#they were decimated by injury though

[rubydubydoo122]

I think the funniest thing about how the Fandom perceives Tim (especially obnoxious Tim fans) is that he is was deeply hurt by the actions Jason, Damian, and Dick have done to him, but lowkey that’s just the fandom projecting

Tim lowkey did not give a fuck. Maybe a little at first, but he definitely does not hold a grudge against any of them.

[natsaffection]

Redline. pt 5 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Crash, dealing with shock, 18+! MINORS DNI! Fingering, begging

Word count: 10,9k

A/N: Rewrote it several times and now have a little stomach ache about posting it…Good night! I’ll check the reactions tomorrow morning. 🫠

Part 4

Natasha shoved past the pit wall, not caring about the protests, not hearing her own breathless curse as she ran towards the wreckage. By the time she reached the scene, the fire marshals were already dousing any lingering flames. And then, you.

You were moving.

A sharp wave of relief punched through her chest as she saw you push the cockpit open yourself, struggling against the stiff restraints. The front of your car was utterly decimated, debris scattered across the track. But you..God, you were standing.

Still, something was wrong. You weren’t looking at her. You weren’t even registering the chaos around you. Your eyes were locked onto your ruined car, hands trembling as though your mind was still catching up with what had happened.

Natasha was on you in an instant. You expected anger to come first, What the fuck were you thinking? Why didn’t you back off? But the words never left her lips. Because as soon as she got close enough to see past your helmet’s visor, Natasha realized the truth.

You were in shock. Your breath was coming too fast, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. You weren’t even trying to take your helmet off, just standing there, locked in a daze. Natasha’s voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Hey..”

Nothing. She cursed under her breath and stepped closer. This time, her hands reached for your helmet, gently unlatching it. Your fingers twitched as if you wanted to protest, but you couldn’t quite make yourself do it. Carefully, she lifted the helmet off, revealing your wide eyes, dilated pupils, skin pale beneath the grime and sweat. You blinked at her, still disoriented, but then your focus shifted back to the car.

Natasha saw it before you even moved. The way your body swayed slightly, your balance failing you. “I-I have to sit do-” You didn’t make it that far. Your knees buckled and Natasha caught you before you could hit the ground, strong arms locking around your waist.

“I’ve got you.”

The words were so uncharacteristically soft that even in your dazed state, you noticed. Natasha, who never coddled, never let an ounce of emotion slip through during a race, was holding you as if you might disappear. She helped lower you down carefully, kneeling beside you on the asphalt. One hand pressed firmly against your back to keep you upright, the other finding your wrist to check your pulse. Too fast.

“You have to look at me.” Natasha murmured, voice calm but firm. “Breathe.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but your body was still trembling from the adrenaline. You hadn’t even realized how hard you were shaking until Natasha’s fingers brushed against your cheek, grounding you. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, searched yours for any sign of real injury. You felt exposed under that gaze, but for once, there was no anger, no disappointment. Just something deeper, something you didn’t dare name.

Your lips parted, voice hoarse. “I-I’m fine-”

“No.” Natasha cut you off, her grip tightening just slightly. “You’re not.”

The medics were arriving, voices blending into the background. But Natasha didn’t move. You blinked up at her, trying to focus. Trying to ignore the way your heart was racing for an entirely different reason now. “You scared the shit out of me.” she admitted, voice rough.

That caught you off guard. Your breath hitched, and for the first time since the crash, you truly looked at her. Natasha..your impossible, untouchable, ruthless boss..looked wrecked. And that, more than anything, made your chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to..” you mumbled, feeling small.

Natasha exhaled, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “I know.” She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to. Because her hands were still on you, steadying you, refusing to let go.

And for once, you let yourself lean into it. You weren’t sure when she had stopped being just your boss and when she became the one thing anchoring you to reality. The shock was wearing off, slowly being replaced by exhaustion and a dull ache settling deep into your muscles. Your adrenaline had carried you this far, but now that it was fading, you could feel every bit of tension clawing at you.

Natasha opened the car door, guiding you carefully towards the seat. But as soon as you settled inside, your eyes flickered to the road ahead, and your stomach twisted.

The medical tent.

“No.” you muttered, straightening despite the lingering dizziness. “I don’t need this. I’m fine-”

Natasha didn’t even hesitate. “You’re going.”

You turned to her, frustration bubbling up beneath the exhaustion. “I just need a s-second, I don’t need-”

Her hand came down on your thigh, grounding you. Not hard, not forceful, just enough to make you stop. Her grip was warm even through your race suit, her thumb pressing against the fabric in a silent warning.

“Y/n..” she said, her voice lower now, quieter. Steady. That was all. Just your name. But somehow, it cut through the panic better than anything else. Your chest rose and fell too fast, your body still caught somewhere between fight and flight. But Natasha wasn’t budging. She stayed close, unwavering, her expression unreadable.

After a moment, she sighed and softened her tone. “You’re going to the tent.” she repeated, slower this time, like she was making sure you heard every word. “You can argue all you want, but I’m not letting you walk away from this without getting checked.”

You clenched your jaw. “But I’m fine.”

Natasha leaned in slightly, her face inches from yours now. “Then prove it.”

You blinked, thrown off. “If you’re fine..” she continued, “then let them check you. Get cleared, and I won’t say another word about it.”

She had you there. You could either sit and argue, or you could go through the motions and be done with it. Either way, Natasha was not backing down. You exhaled sharply, dropping your head back against the seat. “Fine.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. almost a smirk, but she said nothing as she closed the door and rounded the vehicle to get in beside you. The medical tent smelled of antiseptic and fresh gauze, bright fluorescent lights making the space feel colder than it actually was. You sat on the examination table, arms crossed, trying not to wince as a nurse ran her fingers over your ribs. Natasha was standing a few feet away, arms folded, watching everything with the sharp intensity of a hawk.

You weren’t sure if she was monitoring you or the nurse, but either way, she wasn’t leaving. “Any dizziness?” the nurse asked.

You hesitated. You could lie. But Natasha would see right through it. “Some..” you admitted, reluctantly.

The nurse hummed, continuing her assessment. “Headache?”

“Not really.”

Natasha made a sound, a short exhale through her nose, almost like she didn’t believe you. You shot her a look, but she didn’t move, just kept that unreadable expression on her face. After a few more tests, the nurse stepped back and gave you a nod. “No signs of a concussion, but I’d still suggest resting for the next twenty-four hours. You took a hard hit. Any unusual pain, dizziness, or nausea, come back immediately.”

You nodded, already hopping off the table. “Thanks-” Natasha caught your arm before you could move any further. You stilled. Her grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm. She wasn’t stopping you, just… keeping you there for a moment longer.

The nurse glanced between you two before offering Natasha a polite smile. “She’s alright. Just needs rest.”

Natasha nodded once. “Good.”

The nurse left, and suddenly, the tent was too quiet. Your legs were steady now, though your body still ached from the impact. You’re turning toward the exit. But Natasha was faster. She blocked your path, arms crossed, gaze steady. “You’re coming with me.” she said simply.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m driving you home.”

That threw you off. Natasha never left mid-race. Ever. The woman would sooner cut off her own arm than abandon her team during a critical event.

“But the race-”

“Yelena is taking over.”

You frowned. “What?”

“She’ll handle the rest of the strategy meetings. She can manage for a few hours.” Natasha Romanoff, the most controlling, hyper-focused team principal in the paddock, was just…handing things over?

“You don’t have to do that..” you said carefully. Natasha’s expression didn’t waver. “Get in the car.” The tone left no room for argument. You hesitated, glancing past her toward the paddock. The race was still happening, mechanics scrambling, engineers glued to monitors. It felt unnatural to leave in the middle of it.

But Natasha wasn’t giving you a choice. She took a step closer, voice quieter now. “You just hit a wall at over 200 kph, dorogaya. You’re not going back to the garage like nothing happened.”

You swallowed hard at the way she said it. Low, steady, controlled. When she’s calling you darling in Russian, you knew it was serious. She didn’t wait for you to argue. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, not too tight, not too gentle, just enough to make sure you were following.

The drive was silent. The sound of the engine filled the space, smooth and controlled, a stark contrast to the chaos you’d left behind. You stared out the window, arms crossed, trying to shake the exhaustion creeping in. Natasha was focused on the road, her jaw tight, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel like she was gripping onto something unseen.

You couldn’t tell if she was mad, worried, or just thinking too much. The tension sat thick between you, heavy and unspoken. You shifted in your seat, needing something..anything, to distract yourself. You pulled out your phone and started scrolling. And, of course, it was everywhere. Every headline. Every tweet. Every article.

Another brutal crash for Y/N L/N—can she recover?

Disaster strikes again: Second crash in just a few months.

Is Y/N L/N too reckless for GT?

Your stomach twisted. Before you could keep scrolling, Natasha’s hand shot out. In one swift motion, she plucked the phone right out of your grasp.

“Hey-”

“You don’t need to see that.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but when you turned to face her, something about her expression stopped you cold. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t frustration. It was something else. Something softer, something raw. For the first time since the crash, you saw the weight in her eyes, the worry she had been hiding under sharp commands and unwavering control.

And maybe you were too tired to fight back. You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat. “It’s not like it’s anything new..” you muttered.

Natasha’s fingers curled around your phone, her knuckles briefly turning white. “It’s bullshit.” she said flatly.

You let out a dry laugh. “That’s racing. People talk.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “Let them talk. It doesn’t change anything.”

You scoffed, turning your head toward the window. “It changes everything.”

Silence. And then, “I don’t give a damn what they say.”

Your breath hitched. You turned back to her, but she kept her eyes on the road, her grip on the steering wheel just a little tighter than before. You swallowed hard. The woman who was always pushing you harder, expecting more, never accepting less than perfection, was sitting here, telling you she didn’t care what anyone else thought. You should’ve been annoyed. Maybe even a little angry. But instead, you just felt something deep in your chest ease, just a little.

The moment Natasha pulled into the driveway of her trackside home, you knew this wasn’t just about getting you away from the chaos. This was personal. She didn’t say a word as she parked, cut the engine, and got out. You sat there for a second, staring at the darkened windows of her track, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Natasha Romanoff had left an entire Grand Prix just to drag you here.

A soft click pulled you out of your thoughts. Your door opened, and Natasha stood there, one hand gripping the edge of the frame, “Come on.” she murmured. No sharpness, no impatience. Just quiet insistence.

You sighed, unbuckling yourself, the exhaustion weighing down your every movement. She didn’t say anything as you stepped out, just stayed close enough to steady you in case you wavered. Her eyes tracked every movement, like she was still waiting for you to collapse.

You sighed. “Natasha, I’m fi-”

“Fine?” she finished, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve said that enough times today.”

You pressed your lips together. You were so damn tired. And she knew it. Wordlessly, she led the way inside. The space was just as you left it before the race: tidy, quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos at the paddock. But even here, you still felt the weight of what had happened, lingering in the back of your mind like a dull ache.

Natasha didn’t let you dwell. She brought you straight to your room, pushing the door open before standing aside to let you in. You hesitated, glancing up at her. “You don’t have to do this.” you muttered.

She met your gaze, something flickering in her eyes. “I do.” That shut you up. With a heavy sigh, you stepped inside and sank onto the edge of your bed, your muscles finally giving in to exhaustion.

Natasha lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching you closely. Then, after a beat, she reached into her pocket and pulled out your phone. She held it out to you. You blinked in surprise before taking it, the cool weight grounding in your palm. “Text your parents.” she said quietly.

You swallowed. Oh. Oh, shit. The headlines. They would have seen it by now. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen, then slowly started typing. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You hit send, exhaling softly. Natasha watched the tension leave your shoulders, and something in her own posture eased, just a little.

Then, just as you thought she was about to step back, she spoke again. “I have something to take care of.”

You looked up, already sensing the shift in her tone. “Nat-”

“No.” she said, voice cold. Your stomach twisted. “You don’t have to do anything..” you said carefully. “It was just a racing incident-”

Her jaw tightened. “That wasn’t an incident.”

You swallowed hard. She took a step closer, her presence filling the space between you. “You could’ve been killed today.”

Your throat went dry. “I let you walk away, I let you tell everyone you were fine.” she continued, voice dangerously quiet. “But I am not letting him get away with that.”

You wanted to argue. To tell her it wasn’t worth it. But this wasn’t just about the crash. It was about you. And Natasha didn’t let anyone mess with what was hers. She reached for the door handle but hesitated, glancing back at you one last time.

“Rest.” she murmured, softer now. “I’ll be back soon.”

And then she was gone. You stared at the closed door, your phone still clutched in your hand. Outside, the faint sound of an engine revving echoed through the night. And for the first time since the crash, you weren’t sure who people should be more afraid of Walker…or her.

You sat there for a while, still gripping your phone, still replaying everything in your head, the crash, the impact, the way Natasha had looked at you like she’d seen a ghost. You should have been relieved. You had walked away. You were fine. So why the hell did it still feel like you couldn’t breathe?

You peeled yourself out of your race suit, wincing at the dull ache in your limbs as you stepped into the bathroom. The steam rose instantly as you turned on the water, letting it run until it was nearly scalding before stepping under the stream.

The heat hit your skin, washing away the sweat, the grime, the reminders of the race. But it didn’t wash away the feeling. No matter how much you scrubbed, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the warmth, the crash still played in your mind like a never-ending loop.

Walker’s car edging too close. The world tilting. The way your own voice had cracked. The impact. The absolute helplessness. Your fingers curled against the tiled wall, your breath coming too fast. It was fine. You were fine. So why the hell couldn’t you stop shaking?

Your knuckles turned white as you pressed your palm against the wall, grounding yourself. You weren’t scared. You had been through worse. You had crashed before, had felt the sting of losing control. But this time, it had been different. You had been different.

And Natasha had felt it too. The way she ran to you. The way her hands had trembled, just slightly as she took your helmet off. The way she had looked at you when she told you to rest..You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the water pour over you, trying to drown out the thoughts. It didn’t work. Nothing was working.

Your body still ached, your head still spun, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it, the weight of what had happened sat heavy in your chest. You hated this. You hated the helplessness. Hated the way your body refused to listen to logic. You weren’t weak. You weren’t fragile. But damn it, this shook you. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could shove it down and pretend otherwise.

The knock at your door was firm, but you didn’t answer. You had been lying on your bed for what felt like forever, staring at the ceiling, still damp from the shower, hair clinging to your skin. Your body ached, your chest felt hollow, and yet, you couldn’t seem to do anything but exist in this unbearable quiet.

But Natasha didn’t wait for permission. The door creaked open, and the familiar weight of her presence filled the room. You didn’t have to look to know it was her, the way she moved, controlled and quiet, the faint scent of leather and adrenaline lingering in the air.

You didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Natasha let out a soft exhale before she finally spoke. “Walker’s been disciplined.”

You blinked slowly at the ceiling. “FIA gave him a penalty. He’ll get more points on his license, and if he pulls shit like that again, he’ll be out.” Her voice was steady, cool, but you could hear the sharp edge beneath it. The restraint.

You swallowed. You should have felt relieved. But all you felt was tired. Again. It was happening again. The crash. The headlines. The scrutiny. It’s always the same. You didn’t move, your fingers curling into the sheets. Natasha must have sensed it because she took a step closer, voice lowering.

“You don’t have to think about it now-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” you muttered.

Silence. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to sit up. Your chest felt tight, your pulse erratic, but you didn’t want her looking at you like this, like she was waiting for you to break.

“I don’t need you standing there like I’m about to lose my mind.” you said, voice sharper than you intended. Natasha studied you carefully, her eyes piercing through every inch of the walls you were trying so desperately to hold up.

“I didn’t say that.” she said evenly. You scoffed, pushing your hair back. “You don’t have to.” A muscle in her jaw ticked.

You could feel it coming..the spiral, the weight, the suffocating loop of thoughts you had been shoving down since the moment you stepped out of that car. You didn’t want to do this. Not in front of her.

“I get it..” you continued, voice shaking slightly. “Walker got punished, people are talking, and now I just have to deal with it.” You forced a dry laugh. “I mean, it’s not like this hasn’t happened before, right? Another crash, another round of bullshit. That’s just how it goes.”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging into your skin.

“Y/n, you don’t have to-”

“It’s always the same..” Your voice cracked, frustration rising. “They talk, they judge, and then they wait, wait for the next crash, wait for the next moment I fuck up, wait to pick apart every single thing I do.”

Natasha’s eyes darkened. “And you know what the worst part is?” You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “I let it happen. I go back out there and pretend it doesn’t get to me. I pretend like it’s not crawling under my skin. Because if I stop, if I let myself feel it-” Your throat closed up. You could feel it now. The weight pressing down, clawing at your chest. Natasha took another step forward, her voice softer now. “Y/n-”

“I can’t-” Your voice caught, and suddenly, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears burned before you even realized they were there. No. No, no, no, not now.. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing them to stop, willing yourself to shove it all back down.

“I know.” Natasha murmured, barely above a whisper. And that did it. The dam broke. A sob ripped through you, shaking your entire body as you clutched the sheets beneath you. The pressure, the frustration, the helplessness, it all came crashing down at once.

You barely registered Natasha moving until she was there. Warm. Solid. Holding you. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you against her. One hand tangled in your hair, the other pressing against your back, steady and unyielding.

You gasped against her shoulder, fists clenching in her jacket, as the sobs overtook you. You weren’t even sure what you were crying for anymore, the crash, the exhaustion, the sheer repetition of it all. All you knew was that Natasha wasn’t letting go. Not this time. She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to hush you or tell you it would be okay. She just held you.

Her grip tightened every time your body shook. Her fingers ghosted over your skin like she was grounding you, reminding you that you weren’t alone. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Eventually, the storm faded. Your body slumped against hers, drained, exhausted. Your breath slowed, hiccupping slightly as you tried to come back to yourself.

But Natasha was still so close. And when you finally lifted your head, when your red-rimmed eyes met hers, you both stilled. The air shifted. Your breath mingled, the space between you almost nonexistent. Her hands were still on you. One resting against your back, the other hovering near your jaw, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made your pulse stutter.

Her gaze flickered, down to your lips, just for a second, before snapping back up. And God, you could feel it. The pull. The tension. The undeniable inevitability of it. You leaned in. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure who moved first, but the moment your noses brushed, the air thickened, heavy and intoxicating.

It would only take a second. Just one second, but then, Natasha sucked in a sharp breath. And pulled away. The cold hit you immediately as she stepped back, her hands dropping from your skin as if she had just realized what she was doing.

Her jaw clenched, her breath unsteady, and for the first time, she looked conflicted. “I-” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her voice quieter now. “You’re vulnerable right now.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a slap. Your stomach twisted” I-I’m sorry-”

“You should sleep. It was a long day.” She hesitated, just for a second. But then she shook her head, her walls slamming back into place. She stepped toward the door, her hand already reaching for the handle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And before you could say anything else, before you could even process what the hell had just happened..She was gone.

The office was dark except for the dim glow of a desk lamp. The moment Natasha stepped inside, she exhaled sharply and headed straight for the small bar in the corner. Her hands were steady, but her mind was anything but. The whiskey burned as she poured it into a glass, but she welcomed the sting. Anything to quiet the almost still lingering between her lips.

She leaned against her desk, swirling the amber liquid, her jaw tightening as her mind replayed the moment over and over again. Too close. Too fucking close. One more second, one more breath, and she would have kissed you. And God, she wanted to and that was the problem. She clenched her jaw and took a long sip, letting the burn trail down her throat.

She had been reckless before, on the field, in battle, in life. But this? You? You were something else entirely. The door creaked open.

“Finally.”

Yelena’s voice cut through the silence, followed by the sound of her boots clicking against the floor. Natasha didn’t look up. “Not now.”

“Too bad..” Yelena muttered, crossing her arms as she stepped into the office. “We need to talk about Walker.”

Natasha took another sip, her fingers tightening around the glass. “I handled it.”

“I know.” Yelena said. “I just wanted to say..” She trailed off. Natasha could feel her younger sister’s eyes scanning the room, and then- “Oh.” The realization hit fast. Natasha could sense the smirk forming on Yelena’s face before she even turned her head.

“You’re.. drinking.”

Natasha didn’t respond. “You never drink after a race unless..” Yelena’s eyes narrowed before her lips curled into a knowing grin. “Unless something happened.”

Natasha sighed, setting the glass down harder than necessary. “Yelena-”

“Oh my God.” Yelena’s grin widened.

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

But it was too late. Yelena’s whole face lit up. “This isn’t about Walker, is it?” Silence. A slow, wicked smile spread across Yelena’s lips. “This is about her.” Yelena laughed. Not just any laugh, a full-body, delighted, finally-I-fucking-knew-it laugh.

Natasha’s eyes snapped up, glare sharp enough to kill, but Yelena only laughed harder.

“Oh my God, I knew it!” she cackled, leaning against the desk. “I fucking knew it!”

Natasha clenched her jaw. “Yelena-”

“You almost kissed, didn’t you?” Yelena interrupted, grinning like she had just won the lottery. Natasha didn’t answer. That was answer enough. Yelena lost it. She doubled over, shaking her head as if this was the greatest thing she had ever heard.

“Are you kidding me?!” she wheezed. “This has been coming for months!”

Natasha glared. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do..” Yelena shot back, still grinning. “The tension? The fighting? The glaring across the paddock? I swear, every time you two argue, it’s like watching foreplay.”

Natasha groaned, rubbing her temples. Yelena smirked, eyes still alight with amusement. “Come on, Nat..” she teased, nudging her. “You like her.”

Natasha didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Yelena’s smirk softened, just slightly. “You always like her.” she said, quieter this time. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Natasha exhaled, staring at the amber liquid in her glass. She didn’t need to answer. Yelena already knew. And for the first time, Natasha hated how well her sister could see through her.

The next morning, the air in the briefing room was thick with the low hum of conversation and the scratching of pens against paper. Engineers, strategists, and key members of the team sat around the long table, all focused on the monitors displaying telemetry data, damage assessments, and projections for the next race.

Seven days. Seven days until the next Grand Prix. Seven days to fix everything that had been shattered: your car, your confidence, and whatever the hell had happened between you and Natasha last night.

You sat in your usual spot near the end of the table, arms crossed, back straight, trying to focus on the words being exchanged. The screen showed the state of your wrecked car from yesterday, the entire front end mangled from the impact. The mechanics were already deep into repairs, and a new chassis was being prepped.

“We’ll have it ready before transport to the next circuit.” one of the lead engineers assured the group. Yelena leaned back in her chair, flicking a pen between her fingers. “And where does she start on the grid?” she asked, nodding toward you.

“Depends.” your race strategist replied. “But given the new components, we should be looking at a competitive position. With the right adjustments, we can get her back at the front.”

You nodded, barely processing the words, still trying to steady yourself. Because she was here. Natasha sat at the head of the table, posture straight, fingers tapping idly against the desk as she listened to the report. But she wasn’t just listening. She was watching you. It was subtle, so subtle that if you hadn’t spent so much time around her, you might not have noticed. But you felt it. The weight of her gaze. The way her eyes flickered toward you every time someone mentioned your car. The tension in her shoulders whenever someone brought up Walker.

You should have looked away. But you didn’t. And neither did she. For a moment, the entire meeting room disappeared. The voices, the numbers, the data..it all faded into the background as you locked eyes across the table. Your fingers curled around the edge of the chair, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could still feel the ghost of last night. The way she had held you, the way she had almost-

Natasha cleared her throat and broke the stare first, looking back down at the notes in front of her. You exhaled softly, forcing yourself to focus. Yelena, sitting next to you, didn’t miss a thing. She smirked, leaning in slightly. “You two going to keep eye-fucking the entire meeting, or should we actually discuss the car?”

Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed to your face as you shot her a warning glare. “Shut up..” you muttered under your breath. Yelena grinned.

Natasha, meanwhile, remained perfectly composed..on the surface, at least. But you didn’t miss the way her fingers curled into a fist against the table, or the sharp inhale she took before adjusting her posture. The meeting went on, but the tension never left. It was still there, unspoken, heavy, and impossible to ignore. The meeting had been going on for nearly an hour, filled with data breakdowns, car repair updates, and strategy discussions.

But none of it mattered. Not really. Because the only thing that did matter was the weight of Natasha’s gaze, the way her fingers drummed against the table every time your name was mentioned, the way she was avoiding speaking to you directly. Until she wasn’t. “We need to talk about the next race.” Natasha’s voice cut through the discussion, sharp and precise.

The room went silent. You straightened slightly, fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. Natasha turned to you fully now, her expression unreadable, but her voice was steady. Too steady. “You’re getting back in the car.”

Everyone was watching you now. Waiting. You swallowed hard, pushing through the tension in your chest. “I know.”

“No.” Natasha’s voice dropped slightly. “I need to hear you say it.”

The words hung heavy in the air. You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her expectation, her concern, her need for you to be okay, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m racing.” you said firmly, meeting her eyes. Something flickered in them..something unreadable, something that sent a shiver down your spine. A long pause. Then, Natasha gave a single, sharp nod.

Good.” The tension in the room didn’t dissipate, but the discussion continued. Data was reviewed, strategies were finalized, and plans were set into motion. But even as the meeting went on, you couldn’t shake the way Natasha had looked at you. Like she was preparing for war. And you weren’t sure if the battle was against Walker.

The next seven days were nothing short of relentless. Every day was a battle: fixing the car, running simulations, analyzing data, and ensuring that you were mentally and physically ready to race again.

But none of that compared to the real battle. The one happening between you and Natasha. Since the night you nearly kissed, something had shifted. It wasn’t something you spoke about..God, no. If anything, both of you had gone out of your way to pretend like nothing had happened.

But it was there. In the way her eyes lingered on you just a second too long. In the way your hands brushed when she passed you a data sheet. In the way your breath hitched whenever she leaned over your shoulder, her voice low as she analyzed your sector times. In the way she snapped at other engineers who wasted your time, as if she was the only one allowed to push you that hard.

It was like walking on a knife’s edge, waiting for something, anything to happen. And yet, neither of you made a move. Not when you caught each other staring across the garage. Not when your fingers brushed over the same laptop screen. Not even when she gripped your wrist during a briefing, her touch lingering just a second too long before she realized what she was doing and let go.

Instead, the tension built. And built. And built.

The paddock was a storm of movement, media personnel swarming, cameras flashing, journalists desperate to capture the story of the day. And they all knew exactly what it was.

“After her brutal crash just last week, Y/N L/N returns to the grid for redemption. But is she ready?”

“All eyes on L/N—can she handle the pressure?”

“Walker may have gotten a penalty, but is that enough to prevent further risks on the track?”

The words echoed through the speakers as you walked toward the garage, the pre-race energy buzzing in the air. You forced yourself to ignore it. The moment you stepped inside, the outside world melted away.

Your car was ready. The mechanics had worked tirelessly, and now, it gleamed under the garage lights, waiting for you. The team was moving efficiently around you, checking final tire pressures, adjusting wing settings, ensuring everything was perfect.

And then there was her. Natasha stood at the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed, watching the live broadcast of the pre-race show. She was composed, unreadable, except for the slight clench of her jaw every time they mentioned your crash.

She turned the second she sensed you. She had that look again. The same one she had given you before the last test session. The one that told you she saw everything, every flicker of hesitation, every unspoken fear, every piece of you that was still remembering the last time you had done this.

She didn’t look away. “You’re ready.” she said, voice steady. It wasn’t a question. You swallowed, fingers twitching at your sides. “I..”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, stepping closer. “Look at me.” she murmured. And there was something in her eyes, something that made your breath catch. “You can do this.” Her voice was softer now, but no less firm. “You belong here, Y/n.”

You clenched your jaw, exhaling through your nose. “Everyone’s waiting for me to crash again.” Her grip tightened around the helmet. “Fuck them.” Natasha’s gaze hardened, her grip tightening around the helmet. “Let them talk. Let them doubt you.” She took another step, the heat of her presence suffocating, overwhelming. “You know who you are. I know who you are.”

Your throat tightened. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t believe in you.” she continued, voice quieter but sharp as a blade. “You’re going to get in that car. You’re going to fight. And you’re going to win, because you can.”

Something in you shifted. It wasn’t immediate, wasn’t magic. But her words, her presence, the sheer weight of her belief in you, it settled deep in your chest, pushing back against the doubt, against the fear clawing at the edges of your mind.

Natasha lifted the helmet, tilting it slightly. Your fingers twitched as you reached for it, but she didn’t let go right away. Instead, she turned it in her hands, like she was making sure everything was perfect before handing it over. And then, instead of letting you put it on yourself, she helped you. Carefully, deliberately, she guided the helmet over your head, adjusting the fit, her fingers lingering against your jaw as she checked the strap. Her touch was soft. Almost too soft.

It sent a shiver down your spine. When she finally pulled back, her fingers brushed against your chin for half a second longer than necessary. The moment stretched, thick, electric, dangerous. She exhaled sharply, her face unreadable as she reached for your fireproof gloves. She didn’t just hand them to you.

She slid them onto your hands herself, pulling each finger snugly into place, like she needed to be sure you were completely ready. Your chest felt too tight, your pulse too fast. Finally, she nodded. “Get in the car.”

You stepped toward the cockpit, movements precise, automatic. But just before you swung your leg over the side, Natasha’s voice stopped you.

“Y/n.”

You turned back. Her green eyes burned into yours, and then she smirked. Just slightly. “Make them regret doubting you.”

A slow exhale left your lips. You nodded once. “I will.” And with that, you slid into the car, hands wrapping around the wheel, heart pounding not from fear, but from something else entirely. Something fierce. Something alive. And over the radio, just as the lights on the track began their countdown, her voice came through one last time, “Let’s hunt.”

Welcome back to the paddock, where we are moments away from lights out at today’s Grand Prix!”

“And all eyes are on Y/N L/N today. After a terrifying crash in the last race, the young driver is back on the grid, starting from P9. What a statement to make!”

“Absolutely! She’s had a phenomenal qualifying session, proving she still has the speed. But the real question is, has she fully recovered? Will the fear of another crash hold her back?”

“And let’s not forget, her rival, Walker, is starting just 4 position before in P5. After what happened last week, this could get very interesting.”

The grid was lined up. The tension in the air was suffocating, the anticipation electric. The lights above flickered one by one:

Five.

The engine beneath you rumbled, the vibrations rattling through your bones.

Four.

Your fingers flexed around the wheel, grip tightening.

Three.

The crowd was deafening, but you barely heard them.

Two.

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, the pulse echoing in your ears.

One.

The world held its breath. And then, Lights out. You launched off the line, the car screaming as it shot forward, the immediate chaos of the pack swallowing you whole.

Turn 1 was a battlefield. Cars dove left and right, fighting for position. You barely had a second to think before reacting, shifting your weight, holding the inside line as the chaos unfolded around you.

Someone clipped your rear tire, just a tap, just enough to make you twitch. But you held it. Your stomach clenched, your hands locked in place. Not again. You clenched your jaw and kept pushing. The first real battle came sooner than you expected.

You had climbed two positions already, slipping past rivals with aggressive but clean moves. But the next overtake wouldn’t come easy. The driver ahead—P6—was defensive, weaving down the straight, forcing you to choose a side before braking late.

You faked left. They bought it. You dove right, slipping through just in time, cutting the corner with perfection.

“Nice move.” Natasha’s voice crackled through the radio. You barely registered it, your focus already locked on the next car ahead.

Each overtake was aggressive, sharp, brutal, unforgiving. You weren’t here to play it safe. You weren’t here to wait.

And Natasha knew it. “Good pace. Keep it clean.” she said over the radio, her voice as steady as ever. You barely responded, your entire focus on the car ahead.

Lap 10.

P5.

P4.

P3.

And then.. Walker. P2 now. He was right there. Your hands tightened around the wheel. The crash flashed in your mind before you could stop it.

Walker’s car too close. Your own scream. The impact. You gritted your teeth. Not this time. You pushed. Your foot slammed onto the throttle, the engine growling in response as you overdrove into the next corner. Your tires screamed, barely gripping the edge of control, but you didn’t care.

All you saw was him. You needed to pass him. “Y/n.” Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. You ignored it. Walker was fast, but you were faster. The gap closed. Half a second. Then a quarter. You could see the back of his car right there, close enough that you could almost reach through the cockpit and rip him out of it yourself.

He wouldn’t take you out again. Your foot slammed on the throttle as you lunged forward, closing the gap, the DRS kicking in, giving you just enough speed to attempt the move. He left the inside open. Your heartbeat spiked. You sent it and in a split second, it happened. Walker turned in too soon. You were already there-

Contact. Your front wing clipped his rear tire. It wasn’t enough to take either of you out, but it was enough to cost you.

“Fifteen-second penalty for causing a collision!” the radio crackled. Your stomach dropped…Fuck.

“Pit now.” Natasha’s voice came through, calm, but not neutral. You bit down the frustration as you brought the car into the pit lane, the speed limiter kicking in, the car crawling compared to the chaos of the race.

The moment you stopped, the seconds stretched painfully long. Fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds of nothing. Fifteen seconds of watching the field pass you by.

“What the hell are you doing?” She’s leaning down just enough to look at you directly through the car window.

Your grip on the wheel tightened. “I had the move.” you muttered. Natasha tilted her head, her green eyes sharp. “No, you didn’t.”

Silence. Your heart pounded. “You weren’t going for the position..” she said, voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “You were going for him.”

Your breath hitched. She saw it. She knew. “You think I don’t recognize it?” Natasha continued. “The rage? The recklessness?”

You stared straight ahead, your jaw clenching. “This isn’t about winning anymore.” she murmured, her voice softer now. “This is about proving something.”

A muscle in your jaw ticked. “I don’t have to prove anything.”

Natasha exhaled sharply. “Then act like it!” she said firmly. Her fingers gripped the edge of the cockpit, just barely, just enough to be grounding. “You want to beat him?” she murmured, voice dropping just for you. “Then do it the right way.”

Your chest tightened. For a moment, it felt like everything in the world had narrowed to just her, just those words, just those eyes, just that belief in you that burned through the anger in your chest.

The penalty was over. You should have gone. But for that brief second, you didn’t move. Not until she let go of the car, stepping back.

Not until she said, “Go take back what’s yours.”

Lap 15

You were last. Fifteenth place. Fifteen fucking seconds wasted. And you didn’t care. Because now, now, you were faster than ever. The rage was still there, but now it was controlled. You weren’t just fighting. You were hunting.

Lap 16: P14.

Lap 17: P12.

Lap 18: P10.

Each overtake was clean, brutal, efficient. The car was perfect. The balance was yours. “Good.” Natasha’s voice came through. “Keep going.”

Lap 19: P8.

Lap 20: P7.

The crowd was watching now.

“Jesus, she’s coming back through the field like a bullet!” the live commentary echoed.

Lap 21: P5.

Lap 22..P3.

And then.. You saw him again. The number on his rear wing burned into your vision like a target locked in place. The air between you crackled with tension, the slipstream pulling you in closer, closer, closer.

Your hands gripped the wheel so tightly your fingers ached, but you didn’t care. This was it. Your chest tightened as memories flickered, Walker’s car too close, your scream in the comms, the helpless spin, the wall rushing toward you—

No. You shoved the fear down, erased it. You weren’t that driver anymore. And this time, Walker wasn’t taking shit from you.

“Alright, you have five laps left.” Natasha’s voice crackled over the radio. “Take your time. Find the right moment.”

But you knew Walker. You knew his style, his defense, the way he always left the door open just enough to tempt an overtake before slamming it shut at the last second. You weren’t falling for it this time.

Lap 24: You faked a move down the inside into Turn 5. He bought it. Defended hard, taking a wider line, just like you knew he would. But you didn’t go for it. You let him run wide, closing the gap further instead.

“Smart.” Natasha murmured.

Lap 25: The DRS zone was coming. You had one shot. One perfect move. Or nothing. The back straight stretched ahead. You were too close now. The DRS opened, power surging, the engine screaming, the world blurring as your speed climbed.

This is it. Walker swerved, one move, legal, but barely. You anticipated it. Your eyes flickered to Turn 12 fast, dangerous, only one racing line. If you’re going to take it, you have to commit. Your breath hitched. You threw the car right, outside line. Walker reacted. Too late.

You braked later, later, the car on the edge, tires screaming, but you held it. The car stuck. You stuck. And in that split second, you were ahead.

“You got him.” Natasha’s voice burst through the radio, but the race wasn’t over yet. Walker was pushing, desperate, ruthless. You could feel him behind you, could see his car in the mirrors, but you didn’t care. You weren’t giving him an inch.

Turn 15.

Turn 16.

The car was flying, balance perfect, your mind so clear it felt like you were part of the machine itself. One more corner. One more breath. And then..The checkered flag.

The radio erupted, the team roaring, your own breath shaking as the realization crashed into you.

“Y/N L/N WINS THE GRAND PRIX!”

Your hands trembled on the wheel. You did it. You fucking did it. And through the chaos, through the sound of the world losing its mind, Natasha’s voice came through.

“That’s my driver.”

Your hands were shaking on the wheel, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your body vibrating with the sheer force of what had just happened. You had won. Not just the race. You had won yourself back.

“Fucking incredible drive, Y/N!” your race engineer shouted over the radio, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “What a comeback!”

The grandstands were thunderous, the entire circuit erupting as the reality of your victory sank in. But none of it compared to your team. Through the visor, you could already see them, gathered at the pit wall, fists pumping, mechanics jumping onto each other’s shoulders, pure euphoria radiating from them.

And somewhere in the chaos, Natasha. Standing behind the pit crew, arms crossed, but her smile..God, that smile, was visible even from the cockpit. Your chest tightened, your breath coming in short, exhilarated gasps.

“Bring it to P1, Y/n.” Natasha’s voice came through, lighter than you’d ever heard it. “Then get your ass out of that car and celebrate.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you guided the car through the cool-down lap, your heartbeat still pounding.

“On my way, boss.”

As you pulled into the designated stop, the team was already climbing over the barriers, their bodies packed together in a frenzy of victory. The second the car came to a halt, you didn’t think. You threw off the wheel, ripped your belts loose, and jumped out of the cockpit like you’d been set on fire.

The moment your feet hit the ground, you turned and ran. Straight into the arms of your crew. The mechanics caught you mid-air, your body disappearing into the sea of hands, laughter, and pure fucking joy.

They were screaming, shaking you, slapping your back, gripping your shoulders as if they couldn’t believe it was real. “HOLY SHIT, Y/N!”

“SHE DID IT! SHE FUCKING DID IT!”

“THAT WAS INSANE!”

You let out a giddy laugh, arms flailing as they pushed and pulled at you, each one desperate to congratulate you. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet and yanked it off, and the moment the fresh air hit your face, you let out a roar, pumping your fists into the air, the rush of it all making you dizzy with ecstasy.

You barely registered the cameras flashing, the broadcasters yelling into their microphones. None of it mattered. Because this, this overwhelming, uncontrollable flood of joy, was everything.

And then..You saw her. She wasn’t in the center of the chaos. She stood just behind the pit wall, arms still crossed, her expression composed, at least, to everyone else. But you saw it. The way her lips twitched, fighting a full smile. The way her chest rose and fell, like she was steadying herself. The way her eyes softened, just slightly, the moment they met yours.

Something inside you shifted. For a split second, everything else, the cameras, the shouting, the flashing lights, disappeared. It was just her. Just the two of you. And for the first time since the race began..since before that, since the almost, since the everything-

You let yourself feel it. The adrenaline. The victory. The weight of her gaze on you. Your chest heaved. Your body still buzzing with energy, you took a step forward-

But just then, someone grabbed you, another mechanic pulling you into another celebratory hug, breaking the moment. And when you looked back, Natasha was gone.

The second you stepped onto the podium, the energy of the crowd hit you like a tidal wave. The champagne bottles popped, the roar of the fans blending with the flashing lights, the cameras capturing every second of your victory.

It was chaos. Beautiful, reckless chaos. You could barely hear yourself think as the mechanics pulled you into another round of hugs, the engineers cheering, even Yelena wrapping an arm around your shoulders and shaking you violently with pure pride.

The adrenaline hadn’t worn off, not even after the press conference, the interviews, or the moment you saw your name officially at the top of the championship standings. For the first time in a long time..you won. But even through the celebrations, through the waves of congratulations, champagne, and endless cheering-

You felt it. The weight of something unfinished. Because this wasn’t the end. It was just the second race of the season. And there were still 22 races to go.

By the time the paddock had settled, the celebration had moved, to the team’s private lounge, deep in the heart of the circuit’s hospitality center. The place was alive, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the undeniable high of victory. The mechanics were already a few drinks in, celebrating like they’d just won the championship itself.

Yelena had made it her personal mission to keep the drinks flowing, practically forcing a bottle of champagne into your hands.

“Come on, golden girl.” she teased, nudging you. “You actually did it. Time to celebrate!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I am celebrating.”

“Not enough.” she countered, tilting the bottle toward your glass. “Drink.”

You rolled your eyes but took a sip anyway, the sharp fizz burning against your lips. And then, You felt her before you saw her. The pull was unmistakable. You turned- And there she was. Natasha stood near the edge of the room, her expression calm, drink in hand, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting shadows over her face.

She wasn’t celebrating like the others. She was watching. You. Your pulse stuttered. Because there it was again. That same tension. That same unspoken thing that had been lingering since before the race. Since the almost..You swallowed hard, setting your drink down.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up. You crossed the room, weaving through the crowd, until you were right there, in front of her, the noise of the party fading into the background.

She tilted her head slightly, lips curving in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not enjoying the celebration?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.

Natasha’s eyes flickered over you, lingering for a second too long. “I am.” she murmured. “Just..observing.”

Your heart twisted. Because you knew her well enough to know that wasn’t the whole truth. She was thinking. Calculating.

And feeling, more than she wanted to admit. You exhaled, shifting closer. “Natasha-”

She cut you off. “You drove like hell today.” she said, voice low. “You fought like hell.” Something in her tone made your breath catch. “But.” she continued, softer now, “it’s not over.”

And just like that, the weight of it all crashed back down on you. The victory. The adrenaline. The illusion of finality. But she was right. It wasn’t over. There were still 22 races to go. Your grip on your drink tightened, the celebration suddenly feeling distant. “Yeah..” you muttered, exhaling slowly. “I know.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, just a little. She lifted her drink slightly, her gaze locked onto yours. “Then enjoy this one.” she murmured, her voice dipping just enough to make your chest tighten. “While it lasts.” You swallowed hard, clinking your glass against hers, the taste of champagne still lingering on your lips. But even as the party went on, as the laughter and music filled the night. You both knew the truth. The fight was just beginning.

The next ten races were a rollercoaster of emotion, grit, and war. If the second race had been about proving yourself, the next ten were about survival. Every lap, every overtake, every mistake and triumph was a battle..not just against the other drivers, but against your own mind, against the past, against the unrelenting pressure that came with leading the charge in the championship fight.

And through it all, Natasha was there. Watching. Calculating. Pushing you to your absolute limits.

And Walker? Walker was waiting. He wasn’t finished with you yet. The third race was a fight. You started P3, behind Walker and another rival. The car felt perfect, the balance just right, and by Lap 20, you were leading.

It was yours to win. Until- “Puncture! Rear left!” The words hit your radio like a gunshot. No. Your heart plummeted as the car twitched, the tire barely holding on as you limped back to the pits.

By the time the crew slapped on fresh rubber, you had dropped to P7. Your jaw locked, your breath ragged.

“Head down, recover.” Natasha’s voice cut through the noise. You pushed. You fought your way back to P3, but Walker won. And in the post-race press conference, he made sure to remind you of it.

“Bad luck out there, Y/n.” he said, his smirk just mocking enough to make your blood boil. “But hey, at least you’re getting used to fighting your way back up the grid.” You clenched your fists. It wasn’t over. Not even close.

Race 13

You didn’t just win. You dominated. Walker had pole, but you took him into Turn 1, clean, precise, unstoppable. Natasha’s voice over the radio was pure steel.

“Now hold it.”

And you did. For 58 perfect laps, you controlled the race, crossing the finish line five seconds ahead of the entire field.

Walker barely made it to P4.

And this time, when the cameras flashed, you smirked at him first. Headlines read:

“L/N vs. Walker: A Battle for the Ages”

“Two Titans, One Championship”

The tension between you and Walker was all-consuming, turning every press conference, every overtaking battle, every glance into something that felt like war.

The championship lead was shifting constantly. One race, you had it. The next? Walker stole it back. And with every lap, every podium, every single fucking mistake, Natasha’s grip on you tightened. Because she knew, just as well as you did. If you let anything slip now, it was over.

The media loved talking about race days. The victories, the mistakes, the rivalries. But no one ever talked about the days in between. The seven days between races, where the real battle happened.

Because those were the days Natasha broke you down. Mornings? Training so hard your muscles screamed. Cardio, weightlifting, reaction drills—pushing your endurance to the limit. Afternoons? Simulator sessions, lap after lap, perfecting every single braking zone, every racing line, every overtaking strategy. Evenings? Race debriefs, where Natasha sat across from you, arms crossed, green eyes pinning you in place as she tore apart every mistake you made.

“You should’ve covered the inside on Lap 42.”

“You hesitated in sector two.”

“If you let Walker get in your head, you’ll lose everything.”

It was ruthless. It was relentless. And yet, somehow it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Because she never let you break. No matter how close you came to shattering, no matter how exhausted you were..She never let you give up.

And that? That scared you more than anything. Because it meant she cared. And neither of you were ready for that conversation. The Unspoken Shift - Natasha, Closer Than Ever.

Race 18

The ride back to the track was silent. Painfully, suffocatingly silent. Natasha’s grip on the wheel was tight, her knuckles white. Her jaw was clenched so hard you thought it might break. You wanted to speak. Wanted to say something..anything. To explain, to defend yourself, to apologize.

The second the race ended, you knew you were in trouble. Not because of the result, you had still finished. Not because you had lost, because technically, you hadn’t. But because of how you raced. Because you had ignored Natasha’s orders. Because you had pushed too hard, took too many risks, fought too recklessly..

And Natasha? Natasha had seen all of it. The team felt the tension the moment you rolled into the garage. The air was thick, charged, dangerous. You knew you had pushed her too far this time. You had ignored every single call over the radio. You had fought her instead of Walker.

And now? Now she was so furious, so cold, so quiet, it almost scared you more than if she had just started screaming. You swallowed, exhaling sharply. “Nata-

“Don’t.” Her voice was low, firm, cutting off whatever you were about to say. You clenched your jaw, sinking into your seat, the weight of it settling over your chest. You wanted to apologize. But she didn’t want to hear it. Not yet. And as the car rolled into the facility, as she pulled into her usual spot with precise, controlled movements, you knew..

The worst was still coming. The door in her office slammed shut behind you. And then? Natasha lost it. “What the fuck was that?!”

Her voice cut through the air like a gunshot. You barely had time to process it before she was on you, her fury crashing into you like a hurricane.

“Do you have a death wish?!”

Your chest heaved, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. “I-”

“No, Shut up!”

Your breath hitched. Her tone was dangerous now, low, firm, absolute. She took a step forward. Then another. Until she was so close, you could feel the heat rolling off her skin. “You think you’re unstoppable?” she demanded. “You think you can just ignore orders? Disobey me? Throw yourself into battles you can’t fucking win?!”

Your stomach twisted. “I was racing! I-”

“No, you were fucking reckless!”

The words hit hard. Too hard. Your hands clenched into fists, your body coiling with frustration. “I was fighting-

“You were out of control!”

Natasha’s voice rose, her green eyes flashing, her entire body taut with rage. “Do you even realize how close you were to wrecking the car? To wrecking yourself?”

Your pulse spiked. “I knew what I was doing!”

“No. You didn’t.” Her voice lowered, rough, almost dangerous. “You let him get inside your head.”

Your breath caught. Because that was the truth. And you hated it. Your fingers dug into your palms, your jaw tightening, burning with anger, with shame, with something else entirely.

And Natasha? She saw all of it. Her breathing was uneven now. Her shoulders tight. Her chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

The air between you crackled..so thick, so charged, so suffocatingly tense, “You don’t get to fight me on this, Y/n.”

Your body froze. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because it wasn’t just a command. It was a warning. You swallowed, breath shaky, eyes locked onto hers. “Natasha-“

“You don’t get to argue with me.” Her voice was lower now, dangerous, daring you to push her further. Your pulse skipped. You should have backed down. You should have stepped away.

But you didn’t. “Please..”

A muscle in her jaw ticked. And then, She kissed you. Hard and Punishing. A lesson. A correction. A reminder of exactly who was in control. You gasped against her mouth, but she didn’t let you pull away. She owned you. Her hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you against her, your body melting into hers.

You moaned into her mouth, and she devoured the sound. Your back hit the desk, papers scattering everywhere, but neither of you cared. Her hands roamed your body, possessive, taking exactly what she wanted.

Her teeth scraped against your lip, and you whimpered, gripping her tighter, pulling her closer, needing more, more, more. She was everywhere. All fire and control and dominance, and you were drowning in it. She broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “You drive me crazy, do you even realize that?”

Your body burning from the inside out. And then she kissed you again. And this time? Neither of you were stopping. Your breath hitched as she dragged your racing suit down your body, the cool air hitting your flushed skin.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. Her hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide, her gaze hungry, demanding. “Look at you.” she murmured, her fingers teasing, barely touching, making you squirm.

“So fucking stubborn. So fucking desperate, even when you pretend not to be.” Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing friction, but she held you down, denying you.

“There you go..” she taunted, her pace slow but ruthless, her fingers curling inside you in a way that made your entire body tremble.

“Still think you don’t need to listen to me?”

Your hands gripped her shoulders, your nails digging into her skin, trying to ground yourself. “F-Fuck-”

She growled at the sensation, loving the way your body clung to hers, resisting but so goddamn weak for her at the same time. “Say it.” she demanded, her voice low, wrecked, dripping with authority. “Say you fucking obey me.”

You shook your head, your lips parted, gasping for breath, still fighting her. “I—N-Natasha, I—”

She thrust deeper, her other hand gripping your throat, tilting your head back so she could watch you completely fall apart beneath her.

“Say it, Y/n..”

Her pace increased, her fingers relentless, knowing exactly how to unravel you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tightening around her, fighting the pleasure overtaking you.

“I-I obey—fuck, I obey you, Natasha—”

Natasha let out a wrecked groan, her lips crashing onto yours, swallowing your surrender. “That’s my girl.” she murmured against your lips, moaning as she felt you shudder beneath her.

“Now take it.” She didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t let you breathe. Her body hovered over yours, pressing into you, her fingers curling inside you just right, her lips ghosting over your jaw.

“You’re mine..” she whispered, her voice possessive, dark, full of something uncontrollable. “Say it again.”

Your head tilted back, your moans breaking into wrecked sobs, your hands clutching her shoulders like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’m yours, Natasha—fuck, I’m yours—”

Her pace increased, dragging you higher, higher, until you couldn’t hold on anymore. “Come for me, Detka..” she commanded, her voice raw, her fingers working you over the edge. “Now.”

And fuck, you did. Your orgasm ripped through you violently, your body arching, convulsing, completely lost in her. Natasha let out a guttural moan, her forehead pressing against yours, holding you through it, keeping you safe even as she completely wrecked you.

“Good girl.” she whispered, pressing kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, your lips. “You did so good for me, detka.”

Your body was still trembling, your breath uneven, shattered. Natasha didn’t let go. She stayed pressed against you, her arms wrapping around your waist, her lips leaving soft, grounding kisses along your skin.

“Still think you don’t need to listen to me?” she teased, her voice low, adoring, but still smug. You let out a weak, breathless laugh, your fingers trailing up her arms, holding onto her.

“Guess I had to learn the hard way..” you murmured, voice still wrecked, but teasing. Natasha smirked, pressing another kiss to your lips, slow, deep, full of something more.

Part 6

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[kizzer55555]

DP x DC: The Most Dangerous Card Game

Ok so Danny has essentially claimed earth as his. And he is fully aware that there are constant threats to the planet. Now he can’t stop a threat that originates on earth (that’s something he’ll leave to the Justice league) but he can do something about outside threats. Doing some research on ancient spells, rituals, and artifacts, he cast a world wide barrier on the planet to protect it from hostile threats so they cannot enter. This will prevent another Pariah Dark incident. However, barriers like this come at a price. You see, there are two ways to make a barrier. Either make one powered up by your own energy and power (which would be constantly draining) or set up a barrier with rules. The way magic works is that nothing can be absolutely indestructible. It must have a weakness. The most powerful barriers weren’t the ones reinforced with layer after layer of protective charms and buffed up with power. Those could eventually be destroyed either by being overpowered, wearing them down, or by cutting off the original power source. No, the most powerful barriers were the ones with a deliberate weakness. A barrier indestructible except for one spot. A cage that can only be opened from the outside. Or that can only be passed with a key or by solving a riddle. So Danny chooses this type of barrier and does the necessary ritual and pours in enough power to make it. And he adds his condition for anyone to enter. 

Now the Justice league? Find out about the barrier when Trigon attempts to attack, they were preparing after he threatened what he would do once he got to earth. How he would destroy them. The Justice league tried to take the fight to him first but were utterly destroyed, so they retreated home to tend to their injuries, and fortify earth for one. Last. Stand. Only when Trigon makes his big entrance…he’s stopped.

The Justice league watch in awe as this thin see-through barrier with beautiful green swirls and speckled white lights like stars apears blocking Trigon and his army’s advance. The barrier looks so thin and fragile yet no matter how hard the warlord hits, none of his attacks can get through and neither can he damage said barrier. That’s when Constantine and Zatanna recognizes what this barrier is. Something only a powerful entity could create. For a moment, the league is filled with hope that Trigon can’t get through yet Constantine also explains that it’s not impenetrable. And clearly Trigon knows this too for he calls out a challenge. 

And that’s when, in a flash of light, a tiny glowing teenager appears. He looked absolutly minuscule compared to Trigon and yet practically glowed with power (this isn’t a King Danny AU though).

And that is when the conditions for passing the barrier are revealed. And the Justice realize that the only thing stopping Trigon and his army from decimating earth. The only way he can get through….is by beating this glowing teenager in a card game. 

Not just any card game though. The most convoluted game Sam, Danny, and Tucker invented themselves. It’s like the infinite realms version of magic the gathering, combined with Pokémon, and chess. And Danny is the master. So sit down Trigon and let’s play.

(The most intense card game of the Justice league’s life).

After Danny wins, this happens a few more times with outer word beings and possibly even demons attempting to invade earth, yet none have been able to beat the mysterious teenager in a card game. Constantine might even take a crack at it and try to figure out how to play. He’s really bad though. Every time this happens, the Justice league worry that this might be the time the teenager looses. Yet every time, he wins (even if only barely). 

Meanwhile, Danny, Sam, and Tucker have gotten addicted to the game and play it almost daily. Some teachers might seem them playing the game are are like ‘awww how cute’ not realizing this game is literally saving the world. Jazz is just happy they aren’t spending as much time on their screens playing Doomed.

[bxllydxnnabxtch]

Bittersweet Saviour

Gojo x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Things quickly go sideways when you get sent on an emergency mission with your lover. When you both get split up, it's not long before this mission turns into a different kind of emergency.

Warnings: Profanity, Blood, Descriptions of reader getting their ass absolutely handed to them, Near death experience.

SMACK

The last thing you expected when you got sent on this mission with Satoru was to be launched through a wall by your fucking face. But as you blinked your eyes open through the incessant ringing and metallic taste on your tongue willing them to stay closed, you realized that this mission may have been a little (a lot) above your pay grade. The chewing out you were going to give Yaga after this mission might even rivel whatever injury Satoru’s going to tear you a new one for. At this point it seemed like the higher ups were trying to kill you.

You were barely able to stand up on shaky legs and a shitty sense of balance from your clearly concussed mind, but you managed. Alas, you stumbled, hand shooting out to what was left of the decimated wall for balance, as your other hand came up to use your technique. When, again, your body was shoved back in to the pile of rubble you had just climbed from. Your back hit the concrete with a sickening crunch, and a wail left you when you felt pain explode along your shoulder blades and cascade down your back like molten lava. Your head fell back, your neck resting at an odd angle as you sat locked in a world of agony. You tried your best to breath though it, but your chest heaved as you attempted to get your bearings. The next time someone at the school told you to fucking box breathe to cope during missions, was the day you would be put to death for murder.

The curse was seemingly toying with you as it stalked towards you with a sadistic grin, it’s skin a grotesque green with shell like shield formations covering it, It’s armor barely chipping against your prior use of your technique. You gritted your teeth upon realizing Gojo hadn’t returned since the cursed spirit had split you up with it’s multiple copies crowding the man. And if he was having trouble getting through multiple of them, it meant that this was a special grade, and your chances of getting through this one were slim to none.

Your body had become essentially numb to the pain as you backed yourself up the piled of rubble, your hands gripping the concrete as it sliced through your palms. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the crackles of pain shooting off along your spine as you tried to steady your breathing for the second time. Your hand raised as it curled into a fist, focusing your cursed energy into your palm as you let go of your middle and ring finger. Your technique manifested as a slice of wind launched towards the curse, cutting through the ground in its wake as it hurdled its way towards its target. You could hear it howl as it sliced through the air, tearing up the existing rubble and raking up pieces of it with its momentum.

The curse was flung onto its back as it collided with your cursed energy, throwing it across the ground, pieces of concrete and rock chipped at its armor as it was dragged further and further from you. You watched it tumble, rolling over a couple times as it’s hands gripped at the ground in a desperate attempt to slow its speed, despite the blade of wind actively shoving it further. Your technique only stopped when it slammed the cursed spirit into a building, the structure swaying at the impact as a cloud of dust and debris surfaced from the landing. A silence fell over the barren what once was a street, now more of a warzone, but it was short lived as you saw movement from among the cloud. It didn’t take long for the spirit to get up again, and your heart plummeted as you realized how little your technique did to it. It screeched as it got up, the sound piercing your eardrums as you flinched from the jolt of pain it sent through you.

A switch seemed to flip in your mind as you shot up, getting up off the rubble, deciding that it would be better to flee with your life than to try and fight a losing battle. Your palms left bloody handprints on the bits of rock and shale as you scrambled to get off the pile, feet clambering down the pile of blood-stained cement as you pushed yourself off of it, feet hitting solid ground as you broke into a sprint. You stumbled the slightest bit, but righted yourself as you attempted to fend off the violent nausea that plagued your sense of balance and direction. A steady burn started in your lungs as your fatigued body tried to keep up with the added exertion, your feet clapping against the ground as you ran with everything you had left in you.

Adrenaline shot through you when a solid object was thrown into your side, the shrapnel cutting through your hip and throwing you off balance as you were mercilessly thrown to the ground. Your body skidded across the tarmac as the wind was knocked out of you, coming to a stop as you hiccupped, heaving in a futile attempt to get air into your lungs. A grotesque wheezing sound came from you as you tried yet again, the strain in your chest finally letting up as you greedily sucked in mouthfuls of air. A sense of dread settled in the pit that had formed in your stomach, your throat closing up as a sense of panic took hold of you. You didn’t need to look down to know that the freshly made wound in your side was bleeding heavily, you could tell from how cold it felt when the wind brushed against it. You sensed that the absence of pain was due to shock, and that only meant that the injury was severe enough for your body to block it out. Your forehead came to rest on the hard asphalt, your body shaking from the shock your body was put under as you quickly weighed your options.

You assessed your physical state, and you really didn’t need to think too hard as you deduced that you were entirely fucked.

You had essentially accepted your fate by the time you had flipped over, and for a brief moment you wondered how Shoko would react to seeing your corpse in the mortuary. You felt the faintest sense of guilt at that sentiment, maybe if you had defected like Suguru, maybe you’d have been able to spare her the disappointment of seeing another one of her childhood friends exit the Jujutsu world, only this time in a body bag.

SMACK

That thought was quickly interrupted as the curse was kindly launched through a wall by it’s fucking face.

You didn’t even get a chance to process the relief at this development, as you saw a platinum head of hair pop in your vision and a hand come to pull his blindfold off as he stared down at you with those damn near blinding blue eyes of his. A grin spread across his features, a chuckle emanating from him as he looked you over.

“You don’t look so hot, princess.” He remarked slyly.

“Oh yeah, I’m great, thanks for asking.” You wheezed, hand coming to press into your side with a hiss. You flinched at the pressure, beginning to feel the warmth of your own blood flow through the spaces between your fingers. You felt the large divot that was now engraved in your side, and blinked up at Gojo when you saw his expression falter at the amount of blood beginning to pool around you. His signature smile fell slightly, silently examining you before pivoting around to face the curse head on.

“Just give me a minute to deal with this.” He said softly, and you nodded your head lightly. “Take all the time you need.” You hummed, a soft groan falling out of you as the shock began to wear off. You began to feel the steady thrum of pain throb through your being, squirming slightly as you laid on the ground.

You could hear the shuffle of rubble through the soft ringing in your ears. One second your eyes were on Satoru, and the next he had vanished, you barely had a second to flick your eyes over to the curse as you heard him sprint towards it with frightening speed. You saw his figure practically fly through the air as he cocked his leg back only to swing it at the cursed spirit. With a sickening crack, the curses head flew through the air, splitting it’s armor and leaving a stump in it’s wake. You flinched at the sight, tearing your eyes away as you heard its head roll across the dust scattered road.

You blinked and he was at your side yet again, face unreadable as he directed both of your hands over to your sliced open side. “Keep pressure on it.” He said, eyes flicking over your face as you laughed weakly. “Aww, c’mon don’t be like that, what happened to the cocky Satoru that never takes anything serious?” You joked, wincing as you obeyed his order, forcing your hands harder into your side. You struggled to keep pressure on it as you began to shake, hands trembling as they began to feel sticky from the blood.

“Shut up.” He scoffed, scooping one hand under your legs and another under your shoulders as he hoisted you up. A yell of pain left you at the movement, and his face fell the slightest bit as he adjusted you in his hold. “You’re pale, I’ve gotta get you to Shoko.” He stated softly, voice laced with a twinge of- dare you say- concern? Your laugh came out as more of a weak wheeze, head leaning against his shoulder as you stared up at him. “Yeah, I dunno about you but-“ you sucked in a breath of air, finding it getting harder to breathe as you gritted your teeth. “People usually get pale when they’re bleeding out.” You finished, eyebrows furrowing as a wave of nausea hit you.

A small smirk crept onto his face as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, your figure dipping the slightest bit with the movement. “I wouldn’t know, never bled out before.” He said with a huff. You snickered, shaking your head lightly as laughter wracked through you. A wave of pain hit you immediately after, and you tensed in his hold. “Ugh you’re such a dick.”

Your eyes slipped closed as you rested your head against his chest, feeling your surroundings change as you snapped them open again in surprise. You quickly took note of the beds that took up the room, and your jaw fell in astonishment as you blinked in shock. Your eyes flickered up to him, Brows knitting together in confusion as you realized what he had done. “Did you just-“

He cut you off, cocking a brow as he spoke. “Warp you to the infirmary? You really thought I was going to let you bleed out in the street? Wow, you wound me. Truly I don’t think I could ever recover-“ You cut him off with a soft slap to the chest, the action leaving a bloody handprint on his pristine white shirt. A groan sounding from you as you listen to him ramble about your subsequent betrayal.

“Just set me down and go get Shoko before you’re the one that ends up in a recovery bed.”

[madmarsii]

Party Animal (not the kind you think)

This work is inspired by this series by @jumpywhumpywriter.

CW: public torture, electric shocks, villain whumpee

---

There were times Hero thought her job sucked.

Not when there was a party, though. Those were the best—especially when Superhero was the host. God, they were famous for it. The music, the food, the entertainment. It was the one time they could all let off some steam, pretend they were just people too—just humans trying to steal a moment of joy in a brutal world.

Hero braced her shoulders.

It was time to finally have fun. She had grieved long enough. Another night drowning in sad songs and flipping through old photo albums wouldn’t bring her mother back. It wouldn’t make her feel better. She touched up her lip gloss, inhaled deeply, and stepped into the hall.

It buzzed like a hive, full of heroes swarming the room, laughter bouncing off the walls. Instead of honey, the air was thick with the mingling scents of spice, grilled meat, and something sweet. She looked around—

And there was Superhero, waving wildly. “Ohh! Look! Bunny’s here!”

They rushed over and crushed her in a tight hug. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up!”

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me, right?” she said, but her smile still felt forced. It will be alright. She just needed a drink or two—something to loosen the tight knot in her chest. Then maybe she could finally enjoy herself.

“Yes! Absolutely,” Superhero said brightly. “And I’ve gotta give you credit for your timing. You walked in right before the main event. Look.”

A guard entered, dragging someone behind them. A man. On a leash.

Hero’s gaze followed—and froze.

The man wore a light green pajama set, the kind you’d expect from a hospital or a prison. His head was bowed. His cheeks bloomed with deep purples and rotting yellows, bruises layering each other like paint. Metal bracelets clinked against his ankles, the skin beneath them raw and torn.

The room went still.

What the fuck was that?

Superhero strode to the center of the hall, champagne in hand. “Friends! Don’t look so shocked. You’ll understand soon enough.” They grabbed the man by the hair and jerked his head back, forcing his face into the light.

There were some gasps, faces crossed with recognition.

“You actually got him?” someone asked.

“Holy shit,” said another. A low whistle followed.

“Looked at that bastard!”

The laughter started. At first hesitant. Then louder. Bolder. Hero tried to get closer to see what it was about—who this man was. She pushed through the crowd, murmuring apologies each time her shoulder bumped someone… until she finally stood in front of him.

His face was swollen. It took her a second to recognize Villain—and not any other villain—The Villain. Emaciated. Bruised. Barely upright. She could see it—how just standing there drained whatever strength he had left—and she wondered what other injuries were hiding underneath the thin fabric of his pajama.

The quiet surge of satisfaction rippled through her body, catching her off guard.

I’m not like this.

We are heroes; we are not like this.

But less and less people looked put off by this. They were eager instead. Anticipating. Hungry.

Room full of heroes and no one who would save Villain (she felt a sting of shame because part of her didn’t want to stop it either).

After all, this man had torn their world apart. Decimated heroes. Killed almost a third of them. Her colleagues. Two of her close friends.

Hero felt the tension in her muscles, in her jaw.

He hunted them like a fucking animals. Ambushed them in their homes, cut them down mid-mission… Left messages in blood, bodies arranged in grotesque displays for others to find. Entire squads wiped out without a chance to call for backup. He didn’t care if they were veterans or sidekicks or rookies barely out of training. Everyone was fair game.

Hero still remembered the footage they recovered from the last team he killed—static-filled screams, flashes of light, then silence.

So maybe this was justice.

Maybe this was fair.

Superhero grinned, their voice carrying across the silent hall. “Some of you were wondering where our friend here disappeared to.” They patted Villain’s cheek with mock affection. “I caught him a week ago. We had a nice… chat about everything he’s done. And he agreed—he owes you all an apology. So we figured he should start with a little performance.”

They shoved Villain forward.

That’s when Hero noticed the chain hanging from the ceiling. She hadn’t seen it before—but now, it lowered like a noose as someone fastened it around Villain’s neck.

Superhero stepped back, eyes gleaming. “You can start.”

The bracelets around his ankles lit—and then Villain jerked, pained whimper escaping his lips. Then he jumped again, and again, writhing, twitching with each jolt.

Electricity.

They were sending shock after shock to his libs, so he would “dance.” The room echoed with muffled music and the awful soundtrack of whimpers, cries, and weak “please” and “I’m sorry.”

Over and over.

It wasn’t long when a smell of burnt meat filled the air, curling beneath the rich aroma of food.

And Hero… watched.

Part of her wanted to look away, to stop, to remind everyone who they were supposed to be. But she didn’t. Her feet stayed planted. Her lips shut. Because another part of her—small, cruel, and furious—still wanted this. Wanted to see him fall apart, piece by piece. Wanted him to scream until the echoes reached wherever Sparrow and Blue were buried.

And as Villain’s body convulsed and the laughter swelled around her, Hero wondered if this was how monsters were made—not in silence, but in celebration; in rooms full of applause.

---

Part 2

[thiriann]

"The Darkest Place" - Oneshot

You can also find me on AO3

A smutty oneshot

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7k

Pairing: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, Vampire Spawn Astarion  × Tiefling Tav ,Traumatized Astarion (Baldur's Gate) ,Getting to Know Each Other ,Falling In Love, Injury, Caring Astarion, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Vaginal Fingering,PIV sex ,one shot

Summary:

After a grievous wound Astarion does his best to take care of Thiriann while trying to figure out just when his simple plan fell apart completely.

It took one hit to take her down. A single strike from those shadowed claws sent her to her knees, writhing in agony. Astarion screamed at her to get up, even though he knew there was no way she could.  As he tried to run to her a wraith pulled him by the arm, its cold touch chilling him. Another sprung up next to it with a sickening sound effectively surrounding him. Somehow, he managed to recall Thiriann had given him a flask of holy water. He'd thought it a joke at first, something to throw at Cazador, as if it would help.  It decimated the horrors as it shattered.

By the time he reached her, shadow tendrils were already trying to bleed into her skin, her glowing blue eyes blackened entirely by the curse. Shadowheart was at her side before him, her eyes wide with alarm.

"I can't do anything about this out here. We must get her to camp—fast!"

He knelt to cradle her in his arms, holding her close to his chest. She felt cold to the touch, even to him, even through his gloves and fear clutched at his gut like a vice.

He hadn't even noticed how much she was bleeding until he stood up and her blood gushed down and onto his legs.

The return to camp was mostly a blur as they sprinted through the gnarly terrain.  

Upon their arrival, the group sprang into action, laying her on a bedroll beside the fire and Astarion was practically shoved away by the healers, his protest dying on his lips as he caught sight of her pallid face. She looked dead. Or somehow even worse than dead—her cheeks hollow, eyes sunken, her color drained from blue to an ashen white, with blackened blood smelling like rot trickling from her lips. The scent of decay was overpowering.

Gale began chanting in a loud thundering voice, magic crackling through the air like static. Abruptly, the air cleared, as if a cloud had been lifted. The curse was largely purged from her body, yet her appearance remained unchanged. Halsin, meanwhile, was a blur of motion, concocting a myriad of remedies at her head.

"I need to apply this on the wounds. Remove her garments." He instructed.

Astarion finally looked away from her face. Three long gashes ran over her stomach all the way down to her hips. With swift resolve, he spurred into action taking his dagger and splitting her top and bottoms in one swift motion. The fastest and worst way he'd ever undressed someone.

Halsin began applying the salve he'd made around the edges of the cuts and with a relief Astarion noticed the bleeding turn from a flowing stream to a trickle, though the stench of rot remained, lingering in the air.

"We need to apply this again in two hours and maybe attempt to give her a healing potion then as well. " Halsin stated as he prepared more of the medicine.

The group's panic finally started to ease. Astarion surveyed her form once more, finding it as gaunt and drained as her face. It made him feel ill. His eyes landed on the only part of her that still had some color. Two pink dots on her breast right above her nipple. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at. It was his bite mark. With her drinking healing potions every day it didn't really scar, smoother new skin had grown on the bite but because it was still relatively fresh, the color was pink not yet fully healed. She had matching ones on her neck as well as on her thigh.

The marks were practically glowing on her. He quickly glanced to the others to see if they've noticed, only to be met with Gale's stern glare.

"We should... ahem... cover her, to preserve her modesty," Astarion suggested looking away.

Dashing to her travel chest, he rummaged for any piece of clothing he could find. The party already suspected him of leading her into all manner of vile debaucherous acts —admittedly, they were not wrong—but such intimacies were meant to be private and now everyone had seen the evidence of their activities.

Regardless, none of that mattered now. And it wasn't as if their opinion of him could sink any lower.

He grabbed a loose robe, one he'd never seen her wear, and returned to her side. He draped it over her like a blanket, unsure if he should move her more than that.

“When do you think she’ll wake up?” he asked Halsin.

" We have no way of knowing for certain," Halsin responded, his voice betraying a hint of concern. "It could be hours, perhaps days. The curse has burrowed deep; she’s not out of the woods yet."

“Can we really leave her like this in the open, in the middle of camp?” Shadowheart voiced looking around.

“Bring her into my tent, at least she’ll have some privacy.” Astarion spoke. He hadn’t even thought about it as he said it but a strange surge of protectiveness rising within him pushed the words out of his mouth. 

“Not a chance.” Shadowheart balked at him.

“No offense but your tent is hardly a sanitary choice for an ill person, Astarion.” Gale spoke up as well.

“I’ll have you know my tent is the least cluttered out of all of yours, thank you very much. She's already quite accustomed to spending her nights there anyway," he countered, his innuendo intending to shock the others into agreement.

“That will probably be for the best,” Halsin agreed "In a confined space, I can prepare a steam inhalation to aid her breathing."

Gale narrowed his eyes but miraculously stayed silent.

And with that, the argument was concluded and she was carried to Astarion’s tent along with a solid stack of herbs, potions, and a steaming bowl of medicinal brew by her head.

Despite the sanctuary of his tent, Astarion was restless. He sat by her, attempting to read, but worry knotted his insides, rendering him unable to focus. Halsin was right; her breathing sounded terrible. She was wheezing on every inhale, the sound horribly resembling a death rattle. 

He was being foolish, surely. They had survived worse. By the morrow, it’d be as if nothing happened. Yet, the memory of that Harper wouldn’t leave his mind. The way he had succumbed to the shadows within moments, undeath claiming him irreversibly.

That couldn't be her fate. It simply couldn't.

“Did I say you could die?” he asked in his typical playful tone. It sounded deafeningly loud in the dark.

“Come on, wake up.” He continued whispering “We need you alive.”

No answer came but her quiet breaths.

Cautiously he leaned down and pressed his ear to her chest. Her heartbeat was quiet but steady, persisting.

A wave of calm washed over him and for the first time since entering the Shadowcursed Lands, he relaxed.

Exhaustion from the day's events and his lingering fears weighed heavily on him.

He laid gently beside her and let the rhythmic pulse of her heart coax him into slumber.

Astarion chased off the druid when he’d come with the salve a few hours later, insisting that he’d apply it himself. Backing up his claim with the fact he had intimate familiarity with her form already. Her wounds had stopped bleeding but as the morning came, she still hadn't woken up.

" What should we do? We can’t stay at camp all day," Shadowheart pressed, infinitely curious to learn more about her mistress’ domain.

“Normally, I’d agree but we can’t exactly leave when Thiriann is in such a grievous condition,” Gale interjected.

"A single affliction won't subdue her for long; she's bound to rally soon," Lae’zel asserted confidently. “It will be beneficial for us to look for supplies in the meantime.”

“Lae’zel’s right, our rations won’t last long,” Shadowheart added, her siding with the Githyanki betraying her eagerness to explore this “endless darkness”.

"If it’s all the same to you I’d rather stay .I’m not exactly dying to go back out there.” Astarion said, refusing to admit he wouldn’t leave Thiriann’s side unless they dragged him away.

"I, too, will stay," Halsin offered, “But should you find anything regarding the curse, please do let me know.”

The days melded into one another, with the party venturing forth and returning at dusk, leaving Astarion and Halsin to keep vigil. Karlach spoke of a sanctuary amidst the curse and a meeting with a Baldurian legend—an idol from her youth— but Astarion couldn’t find it in him to care at the time.

He was starting to get annoyed at Thiriann’s insistence on not waking up. But deep inside he knew the irritation was covering up the dread, the thought of what it would mean if she really didn’t wake, or woke up as something much worse.

He cared about her, more than he was ready to admit. He hadn’t cared about anyone but himself for so long, maybe ever. Staring at her pale sunken face in bewilderment he wasn't sure how it'd happened.

 But there stretched out on his poor imitation of a bed she looked so small and fragile and he felt an overwhelming pull to do everything in his power to make her better. It itched under his skin along with thoughts of her that buzzed in his head day and night- when her wounds needed redressing, when to make her a new steam inhalation, when to push healing potion past her lips but slowly so she wouldn't choke, he even gave her a sponge bath to wash off the dried up blood.

He hadn’t eaten anything since they left the mountain pass, and his hunger was gnawing at him relentlessly. He realized he must have gotten spoiled in the last month if a mere few hungry days were getting him this worked up.

He supposed he could go hunt back at the mountain pass but that would require leaving her side and she needed him.

The thought occurred to him that he could ask one of his companions for some blood but their disdainful glances whenever Thiriann permitted him to feed dissuaded him. He also may have lashed out at them here and there in the last couple of days. Possibly hissed at Gale. But it's not like they would have agreed anyway, most of them had strictly told him not to look at their necks weeks ago when everything had come to light.The only person he could see accepting to give him some would scorch him alive. Perhaps if she bled into a cup, and he waited a day or two, it might cool to a tolerable temperature. A miserable sigh escaped him; desperation was setting in.

One evening, driven by necessity, he approached Shadowheart.

"What?" She asked flatly and he flinched at the chill in her stare, the words he needed to say caught in his throat.

"I was just wondering if you might have an extra healing potion for our dearest leader," he chickened out, coming up with an excuse on the spot.

Her eyes softened immediately, of course for Thiriann they would " Yes, of course."  she replied, delving into her bag. "You know, you don't have to bear the burden of her care alone. We're here to help."

"She's not a burden," he snapped, snatching the potion and striding away.

"That's not what I meant," she called after him, her words lost in the distance.

He contemplated asking Halsin for blood,he certainly had some to spare. But he wasn’t sure he liked the way Halsin looked at her. Or at him for that matter. He'd been around long enough to know what desire looked like and he did not want to deal with that right now.

No, he could wait. She'd wake soon and then he could hunt, once assured of her recovery.

As night enveloped the camp once again, he grabbed a book and settled beside her. He’d taken to reading to her out loud as of late. It made the tense quiet more bearable, and he liked the sound of his own voice so that was a plus. She seemed to enjoy his voice too before.

 “As the paladin of Sune stepped into the forbidden temple, his gaze met that of a striking dragonborn cleric.”

"I've encountered my share of daggers, sir. Best not to brandish yours so carelessly," Astarion mimicked in a feigned feminine tone.

"Rest assured, you've yet to lay your eyes on such a mighty weapon. Brace yourself to take my blessed greatsword," he continued, deepening his voice for the male character.

A snort interrupted his dramatic performance, and his gaze shifted to Thiriann's face. Her eyes were open, filled with mirth as she stared at him.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Please, do tell more about your mighty sword.” She bit her lip trying to contain her smile, her voice was rough as gravel, but she was talking, she was awake, she was herself and she was talking.

“Darling, you…” His voice broke, emotion swelling. “You finally stop being melodramatic and the first thing you do is ask about my greatsword? Not surprised at all, my dear.”

She openly laughed then, and he felt as if the shadow curse itself had lifted. He wanted to hug her, he wanted to kiss her, just any type of touch that solidified that she was alive, instead he stood there, frozen, held back by his insecurities as she struggled to sit up.

“How long was I out?” she asked, wincing as she sat up.

“Four days,” he replied, closing the book and rising to meet her gaze.

“What a right mess,” she groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “We should have been in Moonrise by now.”

“I think the others will forgive you dear. They thought the Shadowcurse might have claimed you for good.”

She went quiet at that, staring at her hands.

“Perhaps it did, for a while.”

He stared at her shocked while she continued.

“I journeyed to a place... elsewhere. Somewhere dark, devoid of wind, absent of sound. It reminded me of…” she hesitated “…somewhere I’d been before, years ago. The darkest place.” She smiled but it was a twisted thing, like it hurt to do so.

Shaking off the shadows of her recollection, she turned to him with concern. " And what about you? Did anyone else get hurt?”

“We got away unscathed. Some of us have better survival instincts, darling.” he quipped with playful arrogance.

She laughed again then, bringing more brightness into his tent.

"Forgive me for lacking your uncanny dodging abilities."

"One cannot expect to match such excellence," he gestured to himself, then with a quieter voice he added, “Just don’t do it again.”

She swallowed before looking away. “I’ll try.”

“Why am I in your tent?” she asked as her gaze wandered the canvas confines.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly leave you in the middle of camp like a drying fish now, could we?” he remarked with feigned exasperation.

“Oh…” she looked away guiltily, “Sorry for imposing on you like that.”

“Nonsense, darling, you know my tent is ever open for you, any time.” He tried to sound flirtatious but came out shockingly sincere at the end.

She smiled a little before standing up, a slight wobble betraying her weakness, but she steadied herself with determination.

“I am grateful for your hospitality, truly. But nature calls and I’m starving so I’ll head out.”

He was at her side in an instant, supporting her as her knee gave out on the first step.

“I’ve got you. Why don’t you let me help? The last thing we need now is to have you collapsing just as you've returned to us."

Thiriann bit her lip, considering his offer. She was pretty sure she could make it on her own but was reluctant to lose the feeling of his arms around her.

“I’d like that.”

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

Astarion stood around the edges of the shadows waiting for Thiriann to finish her business when he heard her call out. “What happened to my clothes?”

“They were torn beyond repair I’m afraid. We had to discard them.”

“Damn, that was the only good leather I could find in this wilderness.” She bemoaned “And what of my small clothes?”

"Those too," He failed to mention his involvement in the tearing of those.

She looked uncomfortable as she emerged from the bush.

“That was my last pair.”

“How unfortunate.” his tone lacking any semblance of genuineness.

She offered a wry smile and an eye roll in response.

“Shall we, my dear?” he extended his arm in mock imitation of a courtly gentleman.

"Your gallantry is most appreciated, good sir. Lead the way," she accepted, allowing herself to lean on him just a little during their walk back.

And for a moment his mind drifted, away from this curse ridden place and into the parks of the lower city. Holding hands just as they did now, walking to a blanket setup in spotted shade, a bottle of rich red wine waiting for them.

Stop it! He chastised himself.

What was the point of these childish fantasies? They could bring nothing but more misery.

She wouldn’t want these things with him and he shouldn’t be wanting them in the first place. It was all so stupid. It must have been her close proximity that was bringing these on, that and the fact he had to play her nurse for the last week and his hunger and all the romantic books he’d been reading by her bedside, lack of sleep, they were confusing him, urging him to look for something that wasn’t there, to hope for something that wouldn’t happen.

And yet when she leaned against his side a little more, he felt his breath catch in his throat as her warmth spread through his side.

"Do we have any eggs?" she asked suddenly, breaking his reverie.

"What?" he asked in confusion, as she released his arm and began sifting through a supply pack. They had reached the campfire before he noticed.

"Never mind, found some," she declared, settling down to prepare her meal.

Her knife danced through the vegetables with a speed and precision he hadn't seen from her before. She moved with such ease, like she'd done this thousands of times, tossing her ingredients swiftly into the frying pan with a few eggs and some spices that Gale had left lying about.

"You know how to cook," he stated even though there was a question in his voice.

"Because I made an omelette?" She asked incredulously.

"Because of the way you handle a blade," he clarified.

She raised an eyebrow at that, unsure if he was trying to make a sexual innuendo. Knowing him, probably he was.

“I wasn't sure you knew how to hold one, what with that debacle back at the forge.” He smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes at the memory.  The only other time he'd seen her actually attempt to use a knife was when she had failed spectacularly at cutting off the drow's head and he'd had to intervene to help.

“I'll have you know I'm actually quite decent with a dagger.” She replied arrogantly, waving her blade around in the air in a way that did not backup her claim at all.

"And yes, I can cook. Had my heart set on becoming a chef once upon a time," she confessed, her gaze lost in the flames. " I travelled all over to learn from the best.  The quests I've taken for some of my recipes..." A self-deprecating chuckle escaped her as she reminisced. "It all seems so trivial now."

She retrieved her meal from the fire and took a mouthful, not waiting for it to cool. She always preferred it hot anyway.

"You've never cooked for this lot. Not up to your master chef standards, are they? " He teased.

" It's not that but I'd rather it stay this way. If they knew, I'd be roped into cooking duty, and I much prefer being served. Besides, Gale's ego might not survive any more competition."

"Understandable," he conceded, appreciating the appeal of having your meal delivered to your bed every night.

"So only you know my little secret. I’m trusting you to keep it." She said, trying to sound mischievous.

This is so typical of her, he thought with some exasperation. Her 'secrets' were nothing more than hidden talents and achievements. Nothing dark lingered around her, no deep pools of morally questionable choices. Sometimes it was infuriating how innocent she was.

" We should introduce you to a bit of corruption if these are the worst of your secrets, darling," he jested, turning back to the fire, oblivious to the shadow that crossed her face.

" We all have things that haunt us, Astarion," she replied after a pause, her voice heavy and unexpectedly sad.

He looked at her then. For the longest time, he'd felt like he'd had the most world experiences than anyone in their group because he'd been alive the longest. Thiriann's naivete especially made her seem so childish to him sometimes. Like she barely even knew the types of people that lived out there, all the possible worst the world could offer.

But looking at her now he finally saw her experiences etched upon her face. She looked worn down, aged, her shoulders slumped in defeat and her eyes filled with misery and acceptance.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that they didn't know each other at all.

That was understandable, they’d barely known one another for a month, and most of the time they were running around in some crisis or another.

What didn’t make sense though was his desire for that to change. He wanted to know what made her look like that, and to never speak of it again just to avoid seeing this misery in her.

But once again he remained motionless, caught in the uncertainty of how to reach out and offer the comfort she so clearly needed. So, he just nodded.

“You can talk to me, you know. We are technically in this together. “ He said in the end, his voice soft but uncharacteristically serious.

“Before I was taken by the Nautiloid, long before, there was a man I knew.” She began, uncertainty evident in her voice probably wondering if he was even interested in hearing her out. He turned his body fully towards her, trying his hardest to convey he was listening.

 “He was my senior, my commander. I served under him for years. And he was a right asshole, never had a kind word to say. You could do everything right and he’d still have a ready plethora of insults to throw at you. Our troops hated him almost as much as the enemy.”

She smiled faintly as if this was the fondest part of her memory.

"But he was also fiercely loyal, utterly devoted to the woman he loved. I admired him for that. He would do anything for her, even the most heinous acts. I thought there was something noble in that blind devotion."

Astarion scoffed. "Your ideas of romance are rather twisted, aren't they, darling?"

She shrugged, not particularly offended."Too many lonely years and trashy books, I suppose."

He grimaced, her answer hitting too close to home.

It’s not that he was in any position to lecture her on the matter given his own ideas of what was considered romantic came from much the same way.

“So, what happened to this rude smitten fool? I presume he met his grim end running after his lady’s coattails?” he asked unable to shake off the bitterness.

“Yeah, you could say that.”she replied and Astarion’s smirk fell as he saw the grim look on her face.

“When the tides of war turned and it became clear we’d lose and be accused of treason, we were instructed to infiltrate the rebellion ranks, a last-ditch effort to gather intelligence. But no further orders never came. Instead, we were sent to eliminate a hostile entity.

When we got there he already knew. Hells He had orchestrated it all. He wanted to die by our hands, by my hands..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes filled with a profound sadness.

 "I had to be a part of it, couldn't stop it, couldn't run away, couldn't…" She shook her head trying to push away the memory.

Astarion understood this feeling all too well. The helplessness, the forced complicity in acts he never wanted.

 A sudden overwhelming feeling of sadness and pity settled in his chest at the thought that she knew what those things felt like.

"You were a pawn in their game, nothing more. A toy to be manipulated," he said, his voice gentle. "It's pointless to blame yourself when you couldn't have changed anything. The best thing to do is forget and move on."

She nodded, a sad smile playing on her lips. "That’s easier said than done." she whispered.

“I know.” He said, voice filled with a quiet understanding as he handed her a bottle.

She accepted the wine, taking a deep swig without tasting it at all.

A moment passed before she spoke, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“He died an asshole, lived an asshole and no one mourned him.”

“Except you.” 

“Except me ," she confirmed, her gaze drifting back to the dancing flames. Lost in the countless memories, she seemed to relive a bygone era.

“He gave the most insane orders sometimes," she murmured, breaking the silence. "Once, he commanded us to hurl bird droppings at the enemy, a tactic he called 'psychological warfare'."

Astarion's brow furrowed in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

A wry smile crept across her lips. "Oh, I am. And it worked. The look of utter confusion on their faces was priceless."

“Tell me everything.” Astarion said, his curiosity sufficiently piqued.

As the night progressed, he could see her eyelids were getting heavy, her words slurred slightly as she slumped more and more. Soon they'd both retreat to their respective beds and settle for the night. His tent looked strangely dark and lonesome despite being close to the fire.

A gust of wind flew past them followed by an unsettling howl from the shadows and she shivered.

She looked at him with uncertainty and what he was sure was longing, resembling a stray puppy waiting at someone's doorstep.

“Thank you again for… before and for tonight, for staying with me. I-I’m not sure when was the last time someone did this for me. “

She looked at him with so much gratitude in her eyes and heat bloomed in his chest, making his heart clench.

Her words were plain, just a simple thank you yet they unexpectedly lodged in his chest. When was the last time someone had thanked him for anything? Or he done something worthy of gratitude?

“Don’t mention it,dear. I should leave you to rest.” He said preparing to walk out trying his damnest not to betray how his composure had crumbled.

“Astarion,” she called out after him “when was the last time you fed?”

“Well, you know,” he started gesturing with a flair “I pop out to hunt every now and then.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re starving.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and he had to ask himself how could she possibly know.

“Come, you can feed from me if you’d like.”

He balked at her, outraged.  “Have you lost your mind, darling? You just woke up.”

“I’m fine,I’m just tired.” She waved him off “The curse has left my body completely.”

He eyed her uncertainly. The thought of drinking from her now made him uneasy but even at her mere suggestion, he could feel his hunger resurfacing. His eyes trailed to her neck involuntarily and he felt his stomach clench violently at the sight. He hated this part of himself, more beast than man in his uncontrollable desire. But holding back was never his strong suit and when she’d offered so willingly, it was harder than ever to resist.

“Why don’t you come back to my tent then?” He asked suddenly “It will save you from the draft and we could have ourselves a little privacy.”

Laying her down on the pillows that he’d arranged his eyes drifted once more to her neck. He swallowed painfully, his throat dry as a desert.

 “Are you really sure?” He heard himself murmur.

“Yes,I’ll be alright. Now come here.” She moved to make space for him.

That warm bubble of affection in his chest which he'd largely been ignoring was pushing insistently at his ribs as he stared at her bright blue eyes.

Sliding his body over hers, Astarion lowered himself on top of her. He bit quickly, trying to minimize her pain.

Finally, it was as if a damn burst and all of the feelings he had felt the last few days- the fear of losing her, the stress of her illness, the relief of her finally awakening and the incredible joy of her blood - were threatening to overwhelm him. She was so warm and so alive and he felt that very life essence flow into him filling him with happiness and comfort.

He groaned into her neck, needy and desperate and it set her skin on fire. Lost in the sensations he let his body guide him closer and closer to her. Their bodies slotted together, her breasts pressing up into his chest, one of his legs sliding between hers.

Moving back from her neck he kissed her, momentarily forgetting his lips were still coated with her blood. He tried to pull away once the realization hit but she chased him with her lips unwilling to let them part.

As he dipped his tongue into her hot, wet mouth he found that it is not enough. She wanted him and he wanted more, more heat, more connection.

He could feel his body responding to her already. Her fresh blood going straight to fuelling his arousal.

She squirmed under him, dragging her thigh against his length sending a jolt of pleasure through him and he instinctively ground against it, trying to prolong the sensation. At the same time, he pressed his leg against her core forcing her to gasp into his mouth.

He was such a fool. But no one before had made him feel this way, no one had compared to her. 

Out of all the feelings he had learned to suppress, he had no experience dealing with this one in particular. He had tried to nip it in the bud but now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop or that he could even stop it.

Maybe some part of him had wanted to fall for her. Wanted to allow himself to feel once again. Up until recently he hadn’t even considered love a possibility. What a terribly cliche way to realize one's feelings.

He glided his hand down her robe undoing the ties holding it together. She was still fully nude under and he wasted no time grasping a breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She reached for his shirt trying to untuck it from his pants but the gesture brought a wave of unease so he swiftly grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it over his head. He nudged her knee with his own, fully settling between her legs and she wasted no time pulled him in for another hungry kiss. With their naked chests pressed together, he could feel her heartbeat against his ribs as if it were his own.

They ground against each other, the feeling of his leather pants against her naked cunt only fuelling her desire. She gasped at the contact and arched her back into him, her nails digging into his shoulders. He could feel her scorching heat against his member even through his pants and felt himself throb in response. Thiriann reached down to unlace them but he stopped her hands.

“Not until you’re ready for me, darling.”

She whined in protest but moved her hands back. Having her obediently listen to him always managed to bring a small thrill of excitement.

He reached between their bodies dragging his fingers over her centre. She was wet but not wet enough, it would most likely hurt if he entered her now. He started lowering himself down her body, but felt her tensing under him, her hands on his shoulders squeezing firmly, keeping him in place.

“No, don’t go.” She pleaded.

“Don't worry, I'm here, love.”

 “I want you inside me, can we…like this?”

"You'll have to come first, darling. Do that for me, just relax, I’ve got you.”

Astarion glanced at her face, intent on watching her expression as he eased his finger into her. She groaned at the intrusion but tried to breathe through the temporary discomfort. Moving carefully, he began pumping his finger in and out of her, focused on opening her up. Slowly she melted under his gentle ministrations and when he dragged his finger over that place inside of her, she couldn’t stop herself from moaning his name. Her quiet breathy mews filled his tent as he continued to assault the delicate spot causing her eyes to roll back and her back to arch into him.

It felt unexpectedly embarrassing to be able to feel his muscles moving between them as he pleasured her. His soft gasps of effort by her ear combined with the scent of his sweat and perfume filling her nostrils proved more erotic than she was prepared for. Sooner than she would have liked she was nearing her climax.

“Come for me love, I can tell you’re almost there.” he whispered in her ear.

A furious blush took over her cheeks despite the blood loss but she did just that.  Moaning his name she came, her walls spasmed around him squeezing his finger so tight he feared it might break. She relaxed back into the pillows and he gave her a moment to recover, marvelling at the slick that now dripped down her thighs.

As he reached to unlace his pants, a part of him hesitated, the unease he felt every time before bedding someone would stubbornly not leave him alone. He still pushed it down.  Having no patience to fight himself he opened his breeches and swiftly took out his cock. 

Rocking his hips slowly against her opening, he inched his way inside before pushing forward and bottoming out in one swift movement. A soft sigh left his lips at how warm she was, how welcoming her body felt.

“Does this feel good, darling?” he asked, giving a few slow, experimental thrusts; she was still so very tight around his cock he could barely move.

“Gods,yes-...You know it does,” she pouted and he smirked, kissing her once again.

He set a gentle pace, pulling nearly all the way out of her before languidly rolling his hips forward, inch by inch, drawing moans from both of their throats. “You’re going to have to be quiet, you know,” he whispered against her ear.

He finished one particularly delicious thrust, groaning and burying his face in her neck, trying to muffle the sound. “Gods, you feel good,” he mumbled, luxuriating in the feel of her pressing around his cock, hot and wet and soft as silk.

Wordless little noises of pleasure escaped her as she started to rock back against him, joining into the rhythm he had set. Their motions felt like the waves of the ocean crashing against the sea. But his movements soon became practiced as instinct started to take over and he felt himself submerge into the fog despite his efforts to stay in the moment. He wanted to be here, with her, feeling this connection but his mind slipped away, beaches and vast waters behind his eyelids.

Suddenly he felt her grip his shoulders and push against him. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was the tent canvas before the rest of the surroundings began to come to him. The blanket that was under him, the stacks of books by side and various bottles of potions and blood strewn about. And finally, the woman on top of him who was straddling him now. The gentle feeling of her as she ground her hips against him and her glowing eyes attracting him like a moth to a flame.

“Oh? Are you looking for a ride, darling?” he teased, surprising himself at how even his voice sounded.

Thiriann answered him by leaning down, hair falling around him like wavy black curtains so she could kiss him again. He gripped her supple thighs as she rode him, savouring the sensation of her wrapping tightly around his length as they licked into each other's mouths, tongues sliding against one another.

She lifted herself up over him, letting her hands wander up and down his front, watching his muscles tighten and relax under the gentle pressure. Her fingers brushed over one of his nipples and she relished in the shudder the gesture drew out of him. He groaned, eyelids fluttering as she began to move earnestly on top of him.

Instinctively he gripped her hips pulling her down hard on his length causing them both to moan.

“That’s…cheating-” she gasped out as he kept thrusting from under her, refusing to surrender the upper hand.

“You were expecting me to play fair?” he smirked at her amused and Thiriann rolled her eyes. Taking the momentary distraction, he rolled them again and pined her under him once more.

“Fuck!” she hissed into his mouth but he didn't let her recover as he began bucking into her with desperate urgency. Driving deeper and deeper with every thrust he could feel the wetness gushing out of her, soaking him and the robe under her. She spread her legs further allowing him to pump freely as she held onto his shoulders, dragging her nails over his skin but keeping them far above his scars. He growled into her neck as her heat squeezed him impossibly tighter trying to draw him in even closer.

She saw stars as he ground his hips against hers, putting just enough pressure on her clit to push her over the edge.

“Astarion -” That was all she managed to get out before she came, hard, spasming and clenching violently around his cock. Ripples of pleasure spread through her body as her sweet moans slipped into his ear like sobs in tandem with the rhythmic contractions.

He bit into her neck again and followed her over, groaning into the mess he’d made of her throat. She held him as he shook with it, pleasure obliterating his every thought and for a moment there was nothing but the blissful sensations of her warmth. Half-gasps, half-moans spilled out of his throat as he rode the aftershocks, fangs buried deep in her neck.

After his body stopped shuddering and the fog of pleasure lifted, Astarion finally collapsed on top of her bringing a soft sigh from her lips.

He felt he should get up, move away, and dress himself but he didn't want to leave, to go out of her vicinity where the cold would surely sweep in and chill him to the bone. He wanted to stay here in her arms, to soak in the warmth of her body, of her presence. Every inch between them felt too much, too long.

He relaxed onto her further, head still buried in the crook of her neck and she could tell he had fallen asleep. Unusual as it was, he drew breath even in slumber, the gentle cold exhales caressing her collarbone. The way he curled up further reminded her of a cat, maybe an overgrown undead cat. He hissed like one too when irritated.  A wave of protectiveness surged within her and she wrapped her arms tighter around him. He would probably hate it but this felt nice, holding him like this, enjoying the security of his embrace and keeping him safe in hers, next to her heart.

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Bittersweet Savior

Gojo x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Things quickly go awry when you get sent on an emergency mission with your lover. When you both get split up, it's not long before this mission turns into a different kind of emergency.

Warnings: Profanity, Blood, Descriptions of reader getting their ass absolutely handed to them, Near death experience.

SMACK

The last thing you expected when you got sent on this mission with Satoru was to be launched through a wall by your fucking face. But as you blinked your eyes open through the incessant ringing and metallic taste on your tongue willing them to stay closed, you realized that this mission may have been a little (a lot) above your pay grade. The chewing out you were going to give Yaga after this mission might even rivel whatever injury Satoru’s going to tear you a new one for. At this point it seemed like the higher ups were trying to kill you.

You were barely able to stand up on shaky legs and a shitty sense of balance from your clearly concussed mind, but you managed. Alas, you stumbled, hand shooting out to what was left of the decimated wall for balance, as your other hand came up to use your technique. When, again, your body was shoved back in to the pile of rubble you had just climbed from. Your back hit the concrete with a sickening crunch, and a wail left you when you felt pain explode along your shoulder blades and cascade down your back like molten lava. Your head fell back, your neck resting at an odd angle as you sat locked in a world of agony. You tried your best to breath though it, but your chest heaved as you attempted to get your bearings. The next time someone at the school told you to fucking box breathe to cope during missions, was the day you would be put to death for murder.

The curse was seemingly toying with you as it stalked towards you with a sadistic grin, it’s skin a grotesque green with shell like shield formations covering it, It’s armor barely chipping against your prior use of your technique. You gritted your teeth upon realizing Gojo hadn’t returned since the cursed spirit had split you up with it’s multiple copies crowding the man. And if he was having trouble getting through multiple of them, it meant that this was a special grade, and your chances of getting through this one were slim to none.

Your body had become essentially numb to the pain as you backed yourself up the piled of rubble, your hands gripping the concrete as it sliced through your palms. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the crackles of pain shooting off along your spine as you tried to steady your breathing for the second time. Your hand raised as it curled into a fist, focusing your cursed energy into your palm as you let go of your middle and ring finger. Your technique manifested as a slice of wind launched towards the curse, cutting through the ground in its wake as it hurdled its way towards its target. You could hear it howl as it sliced through the air, tearing up the existing rubble and raking up pieces of it with its momentum.

The curse was flung onto its back as it collided with your cursed energy, throwing it across the ground, pieces of concrete and rock chipped at its armor as it was dragged further and further from you. You watched it tumble, rolling over a couple times as it’s hands gripped at the ground in a desperate attempt to slow its speed, despite the blade of wind actively shoving it further. Your technique only stopped when it slammed the cursed spirit into a building, the structure swaying at the impact as a cloud of dust and debris surfaced from the landing. A silence fell over the barren what once was a street, now more of a warzone, but it was short lived as you saw movement from among the cloud. It didn’t take long for the spirit to get up again, and your heart plummeted as you realized how little your technique did to it. It screeched as it got up, the sound piercing your eardrums as you flinched from the jolt of pain it sent through you.

A switch seemed to flip in your mind as you shot up, getting up off the rubble, deciding that it would be better to flee with your life than to try and fight a losing battle. Your palms left bloody handprints on the bits of rock and shale as you scrambled to get off the pile, feet clambering down the pile of blood-stained cement as you pushed yourself off of it, feet hitting solid ground as you broke into a sprint. You stumbled the slightest bit, but righted yourself as you attempted to fend off the violent nausea that plagued your sense of balance and direction. A steady burn started in your lungs as your fatigued body tried to keep up with the added exertion, your feet clapping against the ground as you ran with everything you had left in you.

Adrenaline shot through you when a solid object was thrown into your side, the shrapnel cutting through your hip and throwing you off balance as you were mercilessly thrown to the ground. Your body skidded across the tarmac as the wind was knocked out of you, coming to a stop as you hiccupped, heaving in a futile attempt to get air into your lungs. A grotesque wheezing sound came from you as you tried yet again, the strain in your chest finally letting up as you greedily sucked in mouthfuls of air. A sense of dread settled in the pit that had formed in your stomach, your throat closing up as a sense of panic took hold of you. You didn’t need to look down to know that the freshly made wound in your side was bleeding heavily, you could tell from how cold it felt when the wind brushed against it. You sensed that the absence of pain was due to shock, and that only meant that the injury was severe enough for your body to block it out. Your forehead came to rest on the hard asphalt, your body shaking from the shock your body was put under as you quickly weighed your options.

You assessed your physical state, and you really didn’t need to think too hard as you deduced that you were entirely fucked.

You had essentially accepted your fate by the time you had flipped over, and for a brief moment you wondered how Shoko would react to seeing your corpse in the mortuary. You felt the faintest sense of guilt at that sentiment, maybe if you had defected like Suguru, maybe you’d have been able to spare her the disappointment of seeing another one of her childhood friends exit the Jujutsu world, only this time in a body bag.

SMACK

That thought was quickly interrupted as the curse was kindly launched through a wall by it’s fucking face.

You didn’t even get a chance to process the relief at this development, as you saw a platinum head of hair pop in your vision and a hand come to pull his blindfold off as he stared down at you with those damn near blinding blue eyes of his. A grin spread across his features, a chuckle emanating from him as he looked you over.

“You don’t look so hot, princess.” He remarked slyly.

“Oh yeah, I’m great, thanks for asking.” You wheezed, hand coming to press into your side with a hiss. You flinched at the pressure, beginning to feel the warmth of your own blood flow through the spaces between your fingers. You felt the large divot that was now engraved in your side, and blinked up at Gojo when you saw his expression falter at the amount of blood beginning to pool around you. His signature smile fell slightly, silently examining you before pivoting around to face the curse head on.

“Just give me a minute to deal with this.” He said softly, and you nodded your head lightly. “Take all the time you need.” You hummed, a soft groan falling out of you as the shock began to wear off. You began to feel the steady thrum of pain throb through your being, squirming slightly as you laid on the ground.

You could hear the shuffle of rubble through the soft ringing in your ears. One second your eyes were on Satoru, and the next he had vanished, you barely had a second to flick your eyes over to the curse as you heard him sprint towards it with frightening speed. You saw his figure practically fly through the air as he cocked his leg back only to swing it at the cursed spirit. With a sickening crack, the curses head flew through the air, splitting it’s armor and leaving a stump in it’s wake. You flinched at the sight, tearing your eyes away as you heard its head roll across the dust scattered road.

You blinked and he was at your side yet again, face unreadable as he directed both of your hands over to your sliced open side. “Keep pressure on it.” He said, eyes flicking over your face as you laughed weakly. “Aww, c’mon don’t be like that, what happened to the cocky Satoru that never takes anything serious?” You joked, wincing as you obeyed his order, forcing your hands harder into your side. You struggled to keep pressure on it as you began to shake, hands trembling as they began to feel sticky from the blood.

“Shut up.” He scoffed, scooping one hand under your legs and another under your shoulders as he hoisted you up. A yell of pain left you at the movement, and his face fell the slightest bit as he adjusted you in his hold. “You’re pale, I’ve gotta get you to Shoko.” He stated softly, voice laced with a twinge of- dare you say- concern? Your laugh came out as more of a weak wheeze, head leaning against his shoulder as you stared up at him. “Yeah, I dunno about you but-“ you sucked in a breath of air, finding it getting harder to breathe as you gritted your teeth. “People usually get pale when they’re bleeding out.” You finished, eyebrows furrowing as a wave of nausea hit you.

A small smirk crept onto his face as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, your figure dipping the slightest bit with the movement. “I wouldn’t know, never bled out before.” He said with a huff. You snickered, shaking your head lightly as laughter wracked through you. A wave of pain hit you immediately after, and you tensed in his hold. “Ugh you’re such a dick.”

Your eyes slipped closed as you rested your head against his chest, feeling your surroundings change as you snapped them open again in surprise. You quickly took note of the beds that took up the room, and your jaw fell in astonishment as you blinked in shock. Your eyes flickered up to him, Brows knitting together in confusion as you realized what he had done. “Did you just-“

He cut you off, cocking a brow as he spoke. “Warp you to the infirmary? You really thought I was going to let you bleed out in the street? Wow, you wound me. Truly I don’t think I could ever recover-“ You cut him off with a soft slap to the chest, the action leaving a bloody handprint on his pristine white shirt. A groan sounding from you as you listen to him ramble about your subsequent betrayal.

“Just set me down and go get Shoko before you’re the one that ends up in a recovery bed.”

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

An Invisible Thread | Illyrian Warrior!Bucky x Fae!Reader | Oneshot - 5k

After the war with Hybern your village is left defenceless. Despite only having picked up a sword to play with your brothers, you’re sent into the wilds of your island to track down the monster that has been stealing from the farms. 

But the monster is also on the move, and it won’t just be your limited skills as a hunter that are required to tame it or just your village that's pushing you to find it.

Warnings: the biggest warning here is Illyrian!Bucky, 18+ for language maybe, nothing scary here. Injuries, whump, hurt/comfort, some fluff, ACOTAR themes including fated mates/mating bonds. Rated W for whump and F for fluffy

Created for @buckybarnesevents Alternate Juniverse with all four prompts - fae, hunter, nurse and monster.

A/N: No ACOTAR knowledge required apart from Illyrian’s have big bat like wings and are hot as fuck. 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

You stood at the edge of the village, one hand on the pommel of your father’s sword and the other tucked into the fur lined pocket of your cape. 

After the war with Hybern the village’s protector’s had been depleted and, though you’d never shied away from practising with the bow and sword alongside your brothers, you had never imagined that you would become your communities only hope of protection. More suited to healing wounds than causing them, you shied away from the responsibility as much as you could. Spending your time replenishing your stocks of herbs and ointments and checking on the older residents of the village. 

Honestly, you hadn’t imagined there’d be any need for you to protect anyone. But then, isolated as you were on the Western Isles, you’d never thought that war could touch you either in your community of lesser fae. You’d never been bothered before, content to live quietly and ask for nothing. Yet here you were, back to the decimated houses and cottages of your villages, poised to leave them to hunt a monster. 

If the rumours were true, though, rumours of a beast running amok in the wild forest along the coast, then you had no choice. 

With a final look back at the squat white washed cottage where you’d left your mother, you set out towards your destiny. 

Across the island, by the shore, a towering figure bent to drink from the ice meltwater trickling into the sea beyond. 

Blood dripped from their open mouth and they howled as the salt water mixed with the fresh. They raised themselves again and slunk back into the shadows of the forest, following the waterline. 

—

As you trudged you recounted the tale the farmers had told at the inn the night before. A huge beast, black as night, had been spotted raiding their barn. The island was small enough that everyone knew each other, every sheep and cow and ploughed furrow was accounted for by name and the farmers shared the large barn that stood guard over the far end of the open fields. No stranger could have arrived without them knowing, no stranger could have tied their boat without the fishermen being alert. 

But this thing was no man, it was a beast, a fury, sent to torment them and the assembled village had turned to you. 

If it truly was a beast, something that could fly and steal cattle and destroy crops as the farmers claimed then you had no clue how you would slay such a thing. Your sword was heavy and sharp, but your skills were still basic no matter how you tried, this was not your calling. Your bow was taught and your arrows true, but practising with your brothers was a jest. 

After the weeks and months without them, perhaps it would be a blessing to sacrifice yourself for the village as they had. To be relieved of the torment of their passing. 

Sighing you pulled a hard biscuit from your pack and continued on into the dense trees that occupied one side of the island. You could remember far enough back to when the forest took over almost the whole island, your brothers and father clearing a space for the now well tilled farmland that insulated the village from the wildness beyond. The forest and the farm lived together side by side, each animal and plant having its own sacred place within the system. Each farmer conscious of keeping the wheel moving each season. 

No one had ever feared the forest as they did now. 

Your first night amid the trees past uneventfully, used to spending most of your time outside the creatures of the night didn’t scare you, neither did they fear you, choosing to approach your fireside. You weren’t entirely convinced of their being a beast within the forest either, no beast liked to cross the salt sea from the mainland, even if they could escape the Prison, there would be little for a monster here. You told yourself over and over, as sleep took you, that any monster would head to the middle, and not to the Isles. 

It seemed more likely that there was something trapped in the trees. Nevertheless you made sure to set traps around the clearing before finally laying down to sleep. 

There was a light in the forest, smoke pluming briefly before dying down into soft trails of grey that mixed with the iron sky, fading into the stars as the moon rose. Tempted by the smell it approached, its gait unsteady in the soft ground, weighed down by its own body, blood still spilling into the dry leaves. 

Closer, closer,  heaving its mighty body along the ridge of rocks that crawled across the middle of the island. It had been this way before, it had taken vegetables and savoured the earthy taste of them, raw and unwashed against its tongue. It had slipped into the barn and stolen a pail of fresh milk, still warm and buttery. 

Perhaps the smoke meant more food. But its body was tired, it groaned and slumped against a tree, wrapping into itself, a darkness thicker and colder than the world around. 

In the morning you kicked dirt over the small fire, putting out the flame. The forest was still yours to protect, even if it did harbour a threat. 

You’d sharpened your sword before sleeping, leaving it unsheathed by your side. Every arrow in your quiver had new fletching, the ash carefully crafted from the few small trees the village grew at its centre, a protection against any further cruelty coming to your shores. 

The forest was alive in the brisk early morning air, the sky pink and lilac through the canopy, rising with the mist like a slumbering dragon, stretching and yawning into a bright spring day. 

As you ventured deeper you found the ground already disturbed. When you were younger you may have doubted yourself, wondering if the tracks were your own. But you could navigate well enough now, the sun high above you leaning into the west of the island, its heat peaking. 

Whatever it was that had stumbled through here had done so some days ago, dragging itself if the scars in the soft soil were true. It was larger than you as well, larger by at least a foot. You trained your eyes up into the trees and sure enough there were broken branches there too. 

At a trot you ran between the trees, following the path of broken twigs and scored earth. There was something else, something in the air by each tree, metallic, like iron. Blood, you could almost taste it it was so strong. But it wasn’t until the seventh tree that you saw it, marked high on the bark, as if this tall beast had propped themself against it, a red smear. And underneath there were a few bones, feathers and leftover vegetables.

If this was a beast, it was a beast that didn’t like carrot tops.

It grew tired again. Sooner than last time. It looked into the sky, its eyesight blurring, as it made its way back to the cave it had begun to call home. Inside its howls were louder, but at least the rain couldn’t find a way in, at least the air was warm and the ground soft. 

It lay down and closed its eyes. 

The sky turned darker, thick clouds billowing overhead, the muggy heat of an oncoming storm weighing you down. It was too far to return to your village, you’d never make it before the rain started and you knew what could happen if the lightning struck the trees, so a camp in the forest was out of the question. 

At this rate you could make the other coast before the sunset and you knew there would be shelter there in the rocky outcrops before the dunes crept into the island. With a sigh you hefted your pack higher and began the uneasy walk through the rougher terrain. 

The rain began to fall just as you crested over the cliff top. A fisherman had advised you of the safest ways across this portion of the island but your feet still slipped on the shale as you made your way down the rocky face. You’d spotted the cave while the sun was still high. With a view down the banks of rock and sand it gave you a good look out, close enough to the woods for shelter but open enough to watch the weather change. On closer inspection there was a significant plateau in front of the cave, perhaps enough to start a small fire to heat the stone inside and cook something hot if you were lucky. 

Slowly you inched closer, sword drawn in case something wild was also sleeping inside. You hadn’t seen the blood trail for some time but you had a lingering sense of something that had you tightening your grip on the handle. It tugged at you, tempting you closer and making your heart beat wildly. 

Once inside the lip of the cave you dropped your pack and pulled out a box of tinder and some twigs you’d collected along the way, stacking up the kindling into a small fire. But without the light from the sun it was hard to even find a spark. With a sigh you abandoned your plans for heat and decided to set out your blanket and try to sleep instead, hopefully that strange feeling would pass while you dreamt and you could wake up refreshed and ready to search anew. 

The raindrops were heavier now, fat and cold and insistent, driving you deeper into the cave in search of a dry space where the wind couldn’t blow the weather inside.

As your eyes adjusted to the dusky darkness you began to pick out details of the cave, the jagged rocks on the other side, the low rock just right for resting your sword and bow on and, at the back, something large. The darkness seemed to move differently there, a different shade of black that sucked the light from the rest of the cave. Whatever it was, it was huge but still. 

Slowly you reached for your dagger, too frightened to lunge for your sword in case it made the darkness move too. But it stayed still. Carefully, you moved your feet over the rocky ground, your toes light and body ready to fight. 

The darkness didn’t move, but it did make a noise, a deep grumble and for a moment you wondered whether it was the darkness inside or the darkness outside that had startled you. 

Then it moved, slow and deliberate, the darkness expanded and flared outwards, turning towards you and despite everything your brother’s had taught you, despite your own mind begging you to stay silent - you screamed. 

It hurt, it hurt everywhere and all of the time. Its body ached, its stomach felt concave from lack of food and its head pounded from dehydration. The storm was close, the wind spoke to it through the rustle of the trees and the feel of the salt air, it spoke to it and told it to sleep, that the storm would pass but it should sleep. It shifted, stretching its aching body -

And then there was a scream. 

You lurched back, scrambling for your sword as you fell, grasping for anything that would protect you from the monster that continued to grow before your eyes. Up and up it stood filling the entire back of the cave, its body unfurling and its wings spreading into the rock above. The tip of one unholy claw scratched at the cave roof and you screamed again, turning to run from it, to take your chances in the rain rather than stay a moment with this beast. But it had other ideas, reaching for you with one huge arm it grabbed you and held you, the other came up to cover your mouth, its hand so large its thumb pressed against your nose. 

Not a monster. A male. With hands and arms, tanned and windburnt from days in the forest. 

“Please, stop screaming.” It growled again and you went silent but you didn’t still, wriggling and writhing in an attempt to free yourself. “Please,” it said again, and it was almost sad, pleading. So you stopped. 

He held you tight against his chest, his heart hammering, his muscles burning with the effort of his movement. Steadily he lowered you to the floor, careful to avoid the rocks that might trip or scratch you, and then let himself slide down the cave wall until he was once more huddled on the floor. 

“Please, don’t scream - my head.” He bent to lay his forehead against his knees, “the storm, lightning in the trees, don’t.”

He was so weak, so worried, so tired, he allowed his eyes to close, focusing on the sound of you moving. 

“Don’t.” He repeated and your footsteps moved again, closer, little rocks skudding under your boots, and then a small palm on the back of his neck. 

“You have a fever.” Your voice was gentle, now that the screaming had stopped, and your touch a relief, so cold, so soothing. “Rest.” 

Now that he wasn’t towering over you, there was something vulnerable and sad about the so-called monster. His voice stuttered as he begged you for quiet and, against your better judgement, you allowed the sound of rain rushing over the lip of the rock and into the sea to fill the space, echoing into the cavern like a heartbeat. 

Lightning flashed, lighting up half of his face in clammy, pale light. You took a step towards him, still wary, still conscious of the stories told to you by your brothers, and you touched his neck where his hair had fallen away in long strands about his face. His skin was clammy too and cold to the touch, but he shivered nevertheless. 

“You have a fever.” You said, matter of fact, “rest.” 

He nodded and all but fell sideways into the blanket roll tucked against one side of the cave. 

“You too.” He grunted, and for the first time you assessed your own damp clothes and the way you’d begun to shiver. Quickly you stripped out of your waxed cape and boots, placing them carefully in a dry spot. Your shirt and vest were dry, protected by the cape, but the long trousers you’d worn were soaked through. 

Peering at the male you made sure his breathing was steady and even before you removed your trousers and slipped between your folded blanket in just your shirt and cotton bloomers.

Sleep did not come easily for the male. He kept to his side of the cave but his fever made him grunt and shout in his sleep, his arms and hands lashing out along with his thrashing body. So you didn’t sleep, you observed him instead. Waiting for dawn to break the storm. 

Even in the moonlight he was still big, tall and broad, his muscles showing even through the dark leather and ripped linen of his clothes. And he was winged. The source of the fear and confusion for your neighbours, as well as yourself. Airborne he must have looked as majestic as he was terrifying. An Illyrian warrior, so far from home, circling the village. No wonder those who had glimpsed him had been afraid. 

Now those enormous wings were tucked around him, glowing a deep red every time the lightning crashed across the sky, tiny veins picked out around the edges as well as a large gash in his left wing. It lay almost limp on the ground while the right was tucked in tight to his side. It looked painful and blood oozed slowly from the delicate membrane but only slowly. The cut to his side looked much worse. 

The sun was almost back now, a wan light filtering into the cave and allowing you to survey the Illyrian more closely, especially the cuts and bruises that littered his body. 

At some point, he had removed part of his leather armour, discarding it to one side where the dark blue siphon blinked with light whenever he groaned. Without the protection of the armour and siphon, his side was entirely revealed through the matching cut in his shirt. It was deep and already looked swollen at the edges - infected, you were sure, probably the cause of the clammy fever. 

Despite yourself you allowed your tired eyes to rove over his body, the gaps in his shirt revealing the details of his toned chest, the swirling black ink running from his left arm, up over his shoulders and then down between his pecs and towards the v of his abdomen where the ink disappeared among a smattering of hair. 

Heat flooded your cheeks. He was an injured male, an Illyrian warrior, a revered race bound to protect your people. You were certainly not supposed to be drooling after him while he slept. 

You swallowed heavily and tried to concentrate on his needs, rather than your own. 

Daring to look again you followed the tattoos back up towards his face, long dark hair still tangled at his shoulders, a stubbled beard covered his chin, his lips tilting into a smile because - oh -  his eyes were open, bright summer sky blue, and tracking your every move. 

“Hello,” he croaked and watched as you shuffled back against the wall. 

He closed his eyes again, as if even having them open was painful. 

“Hello,” you whispered, keeping a keen eye trained on him. 

“I’m Bucky,” he said, his head still pounded. “Can you pass me the canteen from my pack?” Without looking he gestured behind him. 

“Yes.” 

He listened to the sound of you moving and then the cool metal of the canteen touched his fingers. You introduced yourself but as soon as he started to move you hurried back to your side of the cave.

Slowly, so as not to frighten you, he sat up and took a long swig before offering it to you. 

You looked tired, wrecked, but not injured. You were back under your own blanket and he noticed the too-big trousers you’d been wearing were now carefully arranged on a rock to dry. Bucky hummed to himself, that was why you’d scurried back when he’d opened his eyes. 

Your eyes flicked to the trousers too, and then back to him. “They were wet, I didn’t want to catch a chill.”

“Sensible,” he agreed, putting a hand to his side. 

“You’re hurt, and sick, you were feverish.” 

“I was, I probably still am.” He agreed looking you over with the same interest that he’d found in your eyes. 

You were a very pleasant sight after so many nights alone, a wildness to your bonny face and full body. Even hidden under the folds of your shirt he could tell that you would be soft and warm to hold. With a groan he closed his eyes again. To be held and cared for by a female, to smell the spring breeze in your hair, to taste the salt of the sea on your skin. Maybe he was halfway to the afterlife and an angel had been sent to rescue him. 

“Thank the cauldron and the mother.” He sighed happily, swaying sideways and passing out. 

The Illyrian had watched you with eyes that toed the line between hungry and hopeful. His bold gaze made you feel warm again, heat sitting heavy in your stomach, and then he mumbled something and slid to the side. 

Thankfully his arm stopped him from bumping his head, but looking at his now glazed eyes he had definitely fainted. 

Without thinking you sprang into action, rolling him carefully so that if he was sick he wouldn’t choke or swallow his tongue. His skin was cold again, but sweaty, sticking the strands of his hair to his forehead in curls. 

He needed help, quickly, but you had nothing of any great use in your bag. There was the canteen of water and some food in his own pack and a flask with what smelt like whisky in the side pocket. You withdrew the mess tin from your own pack and tried to make a fire again, hoping to boil enough clean water to be able to clean and dress his wounds. But the damp air and howling wind blew wet dirt over your kindling. 

Instead you tugged a strip of linen from the end of your shirt, trying to find the cleanest corner first and ripping higher until the long tails no longer brushed over your thighs but sat as high has your belly button, revealing your midriff to the chill air. Goosebumps raised over your arms, but you didn’t hesitate, tipping some of the whisky onto the cloth and gently dabbing at the gash to his side. There were splinters still protruding from the edges, which you pulled out as quickly as you could. 

Ash, an arrow, perhaps, or a long lance fired into the sky, judging by the way the gash lined up with the tear in Bucky’s wing. Bruises bloomed under his tattoos like flowers, colouring in the gaps of the patterns. He’d fallen, then, after the hit. Probably outside of the village. 

“Why didn’t you ask for help.” You muttered under your breath, placing a square of whisky soaked cloth over the wound and pressing down. 

“Because I was already ashamed.” Came the pained whisper. 

“Why would you be ashamed?” With a tug on his arm you helped him sit, passing a long length of cloth around his back, bandaging the makeshift plaster into place. 

With your arms around him you had no choice but to lean in close, your face below his, his breath fanning over your cheek. He held one end in place, leaning drowsily into you while you tied a tight knot on his right, well away from the injury. His left hand, clearly weakened by his fall, sat lightly on your hip, keeping you steady. 

“I let my battalion down, my friends down,I couldn’t fight.” His eyes closed again but his hands didn’t move, their hold surprisingly delicate until he began to slump to the side again, dragging you with him. “I was injured and, I’m not really sure why, but I flew here. It felt like the right thing to do, like the Mother was guiding me, so I let her.”

With a huff you tried to wiggle away, but his hand tightened. 

“I’m so cold, please stay.” His breath tickled your neck where he’d pressed his face into your collar bone and you couldn’t deny him. The tugging sensation in your chest was back and the thought of staying with him made you want to release it in a long contented purr.

Curling beside him you let his hand settle on your now bare waist, his broad palm on your back a relief from the cold air gusting through the entrance of the cave. 

Bucky’s breathing slowed to an even beat, his body relaxing into his dreams and you fell with him, pulled tighter against his chest, the smell of the whisky washed over you and his wing curled in, cocooning you in his embrace. 

You woke to find yourself surprisingly well rested. The storm, having blown itself out battering the beach and forest, had made way for a bright morning. Bucky’s hand was still at your waist, but you’d moved in your sleep you were now facing away from him, his fingers sneaking under the hem of your shirt and tickling your ribs. From his steady breaths you assumed he was still asleep and allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the closeness of his body, the way his wing curved over you both, filtering the light into a pink glow and blocking the boisterous breeze now coming in off the sea. 

There was something right about the way he held you, comforting and close. Despite knowing you should rise, you simply couldn’t, as if that invisible rope that had led you in now kept you beside him. In his sleep he dragged you closer, his hand splaying higher on your stomach, his thumb pressing the underside of your breast. In response, your nipples pebbled and you promised yourself it was just the cold air, just the breeze and the morning chill and nothing to do with the wonderful pressure of the male’s body behind you. Nothing to do with his rich scent of whisky and peat and possibility. 

He hummed in his sleep again, nuzzling the back of your neck and then, suddenly, he was awake. His hand was gone and your chest felt cold without his touch. The sound of his wing claws catching on the jagged roof had you whipping your head around and staring into his eyes. 

“I’d say I’m sorry,” he whispered, “but that was the best sleep I’ve had in a long while.” A flirtatious smile played at the corner of his lips and you returned it. 

“Pretty warm under the wings,” you agreed, looking at the expanse of tense skin and complex structure that curled over you both, now flared out along the walls of the cave, and then, as quickly as the butterflies had taken flight in your stomach, they fell like lead weights.“Your wing, it’s not healing.” 

You reached out and ran a finger close to the gash. Bucky sucked in air and bit his bottom lip, his top lip curling over his teeth and eyes crinkling in pain. 

“Please - don’t touch me there.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“No - yes - it’s - just don’t touch me there.” Bucky grit his teeth and shuffled uncomfortably, placing a large hand over his lap and using the other to guide your hand away gently. 

“I could try and heal it - if you let me touch. Like I did with your side.” 

Bucky looked down at the bandage around his middle as if it was a surprise, perhaps he really didn’t remember. Leaving his wing, you reached out and touched his forehead instead. He felt a little cold, you both did, but not clammy. The fever had broken. 

“Can I check your bandage?” 

He nodded, sitting up and pulling his ragged shirt up with one hand. Slowly you untied the knot and removed the linen, it was clean on the top layers at least and the bottom ones showed the blood slowing. His healing had kicked in, once the ash had been removed, and the previously angry and infected gash was now a pink cut, knitting together slowly. 

“It looks a lot better.” 

You sat back on your heels, unable to look away from the cut in his wing. It too had started healing, but it would be a while before it was closed. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said, sincerely. “I’ve been out here a while and - I should have sought help sooner.” 

“I’m sure it’s not easy, last night you said you didn’t want to let your battalion down.” 

Bucky flushed, his nose and cheeks going rosy and you watched as the colour disappeared down his neck and under his collar. 

“I understand, it’s hard to be brave sometimes, you want people to trust you and know that you’re doing your best.” 

He hummed in agreement again, “and is that why you’re out here?” He raised an eyebrow, lounging back against the cave wall. The movement made his stomach tighten and you watched the muscles flex under his shirt, trying to recall a time when you’d seen any other male like this, when anyone at all had made you feel so hot all over. 

“I was sent to hunt a monster.” 

“A monster?” 

“It’s been stealing vegetables and eggs, a pail of milk as well. Scaring the farmers.” You looked out towards the brightening sky and then back towards him with a grin. “He’s not so scary though.” 

Bucky returned your smile, his eyes softening as he reached out to guide your gaze back to his own, “I’m glad I didn’t scare you too much.” 

“Only a little.” You laughed. 

Despite the gash in Bucky’s side healing over the next few days, he still remained in the cave during the few warm hours the afternoon afforded. His wings lay heavily behind him, the muscles weak and aching from his time spent dragging them around the woods and his injured wing searing with pain when he tried to extend it. 

With some help he made it to the cave entrance and watched as you picked your way around the storm swept beach in the distance. You’d been kind and gentle, despite your initial fear, despite the clumsy way he’d tried to get closer to you. And his heart swelled, hoping he could hold you in his arms again when the sun got low. 

Each night he'd asked you to stay next to him, and each night you'd agreed. But he was no fool, you pitied him and that would only last for so long until you refused. So he treasured every moment like a precious gift. 

It’d been a long time since a female had looked his way, weeks spent dragging himself around the woodland, months spent fighting Hybern on their borders, years spent training in isolation at Windhaven. All to miss this, the feel of the salt wind in his hair and the sun on his healing wings, to miss the feel of a gentle, feminine touch and the way his body responded, singing with happiness at the warmth of your body and scent of your hair. He ached to have you near again, just to know you were safe and cared for. Something in his chest pulled, as if his heart had truly skipped a beat and he closed his eyes against the delicious pain only to open them and see you again, your eyes locked on his, the driftwood you’d collected scattered around your feet, shock on your features. 

In a heartbeat you were climbing back towards him, running over the sand and up the dunes, scaling the rocky cliff face with strong, knowing leaps, and then you were in his arms, knocking him backwards with the strength of your embrace. 

“Bucky?” His name was half question and half exaltation on your lips and that feeling tugged at him again until his arms closed around your back, a hand on the nape of your neck drawing you closer. 

“Kiss me-” it was neither question nor demand, simply a statement of what you both so clearly needed. 

His lips were chapped when they brushed against yours, but warm nevertheless, he tasted of the sweet berries you’d found this morning on the edge of the woods and this close, your nose brushing against his, he smelt divine, perfect, the whisky on the bandages and the deep, musky, scent that was all his own. 

His uninjured wing curled around your back, folding you in a bubble of warmth where there was only you and Bucky and whatever this new thing was between you. You felt that tug again, the same deep feeling that you’d felt so often, and you pulled back enough to rest your forehead against his own. Bucky didn’t let you remove yourself too far, nudging your nose with his and pressing featherlight kisses to your cheek and jaw. 

“Bucky -” you sighed again and this time he answered, as sure and confident as the strong arms that tugged you against his body. 

“Yes, my mate?” 

[in1-nutshell]

Hi!!!!! I love your writing <3<3 <3 <3

What about a continuation of the bot buddy with a sonic cream Who is Soundwave's conjux, where he and Megatron find out they're alive?

It was always a matter of time before Buddy would be discovered by the Decepticons...

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy with sonic scream with Megatron and Soundwave finding out they are alive

SFW, Platonic, Slight angst, Romance, Cybertronain reader

TFP

The latest Decepticon ambush hadn’t gone according to plan, no surprise there.

But what surprised many on the Nemesis was the number of audial related injuries and that there were claims that the bot that did this didn’t even touch them.

Megatron had met few bots in his lifetime to be able to do such damage.

But they were all dead.

There had to be another explanation for this.

He had Soundwave dispatch Lazerbeak on the next ambush.

That way they would have a literal bird’s eye view of who was decimating their troops in one blow.

The next ambush was set off and Lazerbeak was sent out.

Now looking through the camera’s lens in the main monitor of the Nemesis everyone has a view of the battle.

Everything seemed normal for the first few minutes.

“Really Lord Megatron. I find this spying a bit excessive. The troops are doing an adequate job in handling the Autobots.”--Starscream

“We will watch until the battle is through.”--Megatron

“Anyways Screamer aren’t you curious to find out who this mysterious bot is?”--Knockout

“I know I am! Wonder who they could be though? Not many of the troops remember how they look like.”--Breakdown

Starscream huffs in annoyance.

Another groundbrigde opens in the battlefield.

“Looks like we’re about to find out.”--Knockout

The figure quickly blended into the crowd, but it was clear that they were fighting fiercely through.

Megatron and Soundwave recognized some of the moves from their days in the arena.

So, the new recruit had some gladiatorial experience.

This would be interesting after all.

It wasn’t until some lucky Vechicon managed to shoot Prime in the leg that their fighting sped up and started towards the Prime.

Lazerbeak started flying closer as the figure picked up the Prime over their shoulder and started running towards some larger boulders and dumped the Prime and ran back to the fight.

“Did—did they just dump Prime behind those boulders?”--Knockout

Soundwave tries to zoom in on the new bot.

The bot took a familiar stance.

An all too familiar stance.

Soundwave was sudden sent back to the last time he saw his Conjunx’s fights. They took their signature stance and decimated their opponent.

Megatron also understood what was about to happen.

“Get Lazerbeak out of the radius.”--Megatron

Soundwave sent out a message to the minicon just as the bot let out the sonic scream.

Lazerbeak shook around as some of the blast reached the minicon.

Soon the shaking stopped and Lazerbeak redirected to the former battlefield.

There was a crater surrounding the bot and dozens of Vechicons sprayed all around.

All the Cons watching had a shocked look on their faces.

“That’s impossible! There is no way a single Autobot could do that!”--Starscream

“Maybe they had a relic we don’t know about.”--Breakdown

“Highly unlikely considering that we’ve been on top of the relic game for some time now.”—Knockout

Starscream straightens his struts and turns to the rest of the Decepticons.

“Well, its clear that we need to ki—”--Starscream

Megatron slams his servo on the desk.

Silence.

“Tell Lazerbeak to enhance the bot on screen.”--Megatron

There is a zoom in on the bot who was helping Optimus back on his pedes.

The other Autobots had arrived and were starting to head back into their groundbridge.

Lazerbeak managed to snap a picture of the bot before they went in.

Megatron has a good look before turning to the other Decepticons.

“This bot is to be brought to me alive.”—Megatron

A lot of the Cons look scared and confused.

“Lord Megatron, surely you are not—”--Starscream

“Did I stutter Starscream? I believe not. You are all dismissed.”--Megatron

Megatron and Soundwave slowly looked at each other.

There was only one bot they knew that was able to do that.

But they were dead…

Right…?

Megatron stood up straightening his back struts at the realization.

Soundwave remained frozen in place.

Megatron moved to his third in Command and placed a servo on his shoulder while the frozen picture of Buddy’s frame was on the monitor.

“Its them Soundwave, I’m sure of it.”--Megatron

Soundwave doesn’t move from the monitor, just staring at the frozen frame.

Megatron turns back to the door.

“We will get them back Soundwave. That is a promise.”--Megatron

Megatron moves out of the room leaving Soundwave alone.

The only thought in his processor was that his Conjunx Endura was alive.

His Buddy was alive.

[sgt-seabass]

𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and sgt-seabass

I just wanna see you bleed. Open you and set you free. (x)

pairing — bucky barnes x fem!reader w/c — 9.7k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. listening to —♫disaster

part of the Vengeance AU previous part - 𝑬𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅

warnings — bucky barnes is going through it, dark fic, the reader is having a hard time mentally (.... totally not self inserting heh), violence, slapping, spanking, use of a gun to threaten, non-consensual connotations and threats (nothing actually happens), mild mention of blood and injury, captivity, forced drugging via injection a/n — sorry this took so long. depression is a bitch. thank you navy for putting up with my delays!

The thing about love is that it comes with risks. And the biggest risk of all is loss, for a heart that does not yearn for another never truly knows the meaning of catastrophic loss until grief visits them. 

Love was still worth it to Bucky. Even with his wrenching heart and endless tears, the tenderness he shared with you was something that no one could steal or decimate. While the assailants had trashed your shared home, they could never take the memories - the feeling of your deft fingers brushing across his skin, the bright smiles you’d gift him, and the unwavering silent support that always held him upright. 

Bucky was a man because you motivated him to be his best self. He was no longer a ghost, a nightmare, a mirage of misery - he was human. 

You were gone. And there would be nothing stopping him from getting you back. 

It had been three days since you’d been taken, and frustratingly, Bucky felt no closer to finding you than the day when he’d first found the ruins of the apartment. He’d moved back into the tower with Alpine, taking up refuge in his old compound apartment. It was kept the same, like he’d never left. And he felt the same as when he’d lived there last – lost.

The whole team had become involved in finding you. You were family to all of them. And no one gets away with fucking with the family of the Avengers.

Bucky sighed and impatiently tapped his foot against the floor as he waited in the meeting room with Steve, Natasha, and Sam. Tony had been working on a reconstruction of what happened in the apartment since the security cameras were somehow turned off before the assailant’s arrival.

It was a planned hit; that much was clear. But they needed the rest of the details of what happened to know what they were looking at.

The room was silent. What could anyone say that hadn’t already been said? Bucky’s friends had already assured him they’d get you back safely, but those were empty promises said just to stop him from throwing himself off the top of the compound.

Bucky stared at the blank white wall ahead of him while his mind spiralled. This was his fault. If you were dead, that blood was on his hands. He should have known of the threat – had some inkling that this was coming. But he was completely blind-sighted. There was no indication that there was an incoming attack.

“Move the table to the side so we have room,” Tony commanded as he entered, his usual quips missing – quips that always made you laugh and smile, brightening the room with your aura.

“Hello to you too, Tony,” Sam said, assisting Bucky and Steve in pushing the meeting room table to the side so there was some floor space for Tony’s visualisation tool.

“Do you think she’s alive? Could she have survived the attack?” Were the first words out of Bucky’s mouth, his voice strained from the amount of crying he’d been doing.

“Yeah, I think she’s alive. Are you sure you want to see this, Barnes? It’s… It’s pretty brutal, even for your standards,” Tony sniped, earning a stern look from Steve. Bucky didn’t care, though; it was a fair enough jab when he’d been the one to kill Tony’s parents.

“Real smooth, Tony,” Natasha scoffed, crossing her arms.

Bucky set the awkward air aside. They weren’t going to get anywhere otherwise. “I need to see it.”

“Maybe you should wait outside, Buck—” Steve started, but Bucky raised his hand to shut him up.

“Don’t coddle me. I need to see it.”

Steve just put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze while Tony set up his small projection device.

Nothing could have prepared Bucky for the image that greeted him. There you were, or at least, an apparition of you. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he held himself back. What he couldn’t stop were the tears that welled in his eyes. What if this was the last time he ever saw you? You already looked like a ghost in the odd blue hue of the technology.

Bucky gulped, his breaths coming out thick as you started moving from the bedroom to the shower. It played out like a macabre movie. Three assailants entered the apartment through the front door.

“They had keys?” Natasha asked, and Tony nodded in response.

Sam partially looked away when the assault began, Natasha and Steve’s faces hardening while Bucky had tears tracking down his cheeks. You fought hard, and Bucky couldn’t feel any prouder. You were his light – his fire, and you fought with every morsel of energy you had.

Tony was right – the ordeal was brutal and cruel. These men didn’t just kidnap you; they tormented you. This was personal.

“Any forensics?” Steve asked, his voice shaky.

“None. Whoever they are, they’re professionals,” Tony leant against the table. “And they clearly have a vendetta. Any enemies that stand out, Barnes?”

“Hydra is always top of the list.” Just the mention of the name had everyone in the room shuddering. Hydra had already done so much damage.

“Hydra fell when S.H.I.E.L.D did. They’re gone,” Sam reclined against the wall, hand rubbing nervously over his jaw, the same spot Rumlow had got a good hit on him during their fight at the Triskelion.

“You’re naive if you think that would get rid of them.” Natasha walked up to the projection, zooming in on the word you’d written on the ground. Blonde. “Although I don’t remember any of our known enemies being blonde.”

“Pierce was blonde.” Steve suggested.

Tony shook his head. “He was grey. And I highly doubt he’d be breaking into an apartment, seeing as he’s got a bullet-sized hole in his chest. Plus, he was an old fucker.”

Bucky forced himself to watch the whole recreation, eyes not straying for a moment as he searched for anything he was missing. It was a carefully executed but merciless attack. Tony was right; it seemed you’d survive physically, but what about your mind?

Bucky could hardly bear to think about what they were doing with you now they had you alone.

With you passed out on the floor, Bucky watched as the men bundled you up in a sheet to carry your bloody mess of a body out in. “There were no drag marks?”

Tony shrugged. “Nope. They carried her.” 

“Did no neighbours report anything?”

“It was early morning, so most had already left for work, and anyone who did see something aren’t coming forward. People these days aren’t keen on being a snitch since that puts a target on their backs,” Sam delivered sadly. To a degree, Bucky understood, but at the same time, he wanted to question every person in the damn building.

Realistically, his efforts would be better placed searching through viable intelligence sources. The more reliable the information, the better. These guys would have had to make some noise somewhere, and Bucky intended to find where.

“I’ll ask Maria to get the analysts onto where they might have gone. They’ll check every car that was spotted in the area if they have to. And we’ll see what we can get off the surrounding cell towers. If we’re lucky, they pinged off one of them. They can’t have just disappeared with her,” Natasha’s voice turned clinical. It was easier to be strategic without the emotional strings attached.

Steve nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Check all private flights and airspace as well. I expect they’ve left the country and gone somewhere harder to track. The fact they went to this effort and didn’t kill her outright means they have a use for her, which means she’s still alive.”

“Until that use runs out,” Bucky cut Steve off, his jaw twinging with how hard he clenched his teeth. “Then they’ll kill her.”

“We’ll find her before then, Buck.”

“We have to. She’s taken my heart with her.”

You’d been lucky in your life that you’d been sheltered from physical pain. You’d known grief, sadness, all the usual trials of life. But this level of absolute anguish was new. 

You were thankful you’d gone this long not knowing what it felt like to fear an impending death.

What even was death? An endless nothing? A light at the end of the tunnel? A world where you’re reunited with all those souls that had already left? Either way, it was the cessation of suffering. You can’t suffer when you don’t exist. 

Days had passed since your capture, and a routine had set in. In your dank, mossy-smelling cell, you ate, stretched, slept, shit, and brushed your teeth - a macabre rinse and repeat that had your mind dulling. You prided yourself in being creative, so having no stimuli apart from grey walls and odd smells was a special kind of torture.

Your captors left you alone for the most part. You only saw them when they delivered meals and your toothbrush, and even then, sometimes, they’d just slide the items through a small hatch in the bottom of the door, expecting you to return the items promptly.

Damien or Maddox would often leave with some snide remark, while Kage never said anything.

The thought of fighting back had crossed your mind, although you couldn’t do much with them watching, the blinking red light of a camera in the corner of your room a constant reminder that you were not alone.

Bucky would be closing in by now, right? Each time you heard steps coming to your enclosure, a morsel of hope would flourish like a blooming flower. And each time, those beautiful flowers had their heads sliced off. The disappointment was clear on your face each time, and a small whine would escape, normally ending in you devolving into a pit of tears.

Crying was the only solace. 

As the days had passed, you began to fear the opening of the door, because you expected death with his scythe and billowing black mist to be there waiting to cut off your head, like the way your hope had been deflowered.

Today was the same as all the others. Pain, tears, and acute loneliness all present. You sat on your cot with your legs to your chest, bandaged feet resting on the mattress so you could cry against your knees. Your wounds were healing slowly, bloody bandages changed by Kage each day, while your heart continued to break.

The wall vibrated subtly as music began playing upstairs, the reverberations traveling all the way down to your cell. You were underground, that much you had gathered. After your dinner, you would hear the music begin to play. You weren’t sure what they were doing up there, but you never heard any additional voices, so you assumed your captors were alone. Although, there could easily be a thick layer of concrete separating your roof from their floor, so you just might not be able to hear it.

All you did know was the music normally meant it was time to try and sleep. You had no sunlight, so you had to rely on the meals and music as your clock. You could have an opposite sleeping schedule for all you knew, but the men never said anything of it, so you assumed your intuition was right.

With a heavy sigh, you lay down, covered in an oversized t-shirt and cotton panties. It was cold, but with nothing more than a thin blanket, so you had no choice but to shiver and bear it.

The vibrations in the wall made a white noise that filled the room, and you preferred that over the silence. You couldn’t hear the music, so you liked to try to imagine what song it might be based on the tempo. 

You smiled to yourself as you placed your hand against the wall. Whatever it was, you knew Bucky would hate it. Deep bass beats were never his style. While you liked to imagine your boyfriend as John Wick, fighting along to electronic music, you knew the reality was far more grim. 

Thinking of Bucky, your eyes started to get heavy, and you slowly fell asleep.

It wasn’t a peaceful slumber, but it was rest - something you tried to get every chance you could. You didn’t know when you’d need your strength, so you tried to reserve it. 

And as it turned out, a situation requiring your strength was around the corner much sooner than you had expected.

The door to your cell swung open, and the loud sound had you shooting up with a squeak and wide eyes, no remnants of sleep in your mind as adrenaline surged through your veins. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight you’d be met with.

It was Damien who spoke first as they entered. “We caught ourselves a new pet. I have to say, this one seems much less fuckable than you.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, mostly in disbelief.

It wasn’t the rescue you’d dreamed of. Bucky hadn’t come in guns blazing and a smile of relief on his face.

No, Bucky was slumped, his metal shoulder being carried by Maddox and the other by Damien, while his legs dragged across the floor behind him and his arms were secured behind his back. He was dressed in his tactical gear like he’d come with the intention to save you. His face was bloodied and ashen, his hair sickly sticking to his forehead, and to your horror, there was a muzzle placed over the lower half of his face. You’d seen a picture of Bucky from when he was a soldier when you’d accidentally walked into a briefing room in the compound, his face scattered among others you didn’t recognise. But seeing him like that in the flesh was something else entirely.

You jumped up from the bed, ready to run to him, but Kage was by your side before you could act. He placed his hand on your collarbone, warning you to stay in place. “Your face is priceless.”

You couldn’t even feel the pain in your feet, as if the wounds were never there, as you whimpered at the sight of your lover.

“Bucky, are you alright? Bucky. Oh god.” You tried to move, but Kage’s hand gripped your forearm painfully, his digits digging in and leaving divots. Bucky tried to speak beneath the mask, but only muffled sounds came out. “No, please, don’t hurt him.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” Maddox grinned, the pride clear as day on his face. “The mutt put up a fight, I’ll give it that. But it failed. That must really suck for you.”

They spoke like he wasn’t even a man. Not even a dog. Just an annoyance - a hindrance.

Damien and Maddox dumped Bucky on his knees a few steps from you. And that’s when he finally looked up. It was like he hadn’t wanted to accept that was your voice he heard, but once he set eyes on you, that was it. 

The dams broke, and both of you resolved into tears. “No, this isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening.” Damien kicked Bucky’s back, sending him lurching forward, his cheek painfully hitting the concrete floor. The pained sounds that came from your boyfriend would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Stop it!” You yelled, Bucky’s whimpers too much for you to handle. He was trying so desperately to speak, to move, but they’d beaten him badly and secured his metal arm away with vibranium cuffs. 

It didn’t stop him from trying though. Bucky rose to his feet, swinging his weight around so he could roundhouse kick towards Maddox and Damien. Maddox was faster though, pushing Damien out of the way and catching Bucky’s leg. 

There was a sick crunch when Maddox tripped Bucky’s stable left leg, his body buckling to the floor while Maddox held his right leg, allowing the joint at his hip to fold into an odd position before Bucky hit the floor on his side. He withered with a pained groan, while Damien took the chance to kick him in the stomach. It was like watching the most morbid film play out in front of you, and all you wanted to do was hold Bucky and tell him it was going to be okay. But the thing was, you never lied to him. And you had no plan to start now.

You tried desperately to wrench yourself from Kage’s grip, but instead he yanked your back to his chest, placing his arm across your belly so you were held uncomfortably against him. “He failed you. Do you think he still thinks this is all worth it? Or do you think he should have just left you to rot?” 

It was the most Kage had ever spoken to you, as if Bucky’s mere presence brought out a vitriol he kept hidden.

You shook your head, desperate to reject the baseless accusations. Even with his mouth covered, you could see in his expression alone the love Bucky held for you. You would never stop believing in him, even in death. “He hasn’t failed me,“ you gritted out, tears tracking down your cheeks. “He could never fail me.”

A sense of realisation took over you, the cogs turning as you looked upon your beaten lover. You’d wished for him to rescue you, to take you away from the pain and shield you from any further torment. But in doing so, you’d denied that Bucky was vulnerable - that he was the human you so dearly loved - made of flesh and blood and so dearly mortal. By placing him on the pedestal of a hero, you denied him his sensitivities, his feelings. You’d made him impuissant through your view of him as an impregnable force. You forgot that he is but a thing of atoms and material, so easily broken.

It was due to your expectations that he lay on the ground before you, bleeding and crying. Because he knew you were waiting for him. And here he was - just not in the way you had hoped. Now, hope was but a bird with broken wings, ready for death and the conclusion of existence. It was time for it to be put out of its acute misery. And it was time for you to mature and take responsibility for your future. 

“The only person who can save me is myself. It’s my path to take, not his,” your words came out shuddered, your hand raising to cover your mouth to try and hide your sob. It did little to muffle the sound as your eyes met the familiar cerulean blues. “Bucky. It’s fine.”

Damien pulled the muzzle from his face, and Bucky allowed a deep breath for what seemed like the first time in hours. “You have me, just let her go.”

Maddox laughed, shaking his head as he ruffled Bucky’s hair. “Trying to be noble, huh?” His fingers looped in the sweat-drenched strands, roughly pulling Bucky’s head back as he whimpered. “Do we look like we’re going to let her go?”

“She’s innocent in this, please,” Bucky begged, blood trickling down from his hairline as he squirmed on the cold floor. It was a painful, pitiful sight. “Keep me, but let her go.”

“Why would we when we can have some fun? She’s so pretty when she cries. The perfect toy for us to play with,” Kage husked, the hand on your stomach starting to dip lower towards your dignity.

You slapped his hand, an action which gained you a violent response. Kage threw you to your knees, the impact causing your bones to quiver and your cries to fill the room. You had to be strong, you had to be strong - the mantra didn’t help much as Bucky snarled protectively. “You touch her, and I’ll fucking kill you. I swear I’ll–”

“You keep running that mouth of yours, and it’s her we’ll punish,” Maddox gripped Bucky’s chin between his fingers, before spitting in his face.

“Please, I’m begging you. She’s just a normal girl, she’s innocent–”

“She’s not going to be so innocent when she has our cocks shoved down her throat.” Damien approached you, eyes raking your barely covered form. You stunk after days of not bathing, but that seemed like the least of their concerns.

“I can see why you picked her. She’s so much fun to have around.” Maddox forced Bucky’s viewline to you, arching his head on an awkward angle with the fingers tangled in his locks.

“You don’t own her,” Bucky rasped. “No one does.”

Maddox hummed with a shake of his head. ”That’s where you’re wrong. We all have our masters. Now we’re hers.”

"I will fucking kill you," Bucky snarled, trying to get off the floor, trying so desperately to fight. But he was easily subdued by Maddox in his weakened state.

Damien turned to your boyfriend with a smirk. "Not before we fill up each of her holes. So why don't you sit back and enjoy the show? Be a good boy now. Wouldn't want to have to muzzle you… again."

"We're going to enjoy breaking her," Maddox teased, his face getting close to Bucky’s, a staring contest of will beginning between the two. A contest that Bucky quickly lost when Maddox punched him in the gut. ”While you have your own appeal, I don’t fuck mutts.”

It was hard to process the scene playing out in front of you - the taunting, the threats, the hurt. It was too much to bear. You just wanted to be in Bucky’s arms again and have him tell you it was all okay.

But no, you had to be strong. “Please, don’t hurt him anymore. I’ll… I’ll do whatever you want.”

Kage held you firm, his free hand reaching up from behind to grab your jaw painfully. He didn’t speak, but you could feel his hot huff of breath against your ear, the remnants of a growl in it.

“You’ll do whatever we want regardless,” Damien commented, searching your face and soaking up all the emotion he could find.

Maddox left Bucky battered on the ground, but not without one more kick, this time to the underside of his jaw. Bucky’s head snapped back, a crack sounding as his teeth slammed together in the forced movement. 

You screamed, Kage and Damien’s hands beginning to roam across your body, feeling you like you were theirs. But it was like you couldn’t even see the three men anymore - just Bucky. Your vision had tunnelled to the focus on the one thing you cared about.

“Bucky! Are you alright? Bucky, please!” You couldn’t look away as his head lolled sickly, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. 

The hands keep moving over you, nausea roiling in your gut with each passing moment. But you still only focussed on Bucky. “Bucky, please. Bucky. You’ve got to get out of here. Somehow. Just go, please.”

The cell door was cracked open. He could logically make a run for it. But you knew he wouldn’t, not in his current state, and not without you. Maybe Steve was on his way? But you knew Bucky wouldn’t look so crestfallen if help was coming. 

“Please, Bucky.” You cried, not even sure what you were asking for at this point, all you could do was scream his name.

The more you yelled for him, the more you chanted his name like the only prayer you knew, the more the world began to warble. 

Bucky’s form began to waver, as did the rest of the room. Maddox, Damien and Kage had frozen in their assault, their skin rippling as your breath suddenly fell short.

What was happening? You couldn’t scream for Bucky anymore - you couldn’t do anything, as if your mouth had been glued shut.

As your tears fell and sobs bubbled from your throat, the world dissolved.

The nightmare was ending, allowing leeway for the real horrors to become apparent.

You woke for real this time with a jolt, your sounds muffled by the tape over your lips. You were sobbing just like you had been in your dream, and as you took stock of the room you quickly realised Bucky wasn’t here. It had been a horrible nightmare.

What was real, was Maddox towering over you, a roll of tape discarded on the ground and his gun to your head. He looked the angriest you’d ever seen, salivating and almost frothing at the mouth. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

The tears started falling faster as you screamed against the tape, but it did little to quell Maddox. He forced each end of the tape down, the gun in his hand coldly pressing against your cheek. 

“Say his name again, I dare you. I'm not going to cut your tongue out. I'll fucking rip it out,” he growled, his words mouthed against your face and over your bound lips. His spit smeared over your skin, the heat of it warming where the metal of the gun had cooled.

All you could smell, see and hear was him. It was an overwhelming sensation that had you wanting to escape.

You writhed, but you couldn’t get away from him as he caged you in, kissing over your mouth again in a show of control, not endearment. He could take what he wanted from you whenever he wanted. You screamed and squirmed, but Maddox held you in place before ripping the tape off, allowing you to finally breathe in the musky basement air. “This fucking mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

“W-What did I—“ Your heart nearly broke through your ribcage with how hard it was beating as Maddox forced the barrel of his handgun into your mouth, the metal sitting against your tongue and leaving a horrible taste. 

The struggle stopped, and you looked into Maddox’s eyes. The malice was pertifying. It wasn’t the same look he’d had during the assault in your apartment; no. It was worse. He was going to kill you.

His thumb moved in one swift motion to click the safety off, his finger resting on the trigger. “Say goodbye.”

You closed your eyes, fear clutching your heart and what felt like concrete in your lungs. You didn’t want Maddox’s face to be the last thing you saw, so you thought of when you and Bucky had adopted Alpine.

She had been found on the streets as a stray, only a year old with matted hair and a little injured paw. You’d both fallen in love with her, and nursed her into the ball of chaotic floof she was today. You thought of the moment where you first brought her home. She stayed in her carrier after the door had opened, too scared to venture out. So you and Bucky sat on the floor, cuddling and talking while Alpine slowly came out, before sitting next to you both. It was so peaceful. Such a small moment changed the trajectory of your life. It was those pockets of happiness you cherished the most.

You waited for the bang, the flash, the quick pain before the nothingness. But it didn’t come.

Instead, you heard rushed steps and yells before Maddox was hauled off you, the brunette slipping the safety back on as he let the other two pull him back. 

“What the fuck?” Damien snapped, a commotion starting.

But it was like water was in your ears as you stared up at the ceiling from your bed, the chain secured around your ankle rattling with the way your body couldn’t stop shaking. Your arms covered your torso, and it took you what felt like forever to open your eyes.

“She was calling for him! For that bastard!” Maddox yelled, and it was then you turned your head to look at him.

“What, so you were going to kill her? Mads! Stop! We just got her!” Damien grabbed Maddox by the shoulders, shaking him like it would bring him to his senses.

"One simple fucking rule. Don't ask to go back to him. She was wailing like a fucking banshee."

Kage was the only controlled one, ushering Damien out of the way so he could take Maddox’s face into his hands. “You’re not back there. You’re not being compared to him, not being tested on. Stop. You’re here, and you almost just killed her.”

“She. Called. For. Him,” Maddox said through gritted teeth.

Damien glanced over at you, and it made you curl a little closer to the wall. "She didn't mean to, Mads. You know she didn't. Just breathe. Come on.”

It didn’t stop Maddox from spitting on the ground, his breaths coming out in adrenaline fueled shudders. “That piece of shit. I bet he bragged to her. I bet she fucking knows everything he did and is playing stupid.” With Kage holding him, his sightline turned to you. ”You’re pretending like you have no idea what he’s done, aren’t you? You dumb fucking bitch!”

“You know that’s not what’s happening,” Kage quickly reasoned with Maddox’s face still between his palms. It was clear there was a brother-like bond between the three of them. It would be nice, if the context of the situation didn’t exist. If anything, it made you more scared of them.

The fear had your body feeling frail, and it took you a few tries before you could sit up on your cot. “W-Whatever I did… I’m sorry. I don’t k-know what’s happening.”

Even you were caught off guard with the weakness in your voice, but the apology did nothing to appease Maddox. In fact, it incited the flame again. He broke free of Kage’s hold, and you didn’t have time to defend yourself before he smacked you hard across the face, the sound resonating like a sick echo in the cell.

The pain came a few seconds later, a sharp sting spreading across your face as you sobbed.

“You fucking bitch. You think this is funny, don’t you? Playing the innocent act just so you can fucking laugh at me once I’m gone.” He was trying to goad you into something you weren’t. You wore no mask, obscured no part of yourself. You were just you. And in a world where so many people lied and deceived, you could understand where the line of thought had come from. But Maddox couldn’t be more wrong about you.

What was it he had against Bucky anyway? There was clearly history you were missing, some big piece of the puzzle that had been hidden.

You didn’t get a chance to respond before Damien was tugging him back, taking the gun from him and pulling him away. “Mads, you’re triggered. That’s enough. You’re not yourself.”

For a moment, you could swear there were unshed tears in Maddox’s eyes, but didn’t get the chance to tell before Damien had pulled him from the room, leaving you alone with Kage.

There was a long silence for a moment, just your cries as your hand rested on your throbbing cheek, with Kage standing by in thought. He looked to you, his icy stare not helping you calm down. “I’m going to have to punish you.”

You could still hear Maddox yelling as you rubbed your cheek, and when Maddox’s voice finally faded you curled your knees up to your chest, your sobs shaking you. Maddox would have killed you if they hadn’t intervened, but now you were going to be punished. It was cruel. “What did I do?”

“You broke a rule. You called for him. Subconscious or not, every part of you has to learn the consequences.” Kage rolled up his sleeves, crossing his arms. It was clear his conviction was settled, and there would be no point bartering. “First, you’re going to shower. You’ve pissed yourself.”

Fresh tears filled your eyes when you looked down and realised Kage wasn’t lying. The sheets stuck uncomfortably to your legs and panties, the hem of your shirt soaked. You weren’t even sure when it happened, having been so caught up in the nightmare and then Maddox’s rage. Your fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, head hanging so you didn’t have to look at Kage.

Part of you wasn’t even sure if you were humiliated. They’d stripped you so bare you didn’t have much left, not even the dignity that would be hurt from something like this. More than anything, you cursed yourself for not being braver.

You had to hold your own if you were going to survive.

Words failed you when Kage took your arm to stand you up, and you didn’t say a word as he released your chains started to lead you from the room. 

It was a slow walk as you hobbled on your injured feet, but it was clear Kage had no intention of carrying you as he walked a few steps ahead. He’d let go of his hold, so confident that you’d follow him that he didn’t even look back. You knew he’d overpower you without even breaking a sweat if you tried anything, and you didn’t have the energy to fight.

You were surprised to see the underground was more than just your room, with a small hallway connecting you to a large shower room. You assumed there must be more cells, because there were multiple shower heads and a few random lockers. Almost as if it was a prisoner gym shower. It was odd, and you cautiously stepped forward.

Kage just ushered you towards the shower, crossing his arms as he watched you limp onto the tiled surface. You went to take off your bandages, but he cleared his throat and shook his head. Flustered, you moved to your shirt and underwear instead, turning away from him as you stripped bare and dumped the soiled clothing on the floor.

You cautiously stepped forward to turn the shower on, shuddering when the cold water began pouring out. There was only one tap, and no indication that the water was getting warmer, so you turned back to your captor. “There’s no hot water?”

There was no response from Kage, just a stare that told you all you needed to know, as if he was silently saying ‘get on with it’.

You shivered as you stood under the cold stream. When the water washed over your face, it was like you were back in your apartment all over again, and you let out a panicked gasp before stepping back.

The way your body shook wasn’t only from the cold.

With a bated breath, you glanced back at Kage. But he was no closer. He wasn’t going to pull you out, going to attack you, it seemed. The danger still loomed, memories of your assault fresh in your mind.

You returned to the water, washing yourself off as you could feel Kage’s gaze burning into you, as if he was studying each of your movements. He finally moved when the water shut itself off, pointing to a grey towel that was the same dull colour as the rest of the basement.

The last remaining water droplets blinked from your vision as you stepped forward, taking the towel and beginning to dry off. You glanced around, frowning when you saw there were no fresh clothes. 

“Uhm… clothes?” You asked hopefully, to which Kage shook his head. It wasn’t surprising, but it was upsetting.

As you ran the towel across your skin, you couldn’t rid of the nagging question that was plaguing your mind. “Why didn’t you just let him kill me?”

“He doesn’t need the guilt,” Kage finally spoke, but his answer only made your brows furrow.

“Why would he feel guilty for getting rid of someone who doesn’t matter?” It was conflicting information. They’d said you were nothing while in your apartment, and had treated you as such. But of course, you weren’t given an answer. Instead, Kage began leading you back to your room, your waterlogged bandages making it hard to walk. “What’s my punishment?”

Kage doesn’t answer, instead leaving you alone in your cell. “Strip the bed. I’ll be back.”

You gently rubbed your cheek where Maddox slapped you as you stared at the open door. You could run, but that would just worsen the situation. And you were in no condition to make it far.

Your gaze shifted to the blinking red light in the corner, staring into the black lens before snapping out of it and beginning to strip the bed as you were told. You kept replaying the events in your head, but it just didn’t make sense. You didn’t know why Maddox was so furious, and why Kage and Damien stopped him before he did any real damage. There was clearly something you were missing, but you were too fatigued to notice.

You used the sheets to soak up any remaining moisture from the mattress, which was covered with some sort of dark waterproof fabric. Unsure of what else to do, you placed the sheets by the bed.

With the sheets on the floor, you sat next to them on the cold concrete, waiting until Kage came back in with fresh bedding. He held it out to you, waiting for you to approach him with an air of impatience. You hoped your punishment was a simple as making the bed, but you knew you were in for worse at the hands of these men. 

It didn’t take Kage commanding you to put the fresh sheets on the bed, his eyes not leaving you for a moment. He let out a hum when you finished, before taking a seat. “Come here.”

You let out a shaky breath before you approached him. There was something so ominous about the blue shine to his eyes, like a full moon bearing its magnetic energy onto you. You couldn’t help but feel pulled towards him, like your legs moved before you could even think. When you got close enough, Kage took your wrist into his grip. There was a beat of silence for a moment before he yanked you down. You yelped as you fell, your stomach hitting his thighs as he bent you over his knees. It was a humiliating position. As if they hadn’t caused you enough shame.

As naked as the day you were born, you lay across his legs, your ass raised, and shoulders slumped. There was no escape. You were under no illusion that there was no way you could reasonably get out without help. And without Bucky, or any of your friends, you were stuck.

You felt as if you hadn’t slept at all, and tiredness nipped at the back of your eyes as you resigned yourself in his lap. He seemed pleased, a near silent grunt sounding as he rubbed circles over the globes of your ass.

When the first slap landed, you yelped, a sharp pain on your ass from the impact of his palm.

“One.” You heard him count under his breath, before the second spank hit. “Two.” Tears gathered in your eyes, small droplets hitting the ground below as the third hit landed. “Three.”

“Why?” You croaked out. “Why are you doing this?”

“Four.” Kage uttered, another slap hitting you and causing your body to jolt. Four. The counting continued despite your pleas, the pain worsening with each hit. He wasn’t holding back, and the pain began to elevate to the point where you felt as if your bones may shatter. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

“Please, I don’t understand. I’m sorry- I’m s-sorry I said his name. But I didn’t do it on purpose,” your words are mottled with sobs, and you turned back to look at him despite the way you had coiled around his thighs. “I don’t understand. Why do you hate him?”

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

Kage’s icy glare met yours. In just a look alone he conveyed so much emotion, far more than words could ever express. There was anger and hurt all broiled up in a stew of self-pity. Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine. His spanks didn’t stop, not even when your cries resounded off the walls like a ghoulish orchestra, your begs garbled with the agony coursing through you.

“Thirty,” he coldly said, his hand once against slapping against your abused ass. When he brought up his hand for another hit, he stopped. On his palm was little dots of blood. You whimpered at the sight of it, and his eyes narrowed. He’d been hitting you so hard he’d broken skin with the impact.

“Please, why? What’s going on?” You lamented, growing weary of his silence. “Just tell me. Why do you hate him? What did he do?”

Kage hit you again, more aggressive this time. You howled in pain as he held you still. His breaths came out in a huff as he calmed himself down. “Don’t act dumb. You’re his girlfriend. You know what he’s done.”

“I don’t!” You rebutted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Kage’s steel blue eyes flashed with something dangerous, his hand rubbing circles on your skin and smearing your blood across your flesh. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You were genuine, and Kage’s eyes narrowed as he considered you. “I’m sure you did some research before taking me. I’m just a girl.”

”What, your boyfriend didn’t brag of the lives he ruined? How he ruined our lives. We’re orphaned freaks because of him. Because the Asset couldn’t just do his fucking mission. But he had no problem doing his job just fine when he trained us, when he beat us to a bloody pulp making us wish were dead. Over and over and over again. Hydra’s fist hits fucking hard. And he leaves behind nothing but lost souls.” It’s the most you’ve heard Kage speak, but what he’s saying makes no sense to you. “The Asset doesn’t care about the wreckage he leaves behind as long as he’s happy – as long as he can continue on with his pathetic life.”

Bucky ruined lives? The surprise and confusion on your face said it all. From what you knew, he didn’t do anything. He was a prisoner of war, he was a soldier, but his involvement with Hydra was news to you. The most you’d heard of the organisation was from reports when the triskelion fell. It was broadcast everywhere. “He didn’t tell me anything. I only know who Hydra are from the news.”

Kage let out a dark, mocking chuckle. "Stop lying."

"I'm not! I swear. He never told me. He doesn't tell anything about his missions either. H-He said he couldn't. That it was safer that way." You remembered the first time Bucky came home from a mission. He was covered in soot and a mess. Being naive, you asked him what happened, and it was then you realised it was better for you not to know. The horrors of the world were not for your eyes… until now.

Kage’s fingers gripped into the plushness of your ass. ”But you’ve been to the compound.”

“As a guest - a friend. Never when a mission was happening.” You sobbed, your brain spinning in circles at the new revelations. “I’ve been there for dinner or parties. Nothing else.”

His nails made divots in your skin as he gripped you. "You really had no idea?"

"No, I didn't. And I'm sorry. For all of you," you hiccupped. You couldn't lie about that. Losing family is never easy. "I didn't know."

Kage didn’t seem convinced. ”But you know of Hydra?”

You shrugged best you could over his knee. “Sort of. N-Not really. I just saw the news when those big helicopter things crashed - uh, helicarriers?” You let out a shuddered sigh. “The news said Hydra was behind it.”

His fingers eased, moving to rub over the sensitised skin. ”Did you read the documents that were leaked?”

You shook your head, tears dropping to the floor. “No, why would I do that? I didn’t need an existential crisis. I get stressed enough about everyday news, like a mugger or a cat stuck in a tree.”

"So he kept you in a bubble," he said after a moment, more to himself than to you. "If you're lying—"

"I'm not," you promised, almost dissolving into more tears. "I swear to you. All of you. I have no reason to lie to you."

There was a beat of silence while your mind ran a million miles an hour. Bucky was a prisoner of war, you knew that – the world knew that. But… he was with Hydra? You pursed your lips. There was no way he would have been with them willingly. He was a prisoner of Hydra, you surmised. He’d made comments in the past about never being in control until now – always being ordered around by someone else. Admittedly, you hadn’t taken it as literal. A soldier takes orders, but this – this seems entirely different. There’s no way Bucky would hurt someone unprovoked, not unless he was being controlled. The man you loved was no villain.

Kage broke the silence. ”Do you resent him for not telling you?”

A heavy sigh left you, pain still flickering up your spine from your abused ass. “It’s his story. I’m not the one who can decide when it’s time to tell it.”

"But he's the reason you're here,” Kage said as his hand ran up your back before reaching your shoulders, pulling you up and guiding you to sit in his lap.

You whimpered at the pressure on your bruised skin as you sat on Kage’s thighs. "Better me than another innocent person."

Kage’s face was close to yours, his breath fanning across your skin. ”You wouldn’t trade places with someone else?”

You tried to move back, to get some distance, but Kage held you firm. “No. I couldn’t bring myself to subject someone else to this kind of pain.”

He seemed to be searching for something in your eyes. "You don't like others hurting, do you?"

The question surprised you. "No, I don't. I've always tried to help others if I can."

Your answer has the air in the room changing, some of the coldness turning a bit warmer as Kage brushed away some of your tears. Your blood was still on his hands, and you eyed the redness of his fingers as he touched your face.

A tremble coursed through you when you heard footsteps approaching, and your attention turned to the doorway, where Damien emerged with a salve, some wipes and fresh clothes.

His expression had changed too. Where there was anger was now a new understanding. They really thought you knew what they’d been through, you realised. You glanced between the two men, uncomfortable and distressed. Their anger was ruthless, but you feared whatever this was more. Kage’s hands over your waist were firm, but with an edge of gentleness.

You didn’t want them to like you.

Maybe you should have just lied and said you knew. But that wasn’t you. You weren’t deceptive.

Kage lifted you easily, placing you face down on your cot, your face wetting the fresh sheets below you as you cried. The overstimulation of your body and mind hit like a freight train, and you sobbed like never before.

“Jesus, try to calm down. You’ll make yourself sick,” Damien tried to placate as he sat next to you, wiping away your blood before beginning to apply some ointment to your battered skin. “You really did a number, Kage.”

You glance over at the blonde, and he didn’t seem proud of himself. Quite the opposite. His jaw clenched. “Shut up.”

“Hey hey, I’m just trying to break the tension here.” Damien kept applying the ointment until your welts were covered. “You took your punishment well.”

You think he’s trying to compliment you, so you respond with your head buried in the sheets. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he quickly responded before finishing up.

Your mournful cries didn’t stop, and they only got worse when Kage and Damien finally left, leaving you alone. You dressed yourself in the plain tshirt and panties, before it all became too much and returned to the bed.

All your bottled-up emotions spilled out into the mattress. You screamed, your sounds muffled by the bedding, not stopping until your throat hurt and your voice was course.

The more emotion you let out, the more fatigued you became. And slowly, you began to pass out, crying yourself to sleep. All you could hope was this sleep was more restful, and less eventful than the last.

Thankfully, you didn’t dream this time. Your rest was no more than a limbo between horrors – horrors which seemed very intent on continuing, with Maddox stood with his arms crossed, watching you slumber as he leaned against the open doorframe. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You nearly jumped through the ceiling in fright at the sight of him, your whole body flinching as you sat up, your bruised ass instantly sore from the movement. “You didn’t.”

“Good.” He tilted his head, the anger he’d been sporting gone behind his normal demure expression. “So, I had a chat with the guys. Look, we thought you knew all about us. And now we realise you really are innocent in all this. We feel a bit bad about the whole situation, so we’re going to let you go home.”

It sounded like a foreign language as Maddox spoke, your heart skipping a beat. “You’re going to let me go?”

“Seems only fair. I think we’ve put you through enough,” Maddox shrugged nonchalantly.

“But you were so angry,” you cautiously observed Maddox. It felt like a trick, and it likely was one, but you couldn’t help the desire that smouldered in your heart. You could go home. More than anything you just desired to be comfortable in your own bed again, with your cat and the love of your life.

Maddox pushed himself off the doorframe and approached, the movement making you shuffle back on the mattress. He chuckled, shaking his head at your scurrying. “I have no intent of hurting you.”

“Surely you can’t blame me for being afraid,” you squeaked as he towered over you.

“Oh, not at all. I’ve given you more than enough reason. But here, truce?” Maddox offered his open palm for you to take, to help you stand. You stared at his hand for a moment, taking in the scarred skin. It looked like he held the sharp end of a knife more than once. They weren’t kidding about having been through pain.

Anxiety was a thick sludge in your throat as you placed your hand in his, allowing him to be a crutch for you as you got onto your feet. Your entire backside hurt like something fierce with each movement, but you tried to not show it too much on your face.

“Kage really let you have it, huh?” Maddox grinned, leading you out of the door and to the left, where Kage and Damien stood at the bottom of concrete stairs.

“Ready to go home?” Kage said as Damien took your free hand in his.

“Yes,” you blurted out honestly. “Are you… are you really going to let me go?”

“Of course. We may be assholes, but we’re not liars,” Damien chided, the warmth from his skin heating your hand.

“What about Bu– I mean, my boyfriend?” You questioned, making wobbly steps up the stairs towards what looked to be a basement door. Your suspicions were right - you were underground.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about him. That’s our business to attend to,” Maddox grinned, but it was akin to a shark showing their teeth. There was danger in the way he spoke.

Distracted, you missed a step, but they were quick to catch you, all giving out a soft laugh before you made your way to the top of the stairs.

You had guessed that you were underground. What you hadn’t expected was that you were under a house. You emerged into an open-plan living room and kitchen with a rustic aesthetic. 

“Do you like it?” Damien asked proudly. Clearly, he owned this place.

“... It’s nice.” You placated, taking your hand out of both Maddox and Damien’s grip. “I can.. just go?”

“Yes. Off you go. There’s a car outside waiting for you,” Damien said, and you could feel the soft rumble of a running engine through the floorboards.

You glanced back at the men, each of them looking expectantly at you. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation before you turned around and bolted for the front door, despite your body hating every moment. Your feet were still healing, and with your bruised muscles, it was torture. But you wanted out. No, you needed out.

You reached the front door quickly, and when you turned the knob, your eyes went wide. It was locked tight. There were multiple bolts on the door, which all seemed unlocked, but when you looked down, you realised the front door had a finger scanner. 

Reality began to set in when you placed your finger on the door and were met with a red flash and beeping. Access denied. “No... No, no, no. Not like this.”

You went to turn, but before you could, there was a sharp prick to your neck as one of the men plunged a needle into you. It became clear Maddox was your assailant as your legs went numb, and you tumbled to the ground with a gasp, seeing him standing behind you with dark eyes. Whatever the contents of the syringe were acted quickly, an odd floaty feeling spreading across your body as you lost control of your functions, your body stuck on its front on the cold hardwoods.

Their laughter became distorted as your brain fizzled, but you didn’t pass out. No, whatever they’d given you was keeping you awake, forced to watch as they circled your limp body. “She made it further than I thought she would with her injuries,” Damien smirked as he poked your side with his shoe.

“It’s cute in an utterly pathetic way.” Maddox used his boot to roll you onto your back before leaning down near your head. “Aw, is someone feeling a bit sleepy?” Unable to coil away, Maddox spit in your face with a cruel laugh. “C’mon, wake up, it’s playtime.”

Kage was next to torment you as you tried to roll yourself back onto your stomach to crawl away. His boot pressed painfully into your stomach, the steel tip digging in just below your ribcage. “Knock my foot away. Try it.”

You whined as you tried to use your arms to push him away, but you couldn’t. Your arms were like jelly.

“Mm, as fun as this is, we gotta move.” Maddox sighed as he straightened up, discarding the used needle out of your sightline.

You managed to get onto your stomach with Kage backing off, but all you could do was whimper as hands gripped your ankles, dragging you across the hardwoods and out the front door, your nose banging on the solid surface as you tried to dig your nails into the floor, but you had no strength left.

Your drool and blood from your now bleeding nose created a trail across the floor. At least if anyone found this home, there’d be evidence that you existed, your DNA staining the wood.

“Should we change her?” Damien asked, and from his voice, you could tell he was the one dragging you.

“She’ll be warm enough,” Maddox watched from the side as you were dragged to the porch stairs.

“God, she’s not going to piss in my car, is she?” Damien complained as Kage slung you over his shoulder, your body like a ragdoll, as he lifted you with scary ease.

“Just wrap a towel around her ass. It’ll do.” Maddox began putting bags in the back seat of the SUV parked outside.

Damien began to help him, but not without continuing to complain. “Just watch it. She already bled on my floor.”

Maddox laughed. “She bled all over her apartment and you didn’t even blink.”

“But that wasn’t my apartment,” Damien argued, a playful irritation in his tone.

They were having fun while tear droplets hit the gravel below you.

Maddox wasn’t giving up, though. ”You’re so materialistic sometimes, Dami.”

”When you pay for shit you can be too, Mads. Oh wait, you don’t pay for anything.”

”I’ve saved your ass enough times for payment.”

Kage sighed, his hand resting on your exposed ass. ”Would you two just shut up and help me get her in the car? I can do it myself, but then I’ll make sure blood and piss gets everywhere.”

Maddox sighed, too. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme a second. You leave the present in her cell?"

"Yeah. They'll find it."

You tried to speak, but only a groan came out. 

"Try not to talk. It won't do you any good.” Kage said as Maddox helped him haul you into the trunk of the car.

”At first, we couldn’t get you to talk, and now you won’t shut up.” Maddox started to wrap a towel around your lower half. "Just put some music on and drown her out."

“You… lied…” You managed to get out amongst your drooling whimpers.

Kage leaned in, his hand caressing your cheek. “We didn’t. You are going home.”

“Just not to the home you hoped for,” Maddox chimed in, derisively patting your thigh. “Rest up, babydoll. There’s a long journey ahead of us yet.”

Kage and Maddox pulled back, and their faces were the last thing you saw before the boot was slammed shut, and you were covered in darkness.

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[kaixserzz]

The Fox, the Crow, and the Bunny.

ੈ♡˳ Il Dottore and Gn!Child!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 2.4k words ┊ Fluff *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist | JLM Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

something sweet. dedicated to @idyllic-affections thanks for writing my kaveh rq n this series is inspired by ur acc.. realized i strayed from the real purpose of this fic and made it too long, so just think of it as a 2 in 1 special lol,, (also hi sorry for using dottore he's like my muse and i love writing him) also i hope yall get the meaning of this shit lmao (ref to the scara quest tale)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: strictly platonic/familial, reader is 8 years old, basic dottore warnings, mentions of death, dissecting animals and injuries, implied dottolone (barely), a little ooc but it's canon to me

Dottore's office was once a sacred chamber inside the Fatui headquarters.

While not relatively as pristine as his laboratory, amidst the chaos, there was order. Everything was in its designated place, even though his desk was a nightmare to whoever laid eyes on it (spilled coffee too busy to clean, now dried onto the wood of his table, piles, and piles of documents and papers stacked haphazardly on one another, a disarray of pens and pencils occupying every available niche, and vials filled with who-knows-what dangerously teetering on the edge).

Hazards lurked at every turn within his office, presenting a far-from-presentable façade that seemingly clashed with his position as the 2nd of the 11th Fatui Harbingers. Yet, one might ponder, does the doctor truly concern himself with such matters?

No, not at all. He doesn't have the time to clean everything or keep them in such an organized state. He simply knows everything is in place, and the mess scarcely holds him back (he hires maids once in a while, when the mess gets too much, and in 1 out of 5 maids he hires only makes it out alive).

Yet, what truly imbued this room with a sense of sanctity? For within these walls, he unearthed his genuine solace and tranquility.

In this space, silence reigned supreme. Isolation was his companion, a cherished serenity he embraced. Here, his thoughts danced, inventions took form, and ideas flowed onto paper alongside intricate equations. Occasionally, he'd pass out on his desk and drool all over his papers. This room stood as a shelter inviolable, reserved solely for those few instances of urgency or the presence of a fellow Harbinger.

All other members of the Fatui instinctively bid their time, patiently awaiting his emergence from the sanctum of his office before venturing to approach him. For within its confines, the Doctor was impervious to disruption. No one disturbs the Doctor.

That was before you came along, of course.

The office, ill-suited for a child of your tender years, harbored a minefield of hazards. Within its walls lay various artifacts, concoctions, and intricate machinery, a perilous realm unfit for the innocent curiosity of youth. Regrettably, your presence inadvertently disrupted the serene harmony that had long enveloped this space, unsettling the Doctor who, by nature, dislikes abrupt shifts and deviations from what he was used to.

When you first arrived in his office (he didn't want you inside of it, after all, he wasn't exactly fond of children, but he had no choice) you were immediately injured after stepping onto a shard of glass that Dottore has completely ignored. You tried your very best not to cry for the sake of not irritating Dottore further, but he wasn't very gentle with your wound either.

He took note of keeping his vials away from the edge of his table.

Then a bunch of books topples over you. He puts them into the shelves now, and you helped him organize by using the Dewey Decimal System, to which you had read from a book.

Then, while he was explaining his recent idea (rather enthusiastically) to you, his hand accidentally slammed against his files and flew straight to your face. You also helped him organize his papers.

And then it was cleaning his desk, offering him DIY pencil holders you've made just for him. You've also invented a mug that prevents the liquid inside from spilling (he thinks it was a rather brilliant invention, he no longer has to worry about spilling on his desk).

And then it was putting his rather precarious possessions somewhere else, outside the vicinity of his office and far away from your grasp.

You were very eager to help him in any way possible, and for a child, you quite enjoyed receiving chores. Yet, your contentment was uncomplicated, drawn from the privilege of being granted entry to his treasure trove of knowledge, replete with a limitless collection of books, materials, and tools.

Dottore always thought that you'd be such a nuisance to him once you entered his office and sully the peace he has always known within his office's enclosed haven.

But he didn't expect to welcome your presence at all, on such short notice, too. (Deep inside, he felt a strange warmth in his chest whenever you'd tug on his coat, asking if he needed any assistance with organizing his office. He wonders what it was, though.)

So, here you were, amidst the symphony of pen strokes etching against paper, a solitary melody resonating within the confines of his office.

Contrary to his expectations, the calmness he believed would dissipate upon your arrival had, in fact, been amplified by leaps and bounds. As he observed from the corner of his eye, you reclined on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, immersed in a world of creativity. Strewn across the floor, an assortment of crayons bore testament to your artistic endeavors, while he diligently attended to the papers handed by the Fatui.

Then, as if hesitant to break the comfortable silence, you tried to catch his attention with a soft 'psst!', then covered your mouth with your tiny hand to suppress your childish giggles.

The corners of his lips twitch in irritance amusement as he turns his head toward you, his pen on the desk. You broke into a much bigger grin and held your drawing close to your chest, not wanting to expose it just yet. "Hey, Dotdot!" You whispered to him, and he can't help but roll his eyes smile at the nickname you've given him. "Can I show you what I drew?"

Dottore emitted a contemplative hum as if grappling with the decision of whether to engage or remain absorbed in his thoughts. Your evident impatience manifested in a pout, prompting his response. "Well, fine," He yielded, beckoning you forth. You beamed brightly as you swiftly rose to your feet and bounded toward him, your landing generating a muted grunt from him. A steadying hand rested on the desk, enabling him to regain his composure, after which he settled your giggling form comfortably within the space between his legs. "Now then," He put his hands on your shoulder, "What is it you wished to share?"

With another giggle from your ceaseless childish amusement, you gave him the piece of paper. Big, round eyes sparkling against the light of the room looked up at him expectantly. Dottore received the drawing from you, his gaze lingering over its details, drawn into a moment of shared curiosity and wonder.

It was him, and you, holding hands, depicted with earnest effort and the imaginative touch of your youthful artistry. Around you were a bunch of other versions of him, his segments, though you've only drawn five (since they were the only ones who have interacted with you so far). Each had their names labeled beneath them, but Dottore absolutely adores that you've labeled him as 'Dotdot' instead (you've also drawn Pantalone holding your other hand and labeled him as 'Pants', adorned both figures with encircling hearts).

"Truly remarkable artwork," He stated with a smile, his words accompanied by the sound of your jubilant cheers, "This masterpiece deserves a place of honor, a spot where all can admire it. I can already imagine the joy it will bring to the other segments once they lay eyes on it."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I do believe they enjoy your company, little bunny."

As he carefully set the drawing on his table, your inquisitive gaze caught his attention. With a tilt of your head, a gesture he knew all too well, you asked him a question, "Why do you call me that?"

"Hm? Call you what?" Dottore grabbed you gently and settled you onto his desk. Positioned face to face, at eye level, his intent was clear—to engage with you as both an adult and a child, a balance you seemed to relish.

"Bunny! You call me bunny lots,"

"Oh? Do you not like it?"

You vigorously shook your head, "No no, I love it! I get called nicknames, but they're all mean." You furrow your brow as you reminisced, pouting at the awful memories. But then you broke into a big smile again, "But yours is new and cute! So, why do you call me that?"

Dottore's grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth, a sight that enthralled you. Your hands instinctively moved to his cheeks, your eyes filled with wonder, and he welcomed the touch wholeheartedly. "Ahh, ever so curious, aren't you, little bun?" He teased playfully, giving your nose a gentle boop! with his finger, and your giggles were a delightful response. "You see, I call you bunny because you embody its spirit—small, swift, and an endless source of vibrant energy.

You also love to hop onto people a lot."

"I love giving surprise hugs! I'm too small, so a jump, so I can wrap my arms around them a bit higher!" You huffed as he chuckled at your explanation. "What are you, then? What animal?"

"Oh? I've never thought about what kind of animal I'd be... Hmmm..." Dottore mused for a while, his expression thoughtful. Eventually, he arrived at a decision. "A fox, I think. Crafty, shrewd, and sly. A creature that prowls with a purpose and possesses those distinct, sharp teeth." As he said that, he grins once more to show his sharp teeth, then lunges for your finger, mimicking a bite, prompting you to gasp and pull back with a joyful squeal.

"And speaking of bunnies..." His tone took on a mischievous edge, causing your eyes to widen in anticipation. Suddenly, he swooped in, grabbing your legs and lifting you high into the air. "I might just gobble you up!" Dottore's playful pretense of chomping down on you elicited a cascade of laughter from you. You pushed at his head, trying to escape his 'gobbling' jaws, your legs kicking playfully as you enjoyed the moment.

"I don't think you're a fox, Dotdot!" You quipped, retaking your seat on his desk. Playfully swinging your legs, you mused aloud, a soft humming accompanying your contemplation.

Dottore raised an intrigued eyebrow, "Oh? And what am I in the eyes of my little bunny? Perhaps something more fearsome?" He inquired, looming over you in an effort to intimidate you.

Instead, your eyes lit up brightly, and you joyfully clapped your hands together. "Oh, I've got it! A crow!" You exclaimed with a triumphant smile.

A bemused frown replaced his grin as he processed your unexpected response. "...A crow?" He echoed, clearly puzzled by your choice. "Of all animals?"

And you merely smile at him, giggling at his confused reaction, "Mhm! Yeah! A crow that talks on and on and on." Your hands followed your words, almost hitting him in the face, "A crow that is death and prey over rotting corpses, but a crow that saved me! I thought Dotdot was an angel, but angels don't have black feathers, scary smiles, or red eyes."

Your words painted a vivid picture of your perception, a whimsical and deeply personal perspective on his nature. Dottore nods along, intrigued, as you rambled your thoughts to him, not even chastising you for grabbing the beak of his mask and playing with it.

"You're a crow! You're very smart, and clever, and creative! You're scary to other people, but not to me! I love corvids, I used to feed them bits of animal after I dissect them, and they always bring me something shiny. They were my only friends, and now you're my friend too!"

He doesn't understand the gentle warmth that began to unfurl within his chest as he remained attentive to your words. While unfamiliar, this sensation wasn't entirely unwelcome... "I beg to differ, my dear bunny. I am unmistakably a fox,"

"Then you're a crow pretending to be a fox!" You pout, stubbornly crossing your arms. "I think crows are way cooler than foxes. They can fly! Plus, you can't call yourself a fox when you resemble a crow more than a fox!" You pointed out, a triumphant smirk on your lips.

Well, you do have a point. He does wear a beaked mask, coupled with a bird-like shoulder embellishment bedecked in exquisite black feathers.

"Should I then consider donning attire that better befits a fox?"

At the notion, you fixed him with a mock glare, your cheeks puffing out in an adorable display of discontent. "Nooooo! I prefer Mr. Crow!" you protested with a playful whine, punctuating your words by delivering gentle punches to his shoulders with your tiny hands.

He chuckles at your small tantrum, and he swiftly gathers you into his embrace. Your arms naturally encircled his neck as he rose from his seat, carrying you toward the door, your precious drawing clutched in your hands. "Very well, very well, my dear Mr. Crow it shall remain," He conceded with a playful tone, his steps filled with an easy camaraderie.

Victoriously, you shot him a smug grin, to which he rolled his eyes at.

"Do you wanna know something, Mr. Crow?" You mutter in his ear as he walks past one of his segments.

"Hm? What is it?"

You made sure to whisper it very quietly, hoping the other segments won't hear you. "Between you and me, I think that your younger segments are like rats!"

He didn't know what came over him, he released a hearty, resounding laugh, its volume surprising not just you but also the other segments who happened to be present, each momentarily taken aback by their own affairs. Such an outpouring of mirth was rare for him (only when he was inside his dark, cool lab, alone with experiments).

A sense of pride swelled in your chest as you grinned widely, his laughter infectious as you burst into a fit of giggles. It was a scary laugh, maybe it was just naturally like that, but to you, it sounded very happy. "They bit me once! I was just poking their face."

"Perhaps give them a treat before you approach them," He says, calming down as he continues his trek toward your room. "This gesture might just soften their demeanor."

"What, like cheese?"

"Oh, little bun, that'll drive them even more mad once they found out you called them rats."

You share another grin with him, finding a cozy spot to rest your chin upon his shoulder in contentment, "Good! I think they're funny when their faces turn red."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I’ll appreciate it very very much! Don’t repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

[rei-ismyname]

Crucible and Krakoan bodily autonomy

X-Men (2019) #7 introduced Crucible, Krakoa's answer to the problem of millions of depowered mutants. One of the promises of Krakoa was resurrective immortality though The Five. They couldn't stop mutants being killed but they could 'right that great wrong' by returning them to life in a new body. Krakoa held different meaning for those affected by The Decimation - the return of their stolen powers, and their right to bodily autonomy and living as their true selves. Crucible was provocative and shocking for readers, but this was intentional and it's much more than senseless violence.

Melody Guthrie wants to be herself

Crucible was created to address the problem of the sheer number of mutants who were depowered and were willing to do anything to reverse that. Mass suicide or euthanasia might be acceptable to some, but it would put a massive strain on The Five's already staggering workload (primarily Genosha's 16 million dead.) Apocalypse proposed Crucible, ritual combat where the depowered mutant chooses their slayer and then fights them to the death. It also serves as a way to ensure the participant has made an informed choice before committing to a big change.

In the panels above, Apocalypse is performing ritual - call and response, confirmation of identity, baldly stating the reality, and repeatedly asking for verbal consent. It's a public/communal statement of intent and consent - so everyone can see that Melody wants this. She's not here under duress and she's willing to fight and die publicly to (re)gain the body she wants.

Her brother Sam interprets it as cruelty, but her sister Paige stops him - 'this is what she wants.' Apocalypse's words can be interpreted as cruelty, but they can also be interpreted as giving multiple opportunities to change her mind - at every stage ensuring consent and understanding is present. He stresses that a LOT of people want this opportunity and that it's a privilege. 'Do you understand?'

'Yes.' After repeat explanations, offers to back out, and establishments of consent, it's her turn to state that clearly for all to hear. To confirm that she understands and that she chooses to do this. Only then does the ritual violence commence. If nothing else, we know it's ritual because Apocalypse could kill her instantly if he wished. He doesn't wish.

Apocalypse obviously overpowers and disarms Melody, but he's not being overly cruel or brutal. Kurt and Scott are troubled, but note that the general response is positive.

After Melody is knocked down, Apocalypse pauses again to offer medical treatment and the chance to change her mind. I'd argue he's genuinely trying to convince her to accept it, but he's pleased at her reaffirming consent and understanding.

Melody is completely disarmed, her sword shattered. She's on the ground stuttering. After encouraging her to get up, only then does Apocalypse offer 'the gift,' confirming she has 'earned it.' With everyone watching he kills her in what's implied to be a single thrust. Note how Melody has injuries, but they'd be generously termed 'light.' A little blood on her face, an arm injury of some kind, but no broken bones or open wounds. Certainly no missing limbs or the kind of cuts you'd expect from that gigantic fucking sword.

It's ceremonial combat - a ritual and a test - one Melody Guthrie passed while agreeing to it every step of the way. Her family are beside themselves, but who wouldn't be when witnessing a sibling die? At the hands of an old enemy no less. As Paige said, 'this is what she wants.'

Melody, Aero, is resurrected immediately with tears of joy streaming down her face. Bathed in light she stands, overwhelmed with the feeling of being her true self again.

Before doing anything she turns to Apocalypse and thanks him for helping make her 'whole.' He acknowledges that she did the hard work but humbly accepts it when she offers thanks again. Then she does what she's been missing for so long, the reason she went through this ordeal. She 'shows them who she really [is]' and takes to the sky.

It's framed as something miraculous, divine especially contrasted with facing Apocalypse in mortal combat. He and his sword are gigantic next to her slight frame, and Nightcrawler (a sympathetic character) expresses doubts the whole time in voiceover. I think the juxtaposition of commentary plus Apocalypse's presence with Melody's POV during and after are designed to wrongfoot the reader, or at least challenge us to think about what's happening. Ultimately it's Melody's body, Melody's choice, and Melody's happiness that matter most here.

Crucible is disturbing to our sensibilities but in the context of a society with resurrective immortality and many wrongs to right, it might be the best option available. It also resonated with a lot of trans folks and others whose body doesn't match the one they were born with. I can speak on my own body dismorphia, and I say with certainty that if I had to go through Crucible to 'show who I really am' I would. In a heartbeat. Apocalypse here is kinder than 99% of doctors that gatekeep gender-affirming care of any kind.

The metaphor isn't perfect, and Krakoa isn't perfect, but Crucible is much more than grisly murder. It's food for thought, it's transhumanist parable, it's an exploration of bodily autonomy and the pain we'll endure to have it. It's Apocalypse stabbing a young woman with a giant sword. Crucible unflinchingly shows us what Krakoa's bounty might look like and invites us to think about it, to ask questions. It's uncomfortable and it's beautiful. It privileges the brave and reckless over the timid, yet depowered mutants line up for their turn.

[inseparabiles]

@cummodus was being mean to me so I wrote some Acacius + Geta lap sitting. Platonic. CW for childhood trauma/abuse and self-harm.

( AO3 )

---

“You’re being careless again,” the General said.

There wasn’t any judgement to his voice, but Geta was finding it difficult to swallow despite. Instinctively, he always expected there to be shouting: a sudden grinding of the chair’s feet against the floor, a tall figure standing, and a burning blow against his cheek that’d turn his head so fast his neck would hurt for it as much as his face did later. He could imagine it (remember it) so vividly that when he lifted his hand again to reverse his move, his hand was shaking.

He knew Acacius could see it. Every bit of his fear and this cursed weakness he couldn’t shed. This was a game - be it one to teach him, but still just a game. But he remembered so well, remembered what failure meant, how swiftly the punishment came. Acacius would at least tell him what he’d done wrong, but that hadn’t always been the case. He remembered moving pieces on a board and then that blinding, swift, stabbing pain on his face, inside his head, the watery eyes and the second strike that would come for crying, even though he wasn’t crying. He only cried later, hiding behind his brother’s bed, Caracalla’s clumsy arms looking for purchase around his shoulders, his cold fingers trailing the bruises on Geta’s face, his broken lips.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” the General asked.

Slowly, stiffly, Geta shook his head. “No. I don’t understand.”

“Look.”

Acacius took the piece from his fingers, which were as cold as he remembered Caracalla’s being. He wasn’t making a mention of it, or the shaking, and Geta could only guess as to why. Did the chance to humiliate him not appeal to the man? For so long, Geta had done his best to make him angry. He deserved something in return. His father would have never passed such an opportunity. Instead, Geta now watched as his piece was placed where he’d just removed it - and then another piece moved, a black one to match the ivory piece he’d wielded. The General predicted flawlessly where he’d been heading with his strategy, and in no time, his example had shown why it was a mistake: a long, elaborate mistake, but one which his opponent had nevertheless picked up on far before Geta had realised his own exposed vulnerability.

He’d never been good at board games. Now, this was so much more than that. These were cohorts in the field - and time after time, Acacius was decimating his ranks. No matter what Geta did, it always ended the same way.

“I don’t know how you see that far,” he said hesitantly, his voice breaking a little. “I can only see ahead two or three moves. I cannot predict yours. I don’t understand.”

“I have experience,” Acacius told him, his dark eyes turning to him from underneath his brows. “I have training, an education. I have been taught, ruthlessly at times, how to always think one step ahead of the enemy.”

“And it works out there? On a real campaign?”

A short nod, and Acacius leaned back in his seat. Their pieces on the marble board stayed as they were, in the inevitable climax and closure following the flaws which Geta had exposed into his lines with a single thoughtless move. No, not… not thoughtless. He’d thought. His thoughts just weren’t good enough. He didn’t have the mind for this. That had been what Severus had told him, over the tears which burned in his eyes almost as badly as the bruises and heat of injuries and bloodied lips on his face burned. He didn’t have the mind for it, for commanding armies; he’d never make for a good emperor. He couldn’t even win a game of latrones.

“Leading an army into a battle begins much before the pieces are set. You measure everything, from the environment and the direction of the wind to the angle of the sun and the conditions of the soil. You choose your positions so that the enemy will never have a gain on you, or if it is inevitable, you first have to find a way to turn it against him or minimise the impact by employing your available strengths for defenses. Then you see how he positions himself, and ensure that there is no evident flaw in his own design. Where are his archers? Do you have natural cover available? Is there cavalry? Will the environment separate the troops when the charge begins - can you force it?”

“But none of that exists on the board.”

“All of it exists in the mind.”

For a good long while, their eyes were locked. Geta wanted to retreat, but he couldn’t. That’d be a sign of weakness. But was it worse than the lining of tears in his eyes? The fear that had his lips tight? When Acacius moved again, Geta’s whole body jolted in his seat, and his breath hitched. The reaction had the older man still for just a while, and a flicker of his expression betrayed his awareness of the change between them, and Geta wanted to die; he wasn’t good for anything. He jumped at shadows, always had. Just one move over a board which displayed his loss - his body throbbed with the memories of his punishments, and Septimius Severus had been ashes for three years now.

“Come,” Acacius told him then, his voice softer and his fingers curling once for an invitation. “Come see the board from my angle.”

Geta’s legs shook when he pulled himself up from the chair, but this time he could at least hope that the General did not see how much he had to lean himself to the armrests to stay steady. His steps were careful when he crossed the table. Then, a hand pressed over his back - the middle of his spine, first, then with fingers crawling all the way around his waist to pull him closer. He shifted, his step clumsy until his body was flush with the General’s. Hesitantly, he followed when the grip turned for a tug. There was no space there - nowhere to sit - the way he was being tugged did not allow for him to bend over, nor would he have wanted to, it felt humiliating. The side of his thigh found some purchase from the very edge of the chair, but the armrest was digging into his back when he brushed up there, trying to make himself smaller.

Acacius huffed; he gave him a glance, a measure, and his fingertips pressed into Geta’s side a little harder.

“General, I don’t know what you want of me.”

“Sit.”

“There isn’t any space.”

The look he gained in return was empty in a way that felt tired with him. But he didn’t understand. He felt stupider by the moment: first the game, now this. Where was he supposed to sit? If he’d crouch, he’d be too low, and it’d be -

He swallowed when the hand tugged at him again. Then, closing his eyes, he let his body be pulled over so that his thigh slipped past Acacius’s, the soft spread of the man’s own taking over from the hard edge of the chair. Geta didn’t so much sit on it as he allowed himself to hover over it, and the heat of shame pushed onto his face. The fear in him was changing shape now. He shouldn’t have been here alone. He shouldn’t let someone whom he didn’t trust have this much power over him. Acacius was an older man; stronger, too, by far. And what was he? A boy who couldn’t stop crying when his pieces were cast aside from a game board.

“Do you see?” Acacius asked him, as if his body wasn’t tense like frozen.

“What am I supposed to see, General?” Geta’s voice was small and strained, barely more than a hoarse breath.

The arm around him adjusted, hand turning to the bend of the arm as the fingers came loose and rested in the air. This hold was less possessive, less… less threatening. It was casual, relaxed, half on the chair and half on him, just keeping him steady as he was. Geta’s body loosened with the grip, and he could breathe again - his eyes regaining focus, the empty noise in his mind quieting. He blinked and wiped his eyes to the back of his arm as subtly as he could. At least from here, Acacius couldn’t see how pathetic he was, how afraid all of this made him.

He turned to stare at the board and tried to remember what they’d been speaking of.

“This is your stage,” Acacius began again. He was picking up the pieces, placing them in their starting lanes.

“Your archers.” His fingers drew an invisible circle upon the black pieces in front of them, separating two cohorts.

“Your cavalry.” Another circle.

“Your footmen.” A third one.

“You are here,” he explained then, brushing his fingertip over a piece. “A good general will always fight with his men. You are the point of the blade which thrusts through the enemy line. They will die to protect you, but you cannot waste their lives just because you know that they won’t question the order. The less men you have around you, the more vulnerable you are to the enemy. Even a victory can be fatal to a general whose focus shifted too far into conquest and away from the people around him. Your fight is always here, where you are, and with the men who are around you.”

Geta nodded. Warmth was returning to his body.

“At the same time,” Acacius continued, his hand gesturing toward the white pieces across the board, “You, more than any other piece on the board, must always know how to look ahead. You must keep in mind the enemy’s position, and lead your men always through the most optimal path available to you. Your body must fight where you stand but your mind must fight for the whole army. And you must trust, with your heart and soul, that every other commander is reading the land and the battle as you are. You must believe that you are on the same page, because you can only command those who are around you. There is no guarantee your orders will be heard all through the battle - this is why choosing commanders is important; they must not only have the skills to read a battle as it unfolds, but they must know your mind as well as their own, so that even when they cannot find you, they can make the choices that mirror your own.”

Now, his hand returned to Geta; it took a grip of his wrist first, then stretched fingers to become a cover for Geta’s hand, and together, they began to move pieces.

“When you move your troops through to the side to circle the enemy,” he continued, Geta’s hand in his in a way that felt warm and commanding but not forceful, and it did not hurt, “you must believe that here - on the other side of the field - your commander will know what you are doing, and pull his troops through so that your manouvre becomes the trap you wish for it. If it doesn’t? Your line scatters, and it’ll be easy to break through. The enemy will become a blade and your army is but a hide to pierce. The goal is always to engage them so that they cannot penetrate a weakness in you first. An army which is surrounded cannot fight as a point and becomes much like a field ready for a reaping.”

Geta’s hand was left upon the board, holding a piece: he thought it was obvious where he should lay it next, but something nagged at him. The enemy positions, Acacius’s words. He hesitated. And there it was - to the side of his piece, there was an opening which was being left bare, and would allow the enemy to do exactly what the General had told him not to allow for it. It could turn to a point, and push his forces apart.

He lay down the piece he’d been left holding, and moved another instead. His breath released as a gasp of relief when Acacius gave a laugh: it had no jeer in it, no mockery, no disappointment.

“Good eye,” the General said.

It could have been good. Geta could have enjoyed this, if not for the continued release of his body - the way he was falling into shaking, far too deep into relaxation, into tremors which were cold and warm at once, and if his breath hadn’t… whatever it did - he couldn’t get in enough air. His reaction took his whole focus: his hand retreated, arms pressed against his body to cover him, hands escaped to his face to hide him. Every word his father had ever said to him - all of it at once, as echoes in his ears, and he couldn’t bear it - couldn’t bear the sound of the General’s laugh, the warmth of it, or the sensation of burning soreness and rawness which had suddenly taken over his body. It took him a while to realise something more mortifying: that as he was breaking, the man whose thigh he’d been set to sit on brought his own arms around him, and that his hold was firm but not punishing or restricting. For every one of his tremors, his hitching breaths, the General simply held him tighter for a while, and then let him feel himself loose and able to go when his breaths ran free again but he couldn’t move - if he’d tried, he would have fallen on his knees. There was no strength to him and the tears wouldn’t stop, so he couldn’t take his hands off of his face, either.

Pathetic, pitiful, despicable sight.

His spine curved and he tried to hide, as if becoming smaller could have made him invisible. He wanted the beating. He craved for it. This was too much - a display like this had only one answer to it, one lesson which needed repeating. Where was it? Where was the pain? He wanted it; so badly that when it was not forthcoming, his hands turned to nails on his face and then to a fist and he brought his knuckles deep into his own arm, one colliding into bone, the others thrusting into muscle, releasing an ache that spread into the full length of the limb and left his grip weak.

A hand took a hold of that place, then, where his fist had made for an injury, and wrapped around it. It pulled the whole arm down and because of the pain, Geta couldn’t stop it from happening - his muscles didn’t contract, couldn’t - and he turned his face away, tried to breathe. His other wrist was captured, too, and his hands pressed against his chest, arms over arms, the warmth of a body both pressed against his back and holding him still by the front. The moment was passing: the echoes in his ears turning lesser, his shaking dying down again, but he still had trouble swallowing and breathing. There was nothing in the world that he craved more than to let his body be at rest there, soak up the warmth which was there, be in silence, and forget all that was so disgusting about him, so weak, never good enough for anything. If no one had ever said a thing again, he might have been able to believe that this was gentleness, or care, something which could have belonged to him as a child if he’d only been better - more deserving - but he’d always been stupid and worthless.

When would the punishment come?

Was it ever coming?

And if not, what more would he have to do to himself to repeat the lesson? One strike was not enough to drive in the message.

With a sigh, Acacius’s grip of his wrists grew firmer for a while before he let him go again, and as he did so, Geta had already slipped off and stood up and walked half across the room before he so much as knew that he was moving, or that he was able to stay upright at all.

“Thank you for this lesson,” he said tightly, his own voice foreign to his ears. “You’re dismissed.”

The General stood: slowly, in little hurry to move or be gone from the room. His hand brushed through the marble board and examined the pieces upon it one last time. Then, as Geta’s gaze was picking him up from the very corner of his eyes, he turned to look at him instead.

“I wonder what you could have been,” Acacius said quietly, “had your father not been such a cruel man.”

The way in which Geta’s breathing hitched again was audible, and once more, his nails turned to his skin, wanting to hurt, break, claw red marks into it, make it bleed. Weak. Despicable. Disgusting. Worthless. Like beats of his own heart inside his ears.

“You know where to find me should you wish to continue learning, Emperor Geta. Until then - try to think of the full picture, even when those closest to you remain your first priority.”

The General’s absence left the room ringing, but instead of fright, Geta’s chest was now loosening into warmth. It took him a long time to lift his gaze from the floors: the afternoon’s sun was already tinted a warmer, deeper colour than when the door had last opened and closed, but every moment which he’d spent motionless had been one which he had needed to regain control of himself again.

The birdsong, the breeze across the Palatine; the sounds of music from somewhere inside the palaces, and the laugh of children outside. He was safe here, Geta thought, and the ghost of an embrace still played upon his skin when he finally determined himself able to move. There’d been no price attached to this kindness, and Geta’s weakness, in all its reprehensible display, had not been punished. For the first time that he could remember he was entirely unharmed by it - they both were, this time, him and his brother.

If not for the bruises of his own fist, at least. He let his palm trail over the throbbing marks, the only real ghost of his father that still stood in the room with him, and his mouth turned to a snarl.

He’d lose again, he thought. And next time, he’d shut his mind to his father’s will, and would not do his dirty work for him. For tonight as always, he’d seek the only comfort which he knew for it - he’d find his brother, they’d dine and then sleep. It felt a miracle that Caracalla’s touch would only be the second comfort which he’d be granted that day, voluntarily and without reserve.

[idyllic-affections]

Are you able to do over protective Dan heng x child reader platonic??? Like what if the child reader accidentally got hurt or severely injured

(The reader can be any gender)

the guard.

summary. dan heng has never been one to let those he loves get hurt.

trigger & content warnings. vaguely implied spoilers for dan heng's backstory (but only if you squint), mild blood, depictions of injury.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. comfort, slight angst. dan heng & child!reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns used for reader.

author's thoughts. i am practicing writing shorter reqs!! my inbox is SOOOO full tbh LMAOOO so i'm trying to learn to write shorter works so i can post more often again. this request became very found family like.... really quickly. sorry anon. i could not help it PLEALDJEKDHJG /lh

       "Big brother!"

       Dan Heng's eyes snapped in their direction at the painful cry they let out, and his lips pulled back into a scowl.

       Blood.

       There wasn't a lot of it, but against the snowy backdrop of Belobog, it wasn't exactly difficult to see, either. Their blood coated their little hands as they reached down to their wounded leg instinctively, trying to grasp at or clutch their wound as if that would somehow lessen the throbbing, aching sensating striking up and down their limb with any wrong movements they made. They curled into themselves pitifully.

       With a practiced, skillful flick of his arm, he decimated what remained of the Fragmentum monsters surrounding him and rushed in their direction. He payed no mind to the few monsters that remained; he merely scooped them up into his strong arms and darted away from the battle entirely.

       As much as something hidden away deep inside him snarled and hissed and demanded that he turn back and destroy what dared lay hands on the hiccuping, sobbing child in his arms... it wasn't worth it. It was not worth his time, not when someone so dear to him was in pain.

       No, it was not worth his time nor his energy.

       "You're okay," he murmured (and perhaps it was more to reassure himself than it was to reassure them), one hand gingerly caressing the back of their head. They wept into his neck, hands clawing at his clothes and shoulders. It was as if they sought to ground themselves—to grit their teeth and calm themselves down, despite the agony they were in. "You're okay."

       "It hurts," they cried, face twisting into a grimace whenever Dan Heng moved a little too fast or jolted his body—and subsequenly, theirs—a little too sharply.

       His eyes flickered down to them for a brief moment.

       Dan Heng could swear he felt his heart halt in his chest at the sight of their expression. It made him all the more determined to get them back onto the Express as quickly as he possibly could.

       "...I know," he murmured. "I know, [Name]. Just breathe. We'll be on the Express soon."

       They nodded weakly against his shoulder, sniffling.

       His grip on their fragile body only seemed to tighten.

                         — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Dan Heng had failed them.

       He, who had never been the type of person to allow harm to befall his loved ones, had failed them.

       Though their wound had been treated, though they no longer appeared to be in pain, he still failed. It was difficult for him not to fixate on those things when he was sitting right next to their bed. They looked tired. He should have done better. He should have—

       "Dan Heng?" their quiet, timid voice squeaked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

       "...What is it?"

       "Can you stay with me tonight?" Their fingers anxiously fidgeted with their blanket as they turned their face towards him. "I'm scared."

       "Of what?"

       "Those monsters. What if they come back to get me..?"

       "They won't get you here," he reassured quietly, calmly, "...but I'll stay, if that makes you feel any better."

       Through the dim lighting, Dan Heng could make out the big smile spreading across their face.

       Somehow, the concerns in his mind dissipated all at once.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[scoonsalicious]

Unsatisfied, Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: After game night, Bucky promised to ruin you come morning. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, Explicit Sexual Content: Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (FaceTime sex, hand stuff), Pocket still not being over her trauma, mentions of past injury.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hi, besties!

It's me, ya gurl, with Part 2 of the post-Unwanted one-shot that's become a three-shot, lol! I fucking missed the absolute hell out of these two, and I'm so happy to be back with them for a little bit. Writing for Pocket and her Bucky is just like... I don't know. It's like I'm not even making stuff up, just channeling it, because it comes so easily, unlike literally everything else I try to write. I can't say when I'm going to resume WFLT. To be perfectly candid, I might put it on extended hiatus while I work on other things that seem to come easier right now. I don't know yet. I just want to be up front with everyone.

Here's where my attentions are currently focused: Finishing Unsatisfied, an untitled collab with @mrsbuckybarnes1917, writing Hunted, and plotting Unbroken. For some reason, there is just a giant Gandalf standing between me and WFLT, waving his staff and shouting "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" I'll let you know when I whip him into the abyss. And yes, that does make me the Balrog in this scenario, and I, too, fall to my death in the depths of Moria. It's an imperfect analogy, okay? At least I'm not Sean Bean, dying all over the place.

Anyway, enjoy more Pocket and Bucky! I know I do! xoxo

“I miss you,” you moaned into the screen of your phone. Your voice sounded pitiful, even to your own ears, but you were lonely and you didn’t have the shame to hide it. Especially not from the man you were talking to.

“I miss you, too, sweets,” Bucky said with a dejected sigh that let you know your feelings of misery were mutual. “It shouldn’t be longer than a few more days, then I’ll come back home to ya, and we can pick up where we left off, yeah?”

You smiled and nodded eagerly, his promise setting your skin awash in goosebumps. ‘Where you’d left off’ had been finally, finally, coming back together after nearly twelve months of self-imposed celibacy, spending the first night together, in your new apartment, wrapped in each other’s arms, with his co—

“At least we got our bubble bath before things went fully to shit,” Bucky added, a smile playing on his lips from across the distance, as though he knew exactly where your thoughts had taken you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, remembering the feel of him, so warm and solid, against your back in the tub. After he’d kicked out your friends from the impromptu game night they’d decided to throw at your new place, and you’d gotten over your freakout when Sam had inadvertently joked about Bucky ‘cheating’ at a card game, the two of you had spent a much needed evening just in each other’s company. Intimacy, but not sex, the way your therapist had recommended, with Bucky promising to ruin you come daybreak. 

Instead, though, a call had come from Fury in the middle of the night. A group of terrorists, counting some several enhanced among them, had stolen a biological weapon and were threatening to decimate the population of Shanghai unless the Chinese government gave into their demands, and so, The Avengers, Bucky included, had been called away.

You’d offered to go, just so you could stay close to him. You’d never even leave the Quinjet, you’d promised, out of the action, but neither Bucky nor Tony was eager to see you back on the field, not after what had happened the last time. Even though you’d had your last reconstructive surgery months ago, and your doctors had given you the all clear, between your boyfriend and your pseudo-brother, you weren’t leaving New York anytime soon.

That had been over a week ago. Negotiations with the terrorists had not gone according to plan, and they were probably going to have to fight it out. And as for you? You were ready to climb the fucking walls.

“How’s wedding stuff going?” Bucky asked, referring to your role as Maid of Honor in Pepper and Tony’s upcoming nuptials. “Keeping you busy?”

“Don’t you dare try to change the subject, Barnes,” you practically growled at him. “I am so fucking desperate for your cock, I swear to god–”

From somewhere off camera, you could hear a cacophony of sound– a combination of Sam and Clint’s uproarious laughter and Tony shouting “JESUS CHRIST BARNES, USE YOUR FUCKING HEADPHONES!”

Bucky’s face had turned crimson in the video call, and you couldn’t suppress the laugh that came bubbling from you as he abruptly stood up and removed himself into a darker, quieter area.

“Shit,” he exhaled as he got himself re-situated in the new, hopefully more private, space. He ran a hand down his face in embarrassment. “Didn’t mean for them to hear all that, doll.”

You laughed as you twisted a strand of hair around your finger in the way you knew he liked. “What happened to your earbuds, baby?” you teased. 

Bucky reached up and pulled an airpod from his ear, looking at the small device as though it had personally offended him. “I thought they were on!” he exclaimed. “If I’d known I’d been broadcasting you for the whole fucking team to hear, I woulda gone somewhere a lot more private to begin with.”

“The whole team?” you asked, cautiously. You didn’t want to say any names, but you needed to know if he was there, too. If he’d heard you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, catching your meaning and lowering his voice. “Rogers is here.”

You swallowed and nodded solemnly. You hadn’t spoken to Steve Rogers since he’d made his horrible confession to you in the hospital, of the ways he’d manipulated your life to keep you and Bucky apart. All culminating in Bucky’s betrayal, your temporary death, the loss of your unborn baby. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, thinking only of Bucky in the moment. It was easy for you to stay away from Steve, to ignore him– your anger toward him had far surpassed any level of fondness you’d once had for Captain America, but you knew how much harder it was for Bucky to break a bond of nearly a century. Not that you would have ever forbidden him from reconnecting with Steve, if that was what he had wanted. No, Bucky had decided on his own that some things couldn’t be forgiven. No matter how many decades of friendship might lie behind them.

“Yeah,” he sighed, though you could tell from the look in his eyes that it was harder for him than he was letting on. “It’s awkward, but if we keep it strictly to business, it’s manageable. It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and you wished so badly that you could be there to smooth the lines from his distraught face. “It’s just… sometimes he makes it hard to remember what he did.”

You nodded, feeling guilty that you were the reason the two were no longer friends. That Steve had betrayed Bucky because of his desire for you. 

“Don’t go blaming yourself, sweets,” Bucky chastised you knowingly. It was like he could read your mind. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a look. “I know how that pretty head works, doll, and I know you’re blaming yourself. Stop it. He made his own bed, now he gets to lie in it.”

“I know,” you lamented. “I just hate that you have to pay the emotional cost of his bad decisions, that’s all.”

Bucky frowned at you. “Just like I hate how you had to pay the costs for mine, doll,” he said softly. “Our actions have consequences. We have to live with them, so we don’t make the same fuck ups again.”

You subconsciously let your hand drift to your abdomen, your fingers delicately tracing over the scar that was the only external reminder that you’d been shot. Had technically been killed. Had lost a lot more than your life. You were grateful Bucky could only see you from the chest up.

“Well, this conversation took a turn,” you said, trying to get off of subjects you’d rather not dwell on. “Can we go back to talking about how fucking horny I am for you?”

Bucky barked out a laugh and god, how it warmed your heart that you could still get that reaction out of him after everything you’d both gone through. His blue eyes seemed to darken as he adjusted himself in whatever seat he was in. “If it helps, I’m horny as hell for you, too, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth as he nodded his head. “Yeah, hearing that does help. Show me.”

Bucky’s eyes widened through the screen. “Show you?” he breathed, clearly not having anticipated where you were about to take the conversation. “What do you mean, ‘show you’, doll?”

“I mean,” you said, leaning back against the headboard to make yourself more comfortable, “show me that pretty cock of yours, Sergeant. Take it out. Stroke it for me. I wanna see what I’ve been missing.”

You watched as Bucky’s eyes went back and forth between the phone screen and the door that separated him from the rest of the team. You could tell from the way he was gnawing at his bottom lip that he was seriously debating it, but that he had some real reservations. “Doll,” he whispered, sounding scandalized, but excited, “they’re right outside. They’ll hear me.”

You smirked at the way he’d suddenly become shy. “I wanna hear you, Sarge,” you pleaded in a breathy whisper, and from the way he closed his eyes and moaned at your words, you knew he was so close to giving you what you wanted. “Come on, baby,” you cooed. “Can’t you show Pocket that pretty pink cock she’s been wanting so badly? Can’t I watch you choke it with your big hands while I imagine my mouth wrapped around it? Pozhaluysta, Soldat?”

“Fuck,” he muttered, and you knew you’d won when he hopped up from where he’d been sitting. Though you couldn’t see it from the way he was letting the phone dangle, you could hear him lock the door. “You know I can’t resist it when you speak Russian, doll,” he said as he sat back down, propping the phone and its camera up against something so that you could see his entire body stretched out before you. 

“YA rasschityval na eto, detka,” you said with a grin. I was counting on it, baby. You could see now that he was in a bedroom of what looked like a standard SHIELD safehouse. It was small– only one twin-sized bed, so you weren’t worried about anyone else barging in to need the space. 

“So, how do we do this?” he asked, and you could hear the nervousness mixed with excitement in his voice. It struck you that, throughout your relationship, and all the time you’d spent apart while one or the other was away on missions, the two of you had actually never done this before. Phone sex, yeah, but never on video, together. It was going to be new territory, and it thrilled you. 

“We?” you asked playfully, pretending you had no idea what he was talking about. 

Bucky looked at you sternly though the screen of your phone and you involuntarily shivered under his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I’m not going to see that sweet, dripping cunt of yours tonight, doll. I’ve been fantasizing about it for ages. Got just a taste of it the other day, and it wasn’t nearly enough.”

Fuck, you could feel yourself dampen and your nipples harden just from his words alone, not to mention the memory of the brief moment on your terrace, before the movers had arrived, when he’d had his deliciously thick fingers pressed inside of you.

“Baby,” you moaned, not even realizing you were trailing your fingertips over the pebbled flesh of your breasts under your shirt, imagining his rough, calloused hands on you. 

“Take off your clothes, Pocket,” Bucky growled. He didn’t ask; it wasn’t a request. It was a command, and you were ready to obey. 

“Sir, yes sir, Sergeant,” you said, and you were sure you looked anything but graceful as you sped to pull your top over your head and shimmy out of the pair of cheeky panties you wore. The cool breeze of the air conditioning danced along your flushed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, his eyes following the path your fingers traced along the contours of your body. You watched hungrily as he absentmindedly palmed himself through the Tac pants he still frustratingly donned. “God, you look even better‘n I remember, sweets,” he grunted. “Better than I’ve been imaginin’ all week. How the fuck’s that even possible?”

“Buck,” you warned, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his obviously false praise as you turned to hide your face from his gaze. “Stop. I know you don’t mean that.”

Frowning, Bucky leaned forward, picking up the phone so he could bring his face close to the camera, scrutinizing you. “Pocket,” he said, but you refused to look at him. “Pocket!” he tried again, his voice a little firmer, but still gentle. “Why the fuck would I not mean that, sweetheart? You’re gorgeous.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. It was kind of him to lie to spare your feelings, really, but you didn’t think you could take it. Not from him. Not after everything. Without thought, your hand moved to cover your bullet wound from his gaze. “Come on, Buck,” you said, your tone implying that you weren’t buying his bullshit, no matter how sweetly he was selling it, “we both know you weren’t imagining me with all these new scars.”

“Baby.” Bucky made a noise somewhere between a choked laugh and an incredulous groan. “You can’t seriously think I, of all fucking people, give a shit about a couple of tiny scars?” He put the phone down, and your view of him was obstructed for a moment while you heard the rustle of cloth. When he lifted it up again, you saw he had taken off his vest and Tac shirt. He pointed to the ruined skin of his left shoulder.

“Look at these and tell me you think I’m gonna be turned off by a coupla’ scars, Pocket,” he said, and you could detect the hard edge to his voice. 

“It’s different, Buck,” you told him, your voice cracking. “You already had those scars when we met; they were a part of the man I fell in love with. You…” you hastily wiped at the tear that was suddenly threatening to fall from your eye. “Mine… mine weren’t. You didn’t get a choice in them.”

You watched as the look on Bucky’s face morphed into one of pure confusion. Of course he didn’t fully understand– you weren’t just talking about scars, after all. He… just didn’t realize that yet.

“You didn’t have a choice in them, either, sweetheart,” he said softly, eying the way your hand protectively rested over your abdomen. “And if you’re talking about the scar from when you got shot… well, fuck, if that scar’s not my favorite thing.”

You looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “How could this… disgusting reminder…” you choked out, “of everything that happened last year… how could that be your favorite thing, Bucky?”

“That scar means you’re alive, doll,” he told her. “That you’re still breathing, still with me, in spite of all of it. So forgive me if I think that makes it the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled, his words momentarily taking away the sting of the inadequacy you’d felt ever since the doctors had told you about the extent of your condition. It wasn’t something you were purposefully keeping from Bucky… You had just been too terrified to say it out loud. You were going to tell him. Just not yet.

"Look at me Doll,” he said, getting your attention back onto his face, “I don't like that I have to tell you this at all, but I'm gonna do it, as many times as you need, as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

You felt your face soften, the tension of insecurity drop from your shoulders as he looked at you through the phone screen, eyes blue pools of adoration. You wanted so badly to just get lost in him, to let him consume you until you were capable of thinking of nothing but him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s something more than just the scar, isn’t it, sweets? You’ve never been ashamed of showing me your body before.” You weren’t vain as a rule, and Bucky knew this about you. You had other scars, worse ones. Uglier ones, but none had ever bothered you the way this one had. None had ever carried the same degree of psychological and emotional baggage. 

You just nodded, afraid that if you spoke, you’d reveal what you’d been keeping from him, blurt it out before you could stop yourself, and it was not the kind of thing you wanted to do over video with thousands of miles of distance between you.

“You don’t have to tell me, doll,” he said, the understanding in his voice so pure that it made you ache. “I know so many of my actions have hurt you; I get that there’s still some trust–”

“Baby, no,” you interrupted. “I trust you, I do. I want to tell you. I’m just… not ready yet.”

“Tell me what I can do for you right now, then, sweetheart,” he offered. He’d brought the phone close to his face, his gaze on you intense and burning through the screen. “What do you need?”

You exhaled, the sight of him so focused and sincere making your knees feel weak. “Just you, Buck,” you whispered, the words coming out in a breathy sigh. “I just want you.”

“I’m right here, doll.” His voice turned low, darker. A soft purr that vibrated your insides. “And I’ll be home with you real soon, but you gotta tell me what I can do for you right. now.”

You sucked in a shuddering gasp of air, indulging in the way his words swept over your body like a languid kiss. Without even thinking, you felt your hand drift down your abdomen, your fingertips dancing along the top of your thigh.

“Buck,” you found yourself whining as you squirmed your ass across the mattress, searching for any inch of friction you could find. 

“Yeah, baby,” he grunted, readjusting the camera so it was once again propped up and you could see the length of him pressing against the material of his tac-pants. “Tell Sergeant Barnes what you want so he can give it to you.”

A beat of silence passed between you before you both started laughing, your hand coming to cover your face as you suppressed a snort. “Oh my god, Barnes!” you wheezed.

“Yeah, that was awful,” he laughed, palming his face in embarrassment. “Did I kill it?”

You wiped away a stray tear that had leaked from your eye in your laughter. “You’re lucky I find your bad jokes to be such a fucking turn on,” you told him with a grin. 

Bucky frowned. “Wasn’t supposed to be a joke, doll,” he grumbled, a pout forming on his beautiful pink lips. “‘S supposed to be sexy.”

“Oh, I found it very sexy,” you assured him. “You make me laugh, Barnes. That’s the hottest fucking thing I can imagine. Now take off your pants.”

The look in Bucky’s eyes turned from playfully annoyed to seductively heated in the space of a nanosecond. He reached for the zipper of his tac-pants and you licked your lips at the sound of it coming undone. “Get the camera all set up, doll,” he said as he shimmied the pants down his legs. “I want to see every inch of you.”

With a grin, you propped your camera up between your legs, giving Bucky a front row seat to your dripping core. “This work for you, Sarge?” you asked.

“Fuck, sweets,” he began, palming at himself through his boxer-briefs. “Yeah, that works for me.”

“Show me,” you commanded him, bringing your fingers down to lightly trace the outer edges of your lower lips. “Show me how well this view works for you, baby.”

Bucky scrambled to pull his boxer briefs down to his thick thighs, and you watched with bated breath as his cock sprung free, its beautiful, pink tip already glistening with precum. Your entire body erupted in tingles at the sight of him. He was so fucking gorgeous, and he was yours.

“Jesus,” you hissed, bringing a hand to your breast and gently squeezing the flesh. You could feel your mouth thicken with saliva at just the idea of having him down your throat.

“Just Bucky’s fine, baby,” he teased as he grabbed a hold of himself, and you rolled your eyes. “No need to bring God into it.” Slowly, he began stroking his length. You watched in awe as he seemed to grow harder with every downward pull, the veins in his thighs bulging as he thrust his hips up against his hand. If anyone was going to be compared to God during sex, it would and should be Bucky Barnes.

“Touch that pretty clit for me, doll,” he grunted. “Pretend it’s my fingers on you, getting you all warmed up to take my cock.”

“Fuck, Buck,” you whimpered, your fingers moving frantically over your bundle of nerves. You were already soaked; just the sight of him had sent another wave of arousal gushing through you. “Want your dick in my pussy so bad, baby. So fucking bad, it hurts.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” he grunted, watching your fingers strum your clit with wild eyes. “I’ll be home soon, and I’ll fill you up so good, you won’t be able to walk normal for weeks.”

You arched your back and moaned, the memory of the way he stretched you as he entered you, opening you wider than any other man you’d ever had, flooded your mind. “Nothing fills me like you do, baby,” you panted. “Nothing hits me so deep.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, and you could hear the delicious slick, slick sound of his hand moving through the precum that soaked his shaft. “Not even those fancy toys you bought?”

Bucky chuckled when he noticed your eyes pop open and stare at him in surprise. “Oh, I know all about those, doll.” Slick, slick, slick. “Found ‘em when I was helping you pack for the move. All of them.”

You felt a blush rising to your cheeks, and if you didn’t already have your hand on your pussy right in front of him, you might have been embarrassed. “All those toys, and none of them gets me off as good as you do, Buck,” you breathed. “None of them reach that spot the way you do.” It was true– it was the one thing you had desperately searched for during your time of Bad Decisions– someone to hit that place deep inside of you that set your every nerve ending on fire, that made you shiver and convulse with pleasure with each thrust. No one had ever brought on that full body climax that left you shaking and weak like Bucky had. 

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “No one touches your A-spot but me.”

“No,” you gasped. You loved how he knew your body so well, knew what he did to you, how you longed for his touch. “No one touches me like you, baby.” 

“Put your fingers in, sweets,” he commanded. “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on that pretty little hand while I pretend it’s my cock.”

You did as he asked, bringing two fingers to your weeping entrance and plunging them inside you. They would never feel as thick or go as deep as any part of Bucky, but for now, they were all you had, so you made the most of them, driving them in and out of your cunt with abandon. 

“Fuck…” you grunted as you felt the coil in your belly begin to tighten, sweat glistening off your brow. “Baby!”

“I know, pretty girl,” Bucky said between grunts of his own. “Tell me how good you feel.”

“So good, Buck,” you moaned. “So fucking good. Want you so bad, Bucky! So fucking bad!”

“I’m right there with you, doll,” he panted. “I’m so close. Gonna blow all over and imagine it’s inside that pretty pussy of yours. Gonna come home and bury myself in your cunt, sweets! Not gonna come out for days!”

“Oh shit, Bucky,” you cried, your release a hare's breath away. “Wanna cum with you, baby.” You curled your fingers inside of you, stroking your G-spot again, and again, trying to imagine it was his thick, calloused fingers inside of you. 

“Just a little longer, sweetheart.” Bucky was yanking at his member now, his pace quick and frantic. 

You felt yourself rising, clawing to the very edge of the precipice, but before you could hurl yourself over the edge, you accidentally hit your phone with your foot, sending it falling to the floor.

You scrambled for the phone. It had landed face-down in the dark, making it harder for you to find, but you followed the sounds of Bucky’s grunts and moans until you made contact. Turning the phone back over, you watched as Bucky, eyes screwed closed, reached his peak, ropes of cum erupting from the tip of his cock and landing across his stomach and hand. 

And, as surely as if someone had doused you with a bucket of water, the spell was broken. You were painfully reminded that he wasn’t there with you. He was half a world away, still out of your reach. 

You sniffled, and Bucky opened his eyes at the sound. “Sweetheart,” he began, his voice laced with concern, “what’s wrong? Did you cum?”

You hitched a breath, holding back a sob, and shook your head. “You’re not here, Buck,” you cried. “It’s not… I thought… I just want to be with you. I miss you so fucking much!” You knew you sounded petulant, like a child, but you were at your limit, truly. You wanted nothing more than to be back to normal with him. A better normal, even, now without the shadow of Carthage looming over you both.

“Oh, doll.” Bucky picked up his phone and brought it close to his face, his now flaccid cock out of frame. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Do you wanna try again? We can focus just on you. Make sure you get off nice and good.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears of frustration and longing slide down your cheeks. “No,” you 

whimpered. “I think… I think I just wanna go to sleep.”

Bucky frowned at you, the look in his eyes sorrowful. “I fucking hate that I’m too far away to help you, Pocket,” he said. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, knowing you’re hurting.”

“It’s just been so long, Buck,” you whispered to him as you buried yourself under the blankets of your bed. “I feel like every time we even try, something keeps getting in our way. What if it’s the universe, trying to tell us we shouldn’t be getting back together?”

Bucky sighed, thick and heavy. “I know you don’t believe that, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s just been some bad timing; we got out of our groove, is all. I promise, things will go back to the way they were. The way they’re supposed to be.”

Not long ago, you told him that his promises didn’t mean shit to you, but now… now, you wanted to believe him more than anything.

“It’s just a little longer,” he clarified.  You nodded, swallowing down any remaining tears that threatened to fall. You wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him, but the part of you that had been irrevocably broken when he’d hurt you couldn’t help but whisper that, maybe, in some way, he’d always leave you unsatisfied.

<- Part 1 / Part 3 ->

[starkdirewolflove]

House of the Dragon

Alicent gets a visit from Larys (thank fuck no more foot stuff) and he notices the moon tea and starts a chat about Ser Criston. He knows about their affair but hasn’t leveraged it yet but Alicent seems so done with everything.

Jace confronts Rhaenyra about her scolding him in front of the council and that all he wants is to serve her and protect her claim. She consoles him and tells him about the prophecy of the song of ice and fire while Rhaenys readies her dragon for battle and a drunk Aegon does the same with Sunfyre.

On to the Battle of Rook’s Rest and Cole’s plan is revealed. He was expecting Rhaenyra to send one of her dragon riders and he had Aemond and Vhagar hidden in the forest to strike when given the signal. Rhaenys and Meleys decimate Cole’s army but then Aegon arrives on Sunfyre. Gwanye shouts at Cole that his brilliant plan is to have the king himself enter the battle and risk his life. Aemond hangs back deliberately knowing Aegon will fail in his attack. Cole rallies the troops in Aegon’s name to attack.

Finally seeing the dragons in action was amazing Rhaenys and Meleys were destroying Aegon and Sunfyre then Aemond appeared with Vhagar and Aegon thought he was saved but Aemond attacked them both with Aegon taking the most damage and crashing into the trees. Cole goes after the king but when Meleys wounds Vhagar she crashed into the battlefield doing more harm than good and knocking Cole out.

Oh Rhaenys you could’ve retreated but chose to try and take Vhagar alone you brave fool. While she was scouting the battlefield for Vhagar, she and Aemond caught her by surprise as she was flying over Rook’s Rest. Vhagar had Meleys by the neck and bit almost clean in half. We get a slow motion fall of Rhaenys accepting her death then that smug prick Aemond flying off.

When Cole comes to he goes looking for Aegon while seeing the aftermath of a dragon attack. Like a soldier sitting upright but burned to ashes in his armour and crumbling to dust at a touch. He see Aemond approaching Sunfyre with his sword drawn and shouts out (no doubt thinking he was gonna finish his brother off). Aemond picks up Aegon’s dagger and keeps it for himself then walks away while Cole stares on in horror at Sunfyre’s mangled body and Aegon lying beside him. We don’t see the extent of Aegon’s injuries but he won’t be up and about any time soon. I wonder if Cole is starting to see what a monster he helped create in Aemond and is regretting his life choices.

That battle was epic, can’t wait to see more dragon battles even though it means losing more of Team Black.

Corlys will be raging about Rhaenys dying and someone is going to have to hold Baela back from going after Aemond herself.