Pac-Man machine. You’re running through electric toothbrushes faster than a piranha, but - strangely - you haven’t had a headache in days. The crossroads approaches, you can feel it; you’re gonna have to make a decision soon. Finish the job and lose the little control you had, meaning learning to use your powers from like a baby deer learning to walk, with imminent risk of causing more damage than you can afford, or cutting it short and dealing with a possible head implosion.

It’s great.

You already know what Steve’s opinion is, but you’re yet to make up your own mind about it. You appreciate his faith in you - and everyone else’s. But the more faith they have, the more disappointment you can cause.

It’s getting increasingly harder to detach yourself from them, and if you’re being real honest, you’ve already stopped trying. Whatever plans you’ve had of figuring out your faulty powers and bolting, fading back into anonymity, has been crushed way before the media started calling you Dynamo.

It’s terrifying, because even if bleak, that was a known path forward. And now, you can’t see anything clearly ahead. Just that crossroads.

You’re not fully healed from your old ways, though. Steve Rogers is on national television, back under the limelight and the scrutiny of a bleached blonde host wearing a brightly-colored skirt suit. And you made watching the interview a personal form of self-flagellation.

Holed up in your room, eyes fixed on the screen of the tablet Stark had lent you - you didn’t go for the big TV because Natasha would chastise you for doing this. But you can’t help it. It makes you feel better. It makes you feel… even.

You mute the TV when a picture of you is shown on screen. You look serious, geared up, menacing. The kinda side of yourself the mirror never shows. The question the host asks Steve makes him look to the floor, and you’re glad you can’t hear his answer. Something akin to the one he gave about the risks of allowing Bucky to walk free, you’re sure. You catch the twitch of his lips, the tension in his knuckles. But he takes it in stride, flashing a charming smile when he’s done. Of course he does. He’s Steve Rogers, and the people love him.T

hat’s why he goes to that stuff and not you, or Nat, much less Bucky.

Truth be told, you’re dying to break this cycle, maybe burn the Compound to the ground and throw Captain America’s shield in the garbage. It would cause havoc, for sure. But it would set you all free.

He ends the interview with some heartfelt speech about everyone’s part in keeping the peace. The audience claps.

You wrap your arms around your knees.

You half-watch-half-look at a couple of episodes of Survivor before getting up, headed towards the big kitchen on the communal floor below. There’s a hole in your middle that can only possibly be fixed with food.

And there he is.

Leaning over the balcony, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He got back quicker than you expected, no doubt taking the motorcycle or a helicopter to the CBS News Headquarters.

“Does alcohol have any effect on you?”

You expected him to startle - he doesn’t.

“No. This is mostly wishful thinking,” Steve says, swirling the amber liquid in the glass.

“All this pressure and you can’t even be an alcoholic about it. Shame.”

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.” He shrugs. “What are you doing up this late?”

You give him a look. You’re positive it’s barely past 11 p.m. “What am I, fourteen?” You retort and he flashes you a sheepish, tired smile. “I wanted a snack. Then I saw you were back from the interview, brooding and trying to get yourself drunk.”

“I wasn’t brooding. I just… needed some air.” He clears his throat. “The interview went well, I mean. But it’s a whole thing. Wardrobe, hair, microphones, shaking hands. The commute.”

You raise your eyebrow, wondering why he can’t bring himself to say the word tired. “As well as something can go when Kaitlyn Holloway and her pink blazer are trying to get you to say something compromising.”

“You watched it.”

“Don’t tell Nat.” You nod when he does. “Figured I should. I put it on mute when you were talking about me though.”

Steve sips his drink and makes a face. “Only good things.”

Laughter escapes you, getting him to raise his head to look at you. “Right, I forget. You’re Steve Rogers and you’re incapable of hating anyone.”

The things he told you last week have been carved into your head. You couldn’t stop mulling it over, and over.

He shakes his head. “No, I hate plenty of things. Like crude language. Wet snow. Bullies.” You knit your eyebrows. Wet snow is new. “…I hate HYDRA and I hate what they’ve done to you. To Bucky.”

Your hands tighten against the railing. “And I hate what the army did to you. What S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hoss are doing.” Your vision goes blurry, and you have to close your eyes.

He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I volunteered for all of that.”

“It’s still—”

“Bullshit?”

You draw in a sharp breath. “Yeah. But no. It’s not fair.”

“Maybe not. I just never saw it that way I s’pose.” His eyes are focused on the horizon, and then his gaze lowers. You shift on your feet.

He doesn’t have to say it. It’s duty. To him, it’s what all of this has always been about.

“Can I ask you a question?” You suddenly feel cold and under dressed, especially comparing your large T-shirt and shorts to Steve’s more formal attire. But that is not unusual. He looks at you, so openly that it makes you shiver. Maybe it’s just the cold wind. “About what you said that day… at the gym. That you can’t, you know—”

He blinks, the memory probably resurfacing. It’s kind of been a long time since you had sex. “Yeah…it’s a bonus effect of the serum apparently. Once you have a family, your priorities change. Serving the country is not your biggest concern anymore, so they went ahead and made sure to kill any chance of that happening.”

Your mouth parts. “You didn’t know,” It comes out in a whisper.

He shakes his head. He’s looking at the whiskey like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Found out after I was thawed out. Routine check-up.”

You clench your fingers. You’re not sure what to say. It makes you want to punch someone – not him this time – but someone.

It’s not fucking fair.

It takes you a moment to answer. “So stubborn as you are, you went and got yourself a family anyways.” You say, gesturing vaguely at the place the Avengers made into their home and trying on a lighthearted tone. You can only hope it works. “And now they’re your biggest priority instead.”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s why you gave up the shield to Tony, isn’t it? And that you have to do everything S.W.O.R.D. tells you to—”

“Not everything—”

“But a lot.”

He nods.

“So they let you get them out of the Raft and come live here.”

He nods again.

“I don’t think they’d want this if they knew, Steve.”

“They know and they don’t.”

You stare at him for a second.

“So just—pack your bags and get out of here! Retire or something. Get out of character.”

“I can’t retire. I can help people for a long time still. Besides, people don’t like me out of character. They want Captain America,”

“I don’t.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, fair enough. Is that why you’re always trying to make me lose my temper?”

“Maybe.” You smile coyly. “I’m not saying I like you for you or anything. Just that what I see behind the mask – the shield – is better. ‘Cause it’s real.”

“Look… I’m not two people in one, darlin’. There isn’t this interior battle, or mask, that you think there is. The Captain is me. I’m not sure I know how to not be that anymore. It makes things easier.”

“For who?”

“For everyone,”

“I’m not everyone.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely one of a kind.”

“And you make my life very not-easy.” Understatement of the century.

He chuckles. “This place… might not be paradise, but it has a purpose. Look around you. Controlled environment and plenty of support for Bucky, amnesty for Natasha, a safe place for Wanda… it’s not like you’ve done any differently. You’re using this place and its resources as much as I am.”

“It’s different. I’m doing this because I wanted to. I’m selfish. I was reluctant at first… but it was my choice for my own benefit.” He doesn’t seem to agree, but you only shrug. “I just think you should start doing what you want for a change.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve leans in, and it’s like he’s captured you with nothing but his eyes. So, so blue. And grey. Like the sky, that is sometimes clear, sometimes cloudy. Tonight, you can almost see stars in them if you look hard enough. While you were caught, you hadn’t noticed his hand come up to tuck your hair behind your ear, stopping when it cups your jaw.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, like it’s a secret. Because it might be.

“I’m doing what I want, for a change.”

His nose brushes yours before he kisses you, much less urgently than last time. It’s tender. So much so it leaves you paralyzed, your fingers tingling.

You don’t know what to do; this is a one of a kind thing to you. He kisses you like he wants you to sigh when you think about him. Like he wants you to write his name on your notebook and circle it with a heart. Like… like he wants you.

When he pulls back, your eyes are still closed. He’s smiling when you finally open them, a crooked thing. None of that poster-like shit.

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

You stand there, shell shocked, willing yourself to move and to affirm that you hate him. You can’t.

Steve Rogers picks up the empty glass and starts making his way back inside, stopping to look at you before closing the sliding doors. He stays there for a bit, nodding as if he’s decided something, and then holds the doors open, half inside and looking back at you in invitation. You hesitate for a split second. Then, your legs begin moving, half on their own accord, and he smiles like the sun.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #captain america fanfic #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #mcu fanfic #mcu x reader #steve rogers fanfic #marvel fic #emwrites

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imfinereallyy · 2 years ago

Note

#38 "i was eavesdropping and i heard something i can’t scrub from my memory" sounds like it could be very funny, especially from a kid's perspective!

you read my mind, it 100% needs be a kid POV, sorry this one is a bit shorter than my usual but it was fun to write. *it actually ended up being longer than I thought cause I have a problem with not knowing when enough is enough lol* ♡

find the request game here

Lucas was going to throw up. He liked to think he had a strong stomach, he really truly did, but this was too much even for him.

“What the hell is your problem?” Max asked him as he came back to Steve’s living room.

“Yea you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Will pipes up, head leaning on his knee.

Lucas swallowed dryly, he had to phrase this carefully. “Well I was eavesdropping…”

Max snorted from her seat on the couch. “You Lucas Sinclair was eavesdropping? Didn’t think I’d ever see the day. What about the whole ‘respect people’s boundaries’ thing you rave about?”

“And I still stand by that! It’s just I didn’t want to interrupt and…” Lucas thought back to a few minutes ago. He had gone into the kitchen to grab Max an ice pack; she was having a bad hip day. When he had reached the door, he had heard Steve and Eddie talking, and it had sounded serious. Lucas felt bad about interrupting, but he also couldn’t go back to Max without the ice pack. They had been good for months now, and he didn’t want to risk it. (He knew this was ridiculous considering they weren’t really that dysfunctional, and she loved him, a reluctant secret smile confession on her end. But there was this deep part of Lucas who was terrified of disappointing her). So he was content with waiting outside the door until they were done.

Lucas really should have turned around and left.

“What if they don’t…want to be around us Stevie?” Eddie whispered.

“Baby they are just kids. They are good kids. They are our friends. They won’t be upset.” Steve murmured back.

This was the point Lucas should have turned around, but he was confused and wanted to understand.

“You aren’t even the slightest bit worried, that maybe they won’t be accepting? I don’t think any of them have been exposed to gay culture, let alone two men dating?”

Oh. Oh no. This was really private. Lucas should have really turned around but at that point, his feet were glued to the ground.

“I mean yea a little bit…they are shitheads. Especially Mike—“ Lucas had to hold back a snort, “—but they are good. It’s why we are friends with them. As much as it pains me to admit we are friends with children.”

Lucas wished he could see their faces.

“What if…what if they are more than shitheads this time?” Lucas had never heard Eddie’s voice sound so small.

“…do you want to wait a little longer?” Steve’s voice asked gently, with no anger.

“If that’s okay. I just…want to live in our bubble a little longer. Well our bubble plus Robin.” Lucas imagined Eddie biting his hair in that moment.

“Yea baby. We take this at the pace you need. And Robin already knows, which is pretty much the only person I can’t keep a secret from. And I like our little bubble too.” Lucas heard shuffling around, like fabric reaching around itself.

“Yea?”

“Yea. I think I can go a little longer without the twerps making gagging noises every time we kiss. We can wait to tell them we’re together.”

“Hmmmm should we do a practice show right now, to prepare for when we need to freak them out?” Eddie’s voice turned suddenly flirty.

“I like the way you think.” This was the last words Lucas heard before the sounds of the two of them clearly heavily making out came through the doorway. It was at the first moan that Lucas ran away.

Lucas was brought back to reality when Max snapped her fingers in his face. “Want to share with the class loser?”

Oh god, Lucas was gonna throw up at the memory.

It wasn’t the fact that they were men and that they were dating. Lucas was, in fact, really happy for them. He had never thought about it, but in a weird way, it made sense. He wanted them to be happy. And if he was really being honest with himself, he was hoping maybe this would get Max to stop staring at Steve when he doesn’t have a shirt on (a few months later, Lucas would be horribly proven wrong of this theory).

It wasn’t this kissing that made him want to vomit either. Sure, the idea of his older brother figure making out with his dungeon master wasn’t a pleasant thought, but he had witness Mike make out with El, so he was pretty immune to grossness.

No, the problem was Lucas realized with great certainty he was going to have to keep a secret.

He gagged at the thought.

Sure, he could keep a whole other dimension and government conspiracy theory a secret from his parents (and, ya know, the world), but he caved relatively quickly when it came to Max. And Max could tell whenever he was lying. But Lucas wasn’t stupid; he knew you couldn’t just tell other people that someone you know is gay. He didn't know the word for it, maybe there wasn’t one, but Lucas knew what it was like to be different. He didn’t want to make Steve and Eddie feel bad, or cause others to be mean to them. He didn’t think the rest of the party would care about the gay? Bisexual? Queer?—wait, that’s a bad word, Lucas thought—it didn’t matter what specifically, but he didn’t think they would care about the gay stuff—more like Lucas knew his friends. El and Max would have a million, invasive questions. Mike would be a dick, but not for serious reasons. More like “I have weird insecurities” reasons. It would probably be good for Will (again, Lucas isn’t stupid). And Dustin, holy shit, he would most definitely either be pissed he didn’t know sooner, or would rub it in everyone’s face that he made it happen. Both of which Lucas knew would be horrible reactions.

God, he was going to throw up. He was going to lie to his friends. His girlfriend. He couldn’t just share this secret. It would go horrible if he told, it’s not his secret! His stupid, stupid friends (not El and Max) would blow up if it came from him first. And then Eddie and Steve would be upset, he told, and they would think that the party hated them for something out of their control, even though they love them no matter what! And oh god, he’s gonna have to lie so much—

He was spiraling, he needed to calm down.

“Lucas?” Max’s face suddenly softened, like she knew he was having a hard time getting the words together. Lucas looked at her face, and took a couple of seconds to count her freckles but lost track quickly. He didn’t mind; he would to start again later. He followed the laugh lines around her eyes that weren’t there last year, and thought about trying to make her laugh.

Max said nothing as he stared, even as the guys pressed him to answer. It was strange, he was terrified of lying to Max, but he knew deep down she would understand. That she would know he was lying but wouldn’t call him out on it.

“I was eavesdropping and I heard something I can’t erase from my memory. I almost walked in on Steve giving sex advice to Eddie, so I walked away before it got gross. I forgot your ice pack; I’m sorry.” Lucas apologized; he did genuinely feel bad he didn’t succeed on his mission.

The guys started chattering behind him, asking questions and yelling out in disgust, but Max stayed quiet for a second, then said, “It’s okay, stalker. Didn’t have high hopes for you anyway. You always get distracted.”

Lucas sent her a grateful smile, and pretended to be offended. “Are you saying I don’t finish what I’ve started? You should know better, Max.”

Max threw her head back, and full body laughed. She scooped Lucas’ hand and wove her pale fingers between his. “That’s me being nice, Lucas. Don’t go around telling people that. Or I’ll have to up the ante.”

Lucas kissed the back of her hand and whispered, “Maybe I like it when you’re a little mean.”

Max blushed and looked to check if the guys were paying attention (they weren’t; they were still arguing over sex they weren’t having), and leaned over to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Max didn’t ask any questions even though Lucas knew she knew he was lying.

Lucas didn’t let go of her hand, and quietly hoped that Eddie made Steve feel the way Max made him feel.

He deserved something special like that.

I need you guys to know that I had to keep backtracking to correct boys into guys, cause I’m so used to writing from an older persons perspective. But I wanted some steddie and lumax mixed together. And Lucas! Deserves! More! Attention!!!

thank you so much for the ask I had so much fun with this one.

#steddie #lumax #Lucas Sinclair being the amazing friend that he is #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #the party stranger things #stranger things #platonic stobin #(mentioned)#soft #robin buckley #my writing #ficlet

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