#where even the smallest things can be counted or twisted into a sin

[desiderium-eden]

An oathbreaker paladin (formerly a paladin of devotion) who has no idea why he had fallen from grace. He has never broken his vow. His devotion had never once wavered. So why has he been abandoned? Branded a traitor? Why do his prayers now go unanswered?

But instead of feeling contempt or desiring revenge, he only tries to remain faithful and do as much good as he can. In the hopes that one day, he will be forgiven for whatever transgression he must have committed.

Additional note: He's abstinent and naturally I need to make him needlessly hot. Because I am a sadist.

[another-lost-mc]

I have a question about your OCs…what can turn their rough mode (on a bed) on? 👀

biggest turn-ons

featuring: azra, karasu, zekhan

cw: nsfw / mdni. gn!reader. soft incubus!azra; horny!karasu; feral!zee; demon form sex mentioned (all three); pet names (baby, dear one, darling, bunny, beloved); oral sex (reader and karasu receiving); rough sex; sex in semi-public places (karasu's office and the fall); mentions of sexting (dirty texts and videos or audio); costume play (mc wearing a bunny outfit); teasing; consensual predator/prey kink and fear play (tame and intense scenes); dom/sub undertones; monsterfucking (zee’s demon form specifically).

word count: 6.1k (thank you meg and daisy for supporting me in these dark times)

a/n: some of these ideas are plucked from their nsfw alphabets and expanded on: azra / karasu / zekhan.

AZRA

Azra can easily control when he shifts into his demon form and he wears it often. For ordinary work nights at the club, he prefers his usual suit and coat. As a powerful lust demon, he naturally feeds off the sin radiating off the patrons in the club and he shifts forms naturally when the lustful feelings start to build up inside him. He is usually in his demonic form during casual sexual encounters and reverts back to normal once the afterglow subsides.

He's more conscious about wearing his demon form around you. It's not the most frightening or extraordinary demonic appearance you've seen in the Devildom, but he is still nervous about what you think of him. He doesn't want to scare you.

Azra has a lot of sex but he is starved for genuine affection and love from others. Demons use him for his money or his body, and in the past he did the same.

Taking the time to get to know him and still being able to love him the way he is? Nothing affects him the way you do, a rare vulnerability he allows himself to indulge in because it means he gets to have you. Even the smallest bits of kindness get his heart all twisted up, and he can't resist the urge to return his feelings the best way he knows how.

The first thing you learn about being Azra’s lover is that a single kiss can quickly spiral out of control. The sweet glide of your lips against his leaves him thrumming with desire that darkens his eyes, and his fingers tremble as his hands roam eagerly across your body. His demon form is on display in its naked glory when he starts backing you carefully into his bedroom until you bump into the edge of the bed.

He resists the urge to rip your clothes to pieces and forces himself to take them off slowly, one layer at a time, until they’re scattered carelessly on the floor and your naked body is bare and pinned beneath his. The soft sheets cushion you as he lowers his body gently onto yours and he positions himself between your legs.

He groans into the open-mouthed kisses he smears across your skin while you whimper his name and card your fingers through his unruly curls. He's hard and leaking against the inside of your thighs and his tail twitches in the air behind him.

He slides slowly down your body, leaving a trail of kisses and the faintest marks behind as his mouth slots itself over your arousal and he strokes you eagerly with his talented tongue. He grinds his hips against the mattress to try and relieve the pressure of his throbbing cock, but he doesn���t want to come unless it’s inside you.

Your soul is consumed by fiery lust and it satisfies him in a way no one else’s sin has ever affected him before. He groans your name between soft, sucking kisses and gentle flicks of his tongue against your entrance, and it sends shivers through the rest of your body. His hands hold your shaky thighs steady where they rest on his shoulders, and by the time he drinks down the release you spill across his tongue, you're stretched and ready for him.

You're still reeling from your orgasm when he moves up the bed and positions himself between your legs. He hooks one of your legs against his hips and pushes it up slightly, giving him the perfect angle so he can sheathe himself inside with one smooth stroke.

"I’ll go slow next time, baby, I promise," he murmurs against your lips, lifting his hand to brace himself against the headboard. "But I don’t think I can wait anymore."

He starts fucking you with deep, heavy thrusts, and each one draws a little hiccuped gasp or moan from your lips. He crashes his lips against yours and moans and pants into your mouth. The wooden frame cracks slightly from the pressure of his fingertips and the headboard thumps against the wall, but all you can hear are the strangled groans and curses he muffles into the crook of your neck.

His rhythm picks up speed and his thrusts grow wet and sloppy with his cum when he finally spills inside you with a growl. He tosses his head back and his eyes wince shut from the sensitivity, but he can’t resist the urge to fuck his seed back inside you, not when you writhe helplessly against his sheets and dig your fingers into his back and beg him to keep going.

You’re smothered beneath his body as he stuffs you full with his cum, and his tail coils around the leg wrapped around his waist to hold you in place so he can reach between your bodies and stroke you in time with his desperate thrusts instead.

By the time you come around his cock, you’re both drunk from lust and love and utterly insatiable.

“Don’t stop,” your broken whimpers plead where you press your forehead against his shoulder, and you lave your tongue across his hot, sweaty skin. “Want more of you.”

“I won’t stop, baby,” his raspy voice promises as he rises to his knees and brings your legs up to sit on his shoulders, and he folds you in half so he can fuck you properly. “I can’t.”

KARASU

Karasu uses his wings often, but he rarely shifts into his full demon form. He usually has excellent control over that part of himself, except when he's in bed with you. If things get particularly intense (or if he's in a more dominant/aggressive mood), he might shift to his full form without meaning to. He's so careful with his talons that you might not even realize it at first, unless he clenches the sheets on either side of your head or you catch a glimpse of sharp, black claws before his hand disappears between your legs.

It doesn't take much to get him in the mood. He’s a wonderful contradiction of a demon who accepts your praise or your teasing hints of degradation in equal stride. He’s so easily aroused by the most innocent words or gestures and even the simplest compliments make him feel a little desperate.

Wearing something he bought for you gives him a sudden itch to take it off you again. Wearing something of his means he gets to leave his scent on you in more ways than one by the time he has you on your back or your stomach underneath him.

Sending his D.D.D. dirty messages when he least expects it is almost guaranteed to give him an aching erection no matter where he is or what he’s doing. A flirty text or a suggestive photo that shows him a hint of naked skin is more than enough to leave him panting while his erection stirs to life and presses against the zipper of his pants.

And then there are times when he’s the one trying to entice you to be a little naughty. He sends you filthy texts while you’re at RAD and describes whatever wicked fantasy he dreamt about last night, or he recites in excruciating detail all his dirty thoughts while he fisted his cock that morning.

He calls you and leaves you sweet messages to have a nice day and to think about all the ways he plans on touching you and kissing you and fucking you when he sees you later.

Sometimes you have a bit of free time in your schedule, so perhaps a little visit at his office would do you both some good.

Karasu is so considerate.

It doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. You wake up each morning to a sweet-as-sugar message on your D.D.D., or if you stayed overnight in his nest, he wakes you with a line of sleepy kisses along your shoulder and a soft, "Good morning, dear one," murmured huskily into your ear.

He would argue that caring for you is simple, a natural instinct that stirs inside him to provide for you and make you smile and keep you safe. Your comfort is his utmost priority.

Sometimes that means pushing you away from where you're nuzzling against his aching erection through his suit so he can slide off his jacket. 

"Wait," he asks breathlessly, handing you the bespoke garment that crumples in his twitchy grip like paper. "Sit on this, darling." 

If you're so eager to kneel on his office floor in an eager rush to suck his cock, the least he can do is make sure your knees won't be too sore afterwards.

His stifled whimpers and moans start to fill the office and you've barely touched him; the anticipation of what’s to come is enough to leave him a trembling mess. His fingers clench the armrests of his chair while you flick open his belt and tug down the zipper with a jovial little hum.

The tip of his cock glistens when you tug down his boxer briefs, and he exhales a sharp little whine when you lick at the salty beads oozing slowly from the tip. His chair shakes from the tremor in his thighs, and his hips twitch and jerk restlessly while you lick broad, thick stripes along his shaft before easing him between your lips. He's hot and heavy on your tongue, and you wrap your fingers at his base where his dawny-soft black hair cushions your fist. You pump him slowly, smooth and wet from the spit pooling in your mouth and dripping down his cock, while your head bobs up and down his length in a steady rhythm.

He's so lost in the hot, wet vice of your mouth that he doesn't notice that his glasses slip off the bridge of his nose and clatter or the floor, or that the armrests of his chair are ruined by deep, scraggly lines where his nails scramble to find purchase.

All that matters — all he cares about — is that you don't stop.

"I'm—I'm close," he whines noisily, panting deep in his chest. His back arches away from the chair and he pushes deeper into your mouth, but he stammers out an apology when he realizes what he’s done.

You curl your fingers around the curve of his hip to encourage him to move and to take what he wants from you. He hesitates for a moment, but then a shaky hand rests gently on the crown of your head, not pushing you down but simply holding you there. His fingers twitch helplessly against your scalp as his hips jerk into your mouth and the noises and choked pleas tumbling from his lips grow louder and more desperate.

A loud, monotonous chime from his terminal startles you both, and he whines so pathetically at the interruption. It’s a weekly meeting he forgot about, boring and unnecessary but mandatory, and he nearly curses in frustration.

Voices stream quietly into the room as the program pops up on his monitor. Your shoulders slump slightly with a deflated sigh, but his hand on the back of your head keeps you from moving away. When you shoot him a questioning look, he glances at the screen and back to you again, and he nibbles on his bottom lip while he contemplates his choices.

He should compose himself and bid you farewell until this evening when he's finished work for the day, but that’s easier said than done. You’re still kneeling at his feet, your bright eyes are glassy and wet and dark with desires of your own, and your lips are plump and shiny and so utterly kissable. His abdomen twitches with the disappointment of his interrupted release and he can only imagine how desperate you are, even though you’re hiding your own needs while satisfying his own.

It's not like he ever needs to speak at these meetings anyway, and knowing that, it doesn’t take him long to decide at all.

He confirms his camera is off and he's muted on the call before he pulls gently on the back of your neck and urges your mouth towards his cock again. His spontaneous burst of greedy lust warms the blood in your veins and shoots straight to the spot between your legs. You’re throbbing from your own neglected arousal and it certainly doesn’t help that he lets out the most sinful, desperate moan when you take him back into the wet heat of your mouth.

He cradles the sides of your face gently when you begin moving up and down his cock with renewed vigor. His hips are rocking of their own volition now, shallow and arhythmic but still so needy, and you know he must be close. When you glance up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s utterly entranced by the sight of your fingers pumping his shaft while you suck on the dark, pulsing head of his cock before sliding your lips down his length over and over again.

“I’m so close, please don’t stop, please, I’m gonna—!” His high-pitched whine serves as a warning so that you can move your mouth away if you don’t want his seed in your mouth, but your lover is nothing but considerate, and you reward him by taking him deeper than before, teasing your gag reflex and letting him feel you choke on his cock.

He covers his mouth to muffle himself as he spills down your throat with a sharp gasp and a wailing cry, and your lips drag along his cock one more time as you pull back just to hear him whimper from the sensitivity. He watches with a heavy, half-lidded gaze and swallows hard when you wipe a smear of cum from the corner of your mouth and lick it clean.

He goes completely still for a moment, but then his cock twitches with renewed interest and he pulls you off the floor and into his lap. He breathes your name with utter reverence when he slides his hand into your pants and feels how soaked you are between your legs. His fingers stroke you gently and you let him taste himself when you lean forward and kiss him.

You rock your hips and coax his hand closer to where you want it most while your thighs shake on either side of his hips. Warm puffs of air against the soft skin of your neck makes you shudder in his embrace, and he murmurs sweet praise while he fucks you with his greedy fingers (and his tongue after that, and then his cock when he’s hard again and he finally bends you over his desk).

ZEKHAN

Compared to the others, Zekhan has the most control over his demonic form. Even if he accompanies you to a party at the prince's castle, he's one of the few demons in attendance that hides his demonic appearance. It's very rare that he would shift into it by accident, although a wrath-driven rage could trigger that. 

He doesn't want to use his demonic form in bed with you, at least not right away. It will take a long time before he's comfortable letting you see it. The scars on his body are more prominent in that form and he's self-conscious about them. It's also a bit more animalistic than some of the other demons you know, and he's worried about your reaction to his wings and claws and ears.

He will shift into his true form for certain predator/prey-type games you play together, but he's usually obscured by darkness. That gives you the chance to explore him slowly and at his pace while letting him indulge in the rare sensation of your hands or mouth moving across his body. 

A lot of things turn him on, but he's a bit more disciplined about curbing his impulse to act on it right away. He likes to tease you and let the anticipation build. Sending each other dirty texts while he's at work (or while you're at RAD) are a guaranteed way to stir his interest.

Although he tries to be gentle with you, he's the most feral if you tease him with an opportunity to play one of your little games together. He's happy to indulge you with whatever level of excitement (or fear) you're comfortable with; you're his prize at the end either way, and that's enough to satisfy him.

Once you're in a relationship, Zee realizes his biggest mistake is underestimating you. He knows you'll be attending tonight's bunny event at The Fall for the first time since you arrived in the Devildom. What he doesn't expect is for you to walk through the front doors, surrounded by the Avatars of Sin, in a bunny outfit of your very own.

He can only assume that Azra and Asmodeus conspired to keep this secret from him, and what a lovely secret it is. The bunny ears on your head bend slightly at the ends which gives them a floppy appearance. They would look ridiculous on most people, but on you, they’re positively charming. The colourful jewel-toned ears bounce slightly with each step you take, and the colours suit you so beautifully that it confirms for him that this outfit was custom-made for you.

He spots a flash of white when you turn around to speak to someone, and he realizes there's a little tail attached to the back of your suit too.

Fucking hell.

He tilts his head to the side as he drinks in your appearance and considers all the delightfully wicked things he’d like to do to you. It’s calculating, almost predatory how his golden eyes darken as lust pools behind them. Something primal stirs deep in his chest the longer he stares at you. You're the tasty little treat that's stepped into his domain, and he'd love nothing more than to devour you.

As if you can hear his thoughts, you look around until you catch his piercing stare from across the room; even from that far away, the glint in his eyes is positively hungry. You can’t help but stare doe-eyed as he wets his mouth, running his tongue slowly along his bottom lip and teasing you with the tiniest glimpse of his fangs.

His sensitive hearing picks up your sharp intake of breath, and he smirks at the flustered expression on your face before you concede and finally look away.

He carries on with overseeing the final preparations like nothing happened while you walk away with the others and head further into the club. A chilly sensation spreads through him that he can only describe as longing when you finally step out of his view, but he ignores the feeling for now.

Besides, the evening is just getting started.

ZEKHAN: I came to visit you on your break but you're not resting with the others. Where are you hiding, bunny?

YOU: Come find me and you'll see. 🐰

ZEKHAN: A tempting offer.

ZEKHAN: Beloved, I'm asking you sincerely.

ZEKHAN: Do you want to play that game right now?

YOU: Yes I do.

YOU: Please? I know you do too.

ZEKHAN: Such a naughty thing.

ZEKHAN: Very well. Stay where you are, hm? 

YOU: If you don't hurry, I might finish before you get here.

There are several places in the club you can hide from him. He’s shown you most of them himself when he originally gave you a tour when you were a new arrival to the Devildom. Later on, he realized how convenient they were when he was desperate to fuck you somewhere you wouldn’t get caught.

This particular game requires a certain amount of privacy and space. He searches the obvious locations first - the staff break rooms, the mostly-empty offices on the second floor, the cluster of private rooms patrons can rent for the evening - but finds no trace of you or those floppy ears or that cottony-soft tail.

When he finally picks up the faintest whiff of your scent near the door that leads to the basement, he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. Of course you’re clever enough to lead him somewhere cool and dark where there’s very little risk of being interrupted.

There's only a sliver of moonlight that shines through one of the tiny windows near the basement ceiling. It only takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, and he groans when he finally spots you leaning against the wall across from him. The buttons of your shirt are undone and he can see the strip of naked skin where it falls open. He notices a moment later that one of your hands is under the waistband of your pants and he can hear and smell the scent of your arousal as you stroke lazily between your legs.

A soft sigh falls from your lips and makes his mouth run dry. Your eyes flick up to meet his gaze at last, and it’s so satisfying to see the desire swirling in your dark eyes is strong enough to match his own.

He crosses the room in an instant and there's a faint gust of air as his wings manifest and open wide with a leathery snap. He maneuvers you quickly as if you weigh nothing and bends you over a rickety old table, yanking your tedious clothes down and out of the way until he can finally touch your bare skin with his clawed fingers.

You stare transfixed at the monstrous shadow on the wall as he stretches you open with his thick fingers first, carefully so he doesn’t scratch you, and then his cock once you’re slippery with his spit and lube. His lips brush against your temple and behind your ear, littering your skin with soft kisses while you adjust to the feeling of him stretching you open. His hips rock in a slow grind until you're ready and then he moves slowly at first, thrusting inside you with slow strokes that slowly gather speed with every desperate, whiny moan that he pulls from your throat.

He makes a questioning sound when you reach over your shoulder and offer him your fingers, still sticky from when you touched yourself earlier, and he sucks them eagerly into his mouth with a growl as he starts fucking you in earnest. Your fingers slip from his mouth once he's licked them clean, and he traps them gently between his teeth before you can pull them away completely.

His pace quickens and his thrusts grow more forceful when you push your hips back and match his rhythm. One of your hands ends up tangled in his hair while your back arches against his chest, and he breathes hot and damp against the back of your neck and grunts in your ear.

You can barely hear the obscene squelch your bodies make as he fucks you senseless, or the creak of the wobbly furniture supporting your combined weight, or the scratching sound of his fingers digging into the wood for leverage.

Your body clenches around him and when he feels his orgasm approaching, he reaches between your legs and strokes you in time with his thrusts; you finally come with a cry, and he follows behind you with a raspy groan of your name. He fucks you through the aftershocks of your pleasure with slow, lazy thrusts and finally stops once you've milked him dry. His body shakes from the overstimulation of fucking his cum back inside you.

By the time your thighs stop trembling and he turns you in his arms, all evidence of his demon form is gone; only the slight pulsing glow of his golden-yellow eyes remains. He kisses you softly with just a hint of tongue and teeth while you both sigh into each others’ mouths.

As always, he came prepared. He reaches into his suit jacket and slips his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose first before he pulls out a small packet of wet wipes. He kisses your thighs and nips playfully at the sensitive skin while he wipes the slick and cum away; he’s satisfied you’ll still smell like him but now you can finish the evening more comfortably.

He straightens your clothes for you and as he buttons up your shirt, he leans forward and kisses the bare skin that slowly disappears from view. One more kiss and a murmured I love you is all you have time for before he leads you back upstairs, and he smirks when you walk away with the slightest hitch in your step.

(You're only a few minutes late returning from your break, but no one bothers to ask where you were - they can already guess.)

A more intense version of this little game involves waiting until the event is over and taking a short drive to the outskirts of the city.

The quiet anticipation in the car is nearly suffocating, and Zee glances at you with a guarded look from the corner of his eye. He drives one-handed and steers the car expertly to your destination while the other rests on your thigh; it feels like a fiery-hot brand through your clothes.

He seems unaffected by the lust radiating off both of you like a fog, but the tips of his fangs peek underneath the hungry curl of his lips. When you glance down at his lap, there’s a growing wet stain where his hard and eager cock strains against his pants.

The location he takes you to is a large patch of forest at the back of Azra's estate. It's far enough away to give you both the privacy you need, but it’s close enough that help is nearby if anything goes wrong. The area is scouted regularly to make sure there are no dangerous creatures lurking inside the woods that might harm you while you’re alone and vulnerable.

Zee drives the car to the end of the dirt road that ends near the tree line. He exhales sharply through his nose and puts his glasses in the glove compartment before getting out of the car and walking around the vehicle to help you out of your seat.

He’s usually sweet and affectionate before these types of games, but tonight he rests his hands on your shoulders to keep you from stepping too close to him.

"I love you." His voice is rough but his eyes burn with the steady glow of his body overcome with sin, and you learned how to read the emotions in his gaze by now: love, desire, hunger.

"I love you too."

His hands slide up your neck and brush the sides of your face. "Colour?" he asks quietly. His thumbs rub soft circles into the dimples of your cheeks when you smile.

"Green."

Something in the air shifts, like cool air roiling over you before a storm, and he circles you slowly - the way a predator would - until he stands at your back. There's a familiar ruffle of fabric and leather behind you, then he smooths his hands gently over your shoulders. A clawed wing curls around the side of your body and strokes your cheek with surprising tenderness.

"Time to run, bunny." Hot breath tickles your ear when he leans forward and kisses the words into your skin. "Don’t stop and don’t look back."

The growl in his voice causes goosebumps to break out across your skin and you freeze. Normally he waits for you to make it to the woods before he changes form but so many things about tonight are different.

What does it say about how much he trusts you that he would do it so soon?

And what does it say about how uncontrollably desperate he is for you?

But you don’t have time to contemplate the answers to either of those questions, not when feet shuffle behind you in restless anticipation. 

You take one hesitant step forward, and then another, until you're running into the dark forest that welcomes you into its maw. The trees looming overhead block most of the moonlight and you slow down while your eyesight adjusts. Your D.D.D. is in your pocket, but illuminating your path with the flashlight would be cheating; it’s also a visual signal to him that you want the game to end, and it’s far too soon for that.

The branches high above your head rustle in the night's cool breeze and ambient noises of the forest echo all around you. You can’t be sure how long it’s been, but it’s curious that you've not seen or heard any sign of him behind you. Sometimes he likes to call out to you teasingly, goading you into some sort of response that will lead him closer to your position. He can be so mischievous and playful when he brings you here, but tonight the tension of his unusual behaviour settles uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

You recall how stiff he was earlier, how restless he was like he couldn’t wait to sink his cock or his teeth into you. You remember the rumbling growls in his chest on the drive here, the way his hand shook on your thigh. You realize he’s not patient enough to play a drawn-out game tonight, and the implication is terrifying and arousing in equal measure.

The forest might be safe for you to venture in alone, but there are still other creatures that live here. Small Devildom rodents skitter across the ground and up into the trees. Birds with unfamiliar hoots and caws watch you from above with their strange, unblinking eyes. The occasional snap of a branch or the sudden rustle of leaves startles you like thunder; the sounds carry on the wind and it's impossible to pinpoint where they're coming from.

You shriek more than once when you spin around and look for a pair of golden eyes peering at you from the darkness, but there’s nothing there despite the heavy sensation of a weighted gaze searing into your back the moment you turn around again.

A sudden, startlingly loud crash nearby rips a scream from your throat and your eyes catch movement in your peripheral view. When you squint into the distance, you can see a splintering branch hanging precariously from one of the tall trees before it drops to the ground.

Was the branch already damaged and it finally gave way on its own?

Or was it broken by the weight of something stalking its prey from high above?

You carefully step back away from the tree as if you expect something - or someone - to jump out at you from the undergrowth, but nothing happens.

You stumble into something warm and solid behind you and strong arms wrap around you to keep you from falling, and a hoarse scream dies in your throat when he covers your mouth with his hand.

So this is how the game finally ends.

He utters your name in a raspy whisper close to your ear; his voice sounds as rough as yours does. Tears slip from the corners of your eyes when you sag against him, even though adrenaline and fear slowly fade from your still-trembling body.

"You did so well." His praise soothes your rattled nerves and you lean further back against him. His hand slides away from your mouth until it rests above your hammering heartbeat.

His skin feels feverishly hot against your back and he’s slightly damp with sweat. You’re lost in the cloud of his scent, one that's so perfectly him, something fresh and earthy like wet leaves after a thunderstorm.

"Zee." His name is a broken whimper that falls from your lips. His other hand slides down your front and his fingers tease along your waist before dipping down into your pants. He curses under his breath when he feels the hot, slick proof of your arousal between your legs.

"Colour," he grits out, a strangled plea that betrays the desire coursing through him. 

"G-green, please, green," you answer with a hiccup.

He removes his hand from your pants so he can push you to your hands and knees on the forest floor. He shushes you when you whine at the loss of his fingers and he drapes himself over your back, a move that feels protective as much as it does possessive, and he buries his nose in the crook of your neck. He breathes in deep and savours the scent of your sweat and perfume and arousal and fear on his tongue, and his hips jerk and grind his erection against the swell of your ass.

"Want you," you whine pathetically when you wiggle your hips back and encourage him to give you more.

"I'm here.” The tremor in his voice betrays his fraying self-control but his promise sounds sincere. "You have me."

Hot, open-mouthed kisses sear across the back of your neck and along your jaw as he grasps your chin and tilts your face towards his. You can't see him through the watery sheen that pools along your lashes, but you catch a glimpse of his lust-darkened eyes and the bulky shape of his wingspan at his back. When his mouth presses against yours, it's less of a kiss and more of a desperate glide of tongue-against-tongue between deep, shuddering breaths and needy moans.

"You're so perfect," he whispers thickly as he pulls away from your mouth and flicks his tongue against your ear. He braces himself with one clawed hand digging into the earth while the other tears at the front of your shirt. Buttons pop from the seams as the flimsy fabric gives way to his sharp nails and inhuman strength.

He leans back on his knees with a shuddered sigh as he rips the fabric away and exposes your bare back to him. He rubs up and down the grooves of your spine and trails his fingers over the curve of your hips. "You’re so, so lovely like this. Fuck, the things I want to do to you."

You rest your cheek on your arms when he pushes your chest down and encourages your back to curve into a deeper arch. Firm hands grip the sides of your pants next and tear them away next, followed by your flimsy underwear. The cool night air chills your bare skin until he leans over you and warms your body with his own.

You’re utterly trapped beneath him, naked and vulnerable in a way that should fill you with shame or fear, but his words are genuine and his touch is gentle. 

Perhaps this little tease would go on a little longer, but you know he’s already testing the limits of his self-control and you don’t want to wait anymore either.

You’ve wanted this all night, and you need him now, desperately.

“Show me then. I want you to, please.”

You squirm with anticipation when he lets out a rumbling growl close to your ear. Something hot and heavy, slick with a generous layer of lube, moves between your legs and nudges at your entrance with the faintest bit of pressure. The tip of his cock teases you with shallow dips as he stretches you open slowly, each stroke sliding in deeper, inch by agonizing inch. He teases the sensitive spot inside you until he finally buries himself to the hilt with a snarl, and you answer with a startled cry as the pulsing emptiness inside is deliciously filled by him.

“I’ll give you everything you want,” he promises darkly as he starts moving at a brutal pace, and his clawed fingers dig into your hips and pull you down onto his cock to meet each of his deep, perfect thrusts. “Now take it.”

Azra has a vague idea of what happens when Zee takes you to the forest behind his house. He doesn't need or want the details as long as you're both happy and unharmed. However, it takes him far too long to notice that your visits to the woods coincide with certain parties at The Fall, and he's genuinely confused as he looks over preparations for the upcoming bunny event.

"Wait, we had to buy another bunny outfit?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he reads over the invoice in his hands. "What happened to the other one? The last event was only a month ago.” Now that he thinks about it, he vaguely recalls ordering a new uniform for you then, too. "This must be the third one we've replaced by now."

Zee pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a hum. "The fourth, actually. If it helps, I still have the bunny ear headbands." His lips twitch into a remorseful smile, but the gleam in his eyes is far too pleased for his apology to be sincere. "Unfortunately, the rest was...unsalvageable."

return to: oc masterlist | obey me masterlist

[9amartt]

“Blindly” trusting Allah is the epitome of sight. 

I entrust my affairs to Allah, from the smallest issues to those that could twist my life’s plot, from my daily decisions to those that have a great effect in my entire life.

I heard, and I believe that the affairs of the Mu’min are always good. Whatever Allah decrees for the believers is good for them either in dunyah or akhirah. 

Anything that comes from my Lord is good, and I am pleased with it and grateful, and since gratitude is Ibadah, I worship Allah by being grateful to Him.

I know that since the day I uttered La Ilaha Illa Allah with my tongue, believed it with my heart, and acted upon it with my limbs, and didn’t commit that which nullifies it, that I am a muslim from the muslims, and a believer from the believers, from those believers who are under the mercy and protection of Allah at all timed and all places. 

Now the only thing left good expectations from my Lord and creator, -the one who is more merciful to me than my own mother!- And loads of Du’a and taking asbab. 

This is the recipe of success for those who seek it. 

You may say: “Okay now I took all the possible asbab. What do I do?” 

The answer is easy: 1-Dua Dua & Dua (which you should have been doing from the beginning) continue making it. Never despair in du’a and don’t get tired of it at all or ever expect anything but a response from Allah in sha Allah. 

And know that the answer of a Du’a is always good, either you get what you wished, or a protection from an evil, or a raise in ranks.

2: Never ever think or utter the phrase: ”it’s impossible” and even if shaytan causes you to, rush to repent from this since it’s an insult to Allah و العياذ بالله. 

3: Wait with patience and perseverance and increase in Ibadah (especially istighfar and Qiyaam Al Layl)

4: Abandon sins!! I really can’t stress this enough. Perhaps Allah didn’t answer your dua yet because of your sins!!

��يل الفتى دعى ربه فعصاه فلم يستجب له!

Woe to the young man, he makes dua, then sins and Allah doesn’t respond to his dua because of that sin. 

Try to abandon sin, and even if you fall or slip (and you surely will) rush to istighfar and tawba. Be as clean from sin as possible. 

And that’s it really, the actions themselves are relatably easy, patience is the hardest part, and to increase your patience you must read the Qur’an and ponder upon it, and also count your blessings, reminisce old times in which Allah’s blessings showered you.

And remember, good is in that which Allah chooses for you.

This ‘waiting stage’ is a real blessing wallah, take advantage of it. 

In it, you worship Allah out of need, and slowly get closer to Him to the point where you love Him and your relationship with Him improves, and you may even -with the assistance of Allah- reach the level which many of the salaf narrated about: the level of living in Jannah while in dunyah. 

So make your goal getting closer to Allah with every trial and every blessing. 

And I don’t know what each one of your dreams and ambitions or trials may be, but if you can get at least one thing from this patience of yours, let it be being closer to Allah and starting to truly Love Him to the point on which everything you see reminds you of Him, and to the point which He becomes the first one you think about when you wake up and the last one you think about before going to sleep, and to the point that every sin you commit becomes painful to you and you cannot let it pass without repentance, and to the point where you cannot keep your love to yourself, you will feel like you have to tell everyone about how much you love Him! 

Wallah. 

And it is one of the best feelings if you maintain it. May Allah grant us all such feeling, and may we return to Him in such state. Ameen.

[thesmutsideblog]

When Your Heart Feel Heavy You Drink (Eddie Munson, Ft Steve Harrington)

Content Warnings: Accidental Pregnancy, Implied Plans For Abortion, Explicit Language, Alcohol Use, Drunken Behaviour, Smutty-ish Content But Not Extensive There Would Be More Heavy Smut If I End Up Doing A Second Part. Implications Of Reputation/Bullying. Use Of Nickname "Bunny" Both Derogatorily And Affectionately. Not Beta/Proof Read. AFAB Reader Word Count: 8k+A/N: So, a few things. One, I started writing this at 1am on a random Wednesday because I had a half asleep thought and then could not let it go. Two, I have said, time and time again, there are few tropes I hate more than accidental pregnancy. Now take that as a personal preference issue, take that as an embodiment of my fear of pregnancy, the fact I do not want children and my raging asexuality. Three, I had no idea this was going to be as much as it was when I started writing it. And I had no idea where it was going to go either. I knew I wanted it to be Eddie based, but I also knew it might end up being Harrington in the end, maybe even some Steddie content, I really didn’t have a clue, so I just let it write itself. And I might continue to write it, fuck knows. Do I think this is my best work? No. Not remotely. But I wrote it, and I wrote a lot of it, and tbh I’ve written a lot worse and thought fuck it, it exists, might aswell put it out there, so both you’re welcome and I am sorry. But also I am not sorry.

Now

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

No string of curse words was going to change the two red lines on the stick you held between your hands. No amount of praying, of cursing, of wishing. No amount of screwing your eyes closed and counting to ten and opening them again was going to change the result.

The tiny little rest glares up at you, illuminated by the shitty white lighting of the convenience stores public bathroom, and it feels like the biggest taunt you’ve ever experienced. You wonder to yourself if you could drown yourself in the dripping water of the sink you are resting your head against. You doubt it and with a deep inhale you pull yourself up off the floor.

“Right,” you tell yourself. “Not ideal, but we can fix this, we can fix this and we can forget about it, and we can focus on college applications.”

You tell yourself over and over you can do that, you can focus on tomorrow like you’re not spinning. You can think about school and college and work like your heart isn’t threatening to stop in your chest.

Like you’re not pregnant.

Your watch beeps and your hairs stand on end. Four o’clock. It’s Saturday, and it’s four o’clock. Shit, you’re about to be late for your shift at Family Video. Your whole body feels cold. You cannot go to work today. You can’t. Not with everything going on. Not there. Not if there is even the smallest chance you’ll see him.

“Keith is going to kill me,” you whisper to yourself, as you make a beeline for the payphone. You twist the metal chord around and around as it rings out, praying to the wide open that anyone else picks up the phone.

“Family Video,” comes Robin’s voice and you’ve never been so glad to hear it, “what can I do for you?”

“Buckley,” you say but your voice barely makes it out.

“Bunny?” is her reply. You groan, that nickname has followed you like the plague and Robin had never used it, until now. “Shit,��� she whispers, realising her slip up, “sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you tell her, it’s not, but you’d forgive her a whole manner of sins if she doesn’t make you feel even worse for what you’re about to tell her. “Robin I cannot make my shift.”

“It’s Saturday,” Robin whines.

“I know,” you tell her, “I know, and I am sorry, and you know I wouldn’t leave you hanging if I didn’t have a really good reason.”

“What is it?” she asks. Notoriously nosy and yet it never stops surprising you how shamelessly Robin will demand answers for anything. It is as if the girl has never had to keep a secret in her life, as if she has never had a single thing she wanted to keep to herself.

“I’ve been throwing up for the last three hours and I hoped it was going to pass, I thought, hey maybe if I get it all out my system I can get to work, but between heaving up my insides and trying to force water down my throat I didn’t realise how much time passed, and I know that’s a shit excuse for giving you so little warning, but as it turns out, this might be a little more than a bad reaction to my mothers quiche,” you lean into it now, knowing how Robin feels about germs, “and unless you want to share whatever it is making me want to tear my intestines from my body-,”

“You’re good, stay home,” Robin says, “can you at least call Harrington and have him cover?”

“He is your best friend, you call him,” you say, a little too harshly, so with a wince you add, “it took all the energy I have making this call.”

“Sure, sure,” she says, and you don’t have to see her to know she is waving a hand in the air to usher your words away from her. “Whatever, just… stop being sick or something.”

“I’ll try,” you say before hanging up. Every muscle in your body hurts, you want nothing more than to sink onto the floor of this dirty payphone box and let the ground swallow you. But you can’t, because that gets you nowhere, and you’ve got places to be.

You give the door of the box a small kick before pushing it open, and staring down the road, it’ll take you about twenty minutes from here to walk to where you need to go next. Your brain is screaming at you, desperate for you to think of another option, a better option, any other option. Because there is only once place you’d not rather be than where you’re headed. One person you’d not prefer to see right now, in this moment, than who you’re walking to. But you’ve got no other choice and for every reason you want to stay the fuck away from him until you figure everything out, until everything is fixed, you can think of sixteen other reasons to go to him instead. So you do, one slow, dragging step at a time, knowing that at this pace it might take more like forty minutes to get there, but before you’ve managed to talk yourself out of the idea entirely, and before you can think of any other option you can see the benches where Gareth is stood, telling a story with his arms spread wide, and Wheeler is looking at him so intently you wonder if his eyes might pop from their sockets. Dustin is pacing, trying to figure something out, and Lucas watches sat between Gavin and Jeff, no doubt wondering why he agreed to be here on this slightly too warm June Saturday. In the middle of them all, with his legs crossed, centre of the picnic table, lazy smile on his face with a cigarette stuck between his lips, still unlit, the person you really don’t want to face right now, the person you want to run from as fast as your legs might carry you. Eddie Munson, you looks up, and in seeing you, jumps to his feet, smile turning into a wicked grin as he thrusts his arms open wide and does a theatrical bow at your approach. Eddie Munson, your best friend and favourite person in the whole wide world.

“Malady,” he calls to you, “I did not believe you would be gracing us with your presence today, thought you had to earn that money, what was it you said, the honest way.”

His jovial tone, his welcoming smile, the way he lights up when he sees you is enough to make you break. You hold yourself close, arms wrapped around your torso, as if you could stop yourself bursting at the seams if you just kept holding on tight enough. You cannot cry, you tell yourself, you will not cry.

“Princess?” Eddie asks, seeing your face, searching for a smile that he cannot find. “You okay?”

“Can I borrow your van?” you ask. This gets everyone’s attention and Eddie knows without asking by the way you look at the ground, focused intently on a rock you’re pushing between your feet, that attention is the last thing you need right now.

“Scram rugrats,” Eddie says.

“But,” Dustin starts.

Eddie just holds up a hand to silence any disagreements. “Scram.” He approaches you, slower than normal as the others start to disperse. He reaches you and he moves to place a hand on your arm, and you let him, his rings cold against your skin but you barely even register the touch. You feel so unreal, the gravity of everything suspended above you, threatening to crush you at any moment. He waits until everyone is gone, and waits a little longer before trying again. “Hey, what happened?” he asks.

“Can I borrow your van?” you ask again. Not to avoid the question, but in an eagerness to get everything moving, keep everything moving, God you need everything to keep moving because if you stop, you will fall and you doubt you have the strength to get back up again.

“Sweetheart, you cannot drive my van,” he reminds you. You nod, realising you really haven’t thought any of this through.

“Okay, can I borrow you and your van?” you ask, your voice cracking now, every other syllable seeming jaded and stifled as it comes out. Eddie’s concerned look only grows.

“I am going to need you to tell me what has happened,” he says slowly.

“Eddie,” you try, “please, can you just…” you inhale, a deep shaky breath. “I need to get to Pennsylvania.”

Eddie laughs, part of him knows he shouldn’t but the ridiculousness of you stood in front of him, in the afternoon of a Saturday in blue jeans and a tee-shirt he knows you well enough to know is a pyjama top, asking him if he can take you to Pennsylvania is just too much for him not to laugh. “Got a sudden killer urge to see the Liberty Bell?” he jokes.

“Eddie I… I really can’t have you asking questions right now,” you admit, “can you take me, or am I looking at buses?”

“Wait, you’re really serious,” he says, looking you up and down, trying to decipher why in the name of all things, would you be so serious about this.

“As a heart attack,” you say. Or an accidental pregnancy, you think to yourself.

“That’s like… an eight hour drive,” he says.

“Is that a no?” you ask, and there it is again, the pain in your voice, the threat of bursting into tears right here and not knowing if you can stop. Eddie cannot bear it, the sight of you so empty, so broken.

“No,” he says, “I’ll take you-,”

“Great,” you don’t let him finish, “where did you park?”

“Right now?” he asks. You nod and gesture around as if to enforce your question. “I parked by Family Video.”

“Oh,” you say, “well I can’t go there.”

“Because you’re skipping your shift,” Eddie says, his studying you feels so invasive all of a sudden, like he can see right through you. He can’t, and he has never wanted more to be able to. Everything about you right now seems so far from normal. He wants more than anything to know what has happened, what is happening right now, why you’re suddenly a million miles from your body and you are asking the strangest things of him. He would’ve been less surprised if you had walked up to him and told him between him dropping you home last night and now, you’d gotten hitched to a member of New Kids On The Block. He just wants to know, so he knows how to fix it, how to help.

You can see that on his face. “I told Robin I was sick, and that’s not a lie,” you say, “I spent enough hours today chucking up yesterdays diner food that I don’t think I could look at a burger right now without wanting to hurl, so no, I cannot be around Family Video,” you say, but that’s not all of it. But you don’t have the energy or the ability right now to explain that to him. “So if you want to help Eddie, please go get the van and come get me.”

“So we can drive to Pennsylvania for a reason you haven’t told me?” he asks. You nod. “And we need to leave, right now?” You nod again. He nods slowly, pulling his keys from his pocket and swinging them between his fingers by the keychain. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops.”

Waiting for Eddie could have been forever but it could have been a blink of your eyes, you're not sure because you're reeling. To find this out, to consider what this means and then try and get out of state the same day is what some might call impulsive choice making. But it doesn't really feel like you've got options. Not like this. Not now. There are so many conversations you'd have to have that your head starts to ache so much at the thought of it all that your vision blurs. You're not even sure what you're going to tell Eddie, and Eddie knows you better than anyone, Eddie has always known all your secrets, all except one.

You’re sat on the curb when Eddie pulls up, the van making all kinds of noises you’d usually be worried about, the type of sounds you’d start hammering into Eddie he needs to have checked out. But you don’t have it in you to be worried about that right now. That doesn’t matter right now. Just getting the fuck out of Indiana is a start.

You open the passenger side and slip in, you hadn’t noticed how long Eddie had been gone, but he must’ve been gone longer than fifteen minutes, because from the bag you can see peeping out from behind Eddie’s driving seat, he had a chance to swing home and grab a few things. You recognise your backpack you left at his for the nights you both drink far too much and cannot get home. The backpack with all the supplies you need to look like a functioning human the next day, anything emergency you might need. You give him the softest look you can muster, and he nods, the silent thank you acknowledged and immediately put aside. There were some things in your friendship with Eddie that never needed to be said, and this was one of them.

He lets you start the drive in relative silence, you reach to turn on the cassette player and before you can fill the quiet with heavy metal, Eddie’s hand rests on top of yours, pausing you, a gentle quiet gesture, trying not to push too far. But he needs something, he isn’t asking for all the answers right now, he doesn’t need them right now, a lot of it can wait, he can tell you need it to wait. But he needs something. “One thing, one answer and then you can blare Judas Priest all you want,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road, but you feel his gaze as if it were on you. “Just… why Pennsylvania, that’s all I am asking right now.”

It's a fair question, you know it is. You’re getting him to drive you eight hours across States and you’ve not given him the smallest inkling as to why. You shuffle in your seat, feeling the belt across you like a noose tightening. You wanted to run from Eddie because you’ve never been able to keep things from him, he knew all your secrets, except one. He recognises every single tell, he knows you, he has always known you and he can smell a lie from your lips before it makes it there, and you knew this would be no different. But you just need a few more hours where this is yours, and you can put things into order, find the right way to explain yourself, to explain it… to explain everything. Because you know you cannot just tell him you’re pregnant, you have to tell him… everything, and you know he will have questions and you’re not sure how to answer them yet. So you rake in a breath and bite the inside of your cheek. “Pennsylvania feels far enough away that no one will know who I am, and no one will care to remember,” you say, eyes on the road.  

You know he was looking for more, but he doesn’t ask for it. You know he will, but not yet. He let’s your hand go and presses the play on the cassette tape. Breaking The Law starts up, part way through the first verse and you sink back further into your seat, hoping you might just let it swallow you, but you know it won’t. You’re stuck in the long haul now.

The Night Of The Party

You weren’t sure of the dress. You stared at it for what felt like hours in the mirror. This was a party you were going to, and you had an idea about what that means you should wear. But the dress felt too different, it was something your mother had bought you, thinking you were someone else, she had a habit of doing that.

You wanted to slip into black jeans, you wanted to back out, but you'd convinced Eddie, you'd finally, really convinced Eddie and you weren't going to ruin that for yourself. Eddie leant around the doorframe, dressed in usual attire, a band tee shirt with a few holes in it, he'd claim aesthetic choice if asked but you know he has more often than not caught that fabric jumping fences. But he looked good, he always does. He smiled at you.

"You look..."

"Different?" You offered.

"You look like her," he said. You frowned, not sure what he meant until he raised two fingers behind his head to mock up bunny ears.

"Shut up Munson," you said, flipping him off. He meant no harm by it, and you took no offence from it, because it's him.

"Nah, see, there, just like that, you're back to being my girl again," he said, opening the door for you, "no floppy ears in sight."

"And you as always look like my misfit, I am glad you're not wearing the hellfire shirt."

"Are you? I can change."

"Don't you dare."

In moments like this Eddie felt like some wonderful dream, this figment of your imagination you’d conjured up to keep you from being lonely, but you doubted your mind could ever contrive something quite as wonderful as Munson. He stuck his tongue out at you and you flipped him off in return. At times like these Eddie felt like something you could keep, something that was truly yours, and yours alone. You had to share Eddie with school and work and life and the boys, but you never felt lost to those things. Like above anything else he was your Eddie. Your best friend. Your partner in crime.

“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” he said, ruffling out some of his curls with a shake of his head. You giggled.

“You’re like a poodle,” you had teased him.

“Calling me a dog sweetheart?” he’d asked, and leant over you, tongue lolling out. You’d laughed and shoved him back, palm to his face.

“Down boy,” you’d mocked. His laughter had carried you both out to the van and all the way to the house party.

The porch felt like the final and biggest hurdle, neither of you were exactly popular at school and this was akin to walking into a shark tank. Eddie asked you again why it was you wanted to even go. You shrugged. "Feels like a necessary experience," you stated.

"I think making out under the bleachers might be a necessary experience too," he teased, "need my help with that one?"

"If I need any help making out, I will let you know," you retorted before pushing open the unlocked door.

The party was the type of loud where you had no room for thinking, the music turned up so you can barely make conversation, the real sounds that compete with the speakers are the cheers and chants of those observing and partaking in the drinking games. The occasional less than sober giggle of those heading up to empty bedrooms.

"We can head home right now," Eddie whispered, offering you the out, sensing just how overwhelmed you could become. You shook your head. "We can have some drinks at the trailer, watch a movie, we do not have to put up with this, just say the word."

"I'd like to stay," you told him, and you'd regret those words before the hour was even up.

You'd gotten lost in the people at some point, a few drinks in, talking to Robin and Eddie had disappeared into the mass. You'd gotten a reassuring squeeze on the arm as you tried to wade through the crowds to find him. You didn't like the party. It wasn't for you, you knew it, he knew it, and he had been right. Eddie often was. You were ready to find him, take his hand and pull him out of his unimaginable hell and start a sobering walk home.

But when your eyes had finally landed on Eddie, he didn't look at all like he was suffering. He was smiling, leant one hand against the wall as he talked to some girl in a tennis skirt and even over the music and the crowd and the mess of it all, you could hear her laugh from a room away. All flirty and wanting.

And just like that, your stomach was being ripped out and you forgot how to breathe. Eddie wasn’t just yours, he wasn’t this magical creature that only you could see, he wasn’t something you get to keep to yourself forever, and you knew that. You were around Hellfire enough to know that, but it was different then, with the guys, you never felt like this. Something about some pretty girl with her fingers playing with the hem of her skirt as Eddie talked made you want to drown yourself in the punch.

So you had.

You had a drink, and then another, and then another, and somewhere between your empty bottle of vodka and the pile of red cups you lost count of just how much you were drinking.

Each drink made you more drunk, and the more drunk you became the less the feeling in your stomach of seeing Eddie with that girl was noticeable, so you got drunk. You got so very drunk.

Now

You hadn’t been asleep exactly, but you’d been clocked out and you weren’t sure for how long. The sky was darker now, the sun setting and the road lights starting to turn on. Eddie had changed the cassette over and is tapping his fingers on the wheel, not impatient or anxious, just absent of mind. You sit up straighter and he throws you a glance. “Back with me sweetheart?” he asks.

“Somewhat,” you say. Your voice is grouchy, and Eddie would think you’d woken from a slumber if he hadn’t spent every passing minute with you. “I guess.”

“You ready to talk about it?” he asks.

“No,” you admit, not holding back your discomfort as you try to roll the ache from your shoulders, but it’s not the drive and long time seated that is making your body ache, it’s the gnawing dread. “But I will.”

“I don’t mean to push,” Eddie says, and you don’t recognise the tone in his voice, it’s laced with something you don’t remember ever hearing from his mouth. Which is an admittedly strange experience given how long you’ve known Eddie, all of your life that mattered. But that thought brings clarity, this is probably exactly how he feels about your behaviour, how strange and alien it is to look at someone you know better than yourself and not recognise a thing they’re doing.

You sigh. “I couldn’t be in Indiana anymore,” you say.

“I got that part,” Eddie admits, and the chuckle is almost sad.

“I… I am sorry,” you say. You are. You’re sorry you’ve had to drag him into this. You had wanted another option, you’d wanted nearly any other option. But it was always going to be Eddie. Because Eddie is who you go to when you’re stuck, when you need help, when you need someone to bail you out or offer you a hand, when you need somewhere to crash or someone to cover for you, it’s Eddie. It’s always Eddie. It was always going to be Eddie.

“Don’t apologise,” he says, trying to shrug it off, “you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, I think.”

You pull your knees up onto the seat with you, wrapping your arms around them, and resting your chin. “Remember the party?” you ask. Eddie scoffs.

“You mean Hagan’s party?” he asks. You rolls your eyes as you look at him.

“No I mean the beach party at the White House,” you mumble. He smiles, glad to recognise you again.

“There she is,” he whispers. “But yeah, I remember the party.”

“Yeah well, it starts with the party,” you explain. But memories come bubbling back.

You were leaning against a wall for support and you were looking for Eddie, even if you didn't want to see him, not if you might see him with that girl, with his hands on her waist, his tongue down his throat. The thoughts were swimming through your mind and you wanted to drink until they drowned. But you couldn't stop thinking about Eddie, the same way you can't stop thinking about him in the quiet moments, the late at night moments, the moments when thoughts of his tongue and his hands creep all too eagerly into your mind. You shook the thoughts out because now instead of hearing your name on his lips, hands tracing up the inside of your thigh, quietly whispering requests against your skin, looking for permission to have you. It was her you were picturing with him. Her skirt hiked up, her bra unfastened. His mouth leaving marks on her hips and you wanted to scream. So you downed your drink.

You shake them away, trying to start at the beginning, trying to keep it relevant, trying to not out your feelings. “I was two drinks in and we got separated, I saw Robin and she asked me if I had seen Vicky, and I thought I had by the beer pong so I tried to direct her and maybe the drinks were stronger than Craig let on, but I felt like I was spinning out,” you explain. Eddie nods.

“They were strong,” he agrees. His tapping on the wheel has gotten lighter as you start to talk, you know that means he is concentrating on what you have to say, but you know what Eddie is like, his mind runs faster than the conversation and he is jumping hurdles way ahead of the journey. You try not to let it distract you.

“I found Vicky and she was with her boyfriend and Robin said something about getting drinks, and she walked away and I was trying to find my way back to you, but I couldn’t find you anywhere and I didn’t really know anyone else and I didn’t like those I recognised and I needed air,” you pause, letting your eyes fall on the road, watching the little white dots marking the lanes disappear in flashes as the van moves forward, if you watch them long enough they become this blur of reflective light. You’re watching them, trying to find the words to explain what happened next. “And then I saw something, and I felt like I was…” you stop yourself. You can’t explain how seeing Eddie with another girl made you feel like you were dying, not now, you have too much to explain already. “I felt awful, I felt really, really awful and I wanted that feeling to go away.”

“What did you see?” Eddie asks, letting his eyes flicker over to you for a moment.

“That doesn’t really matter,” you say, trying to brush the question away.

“If it made you upset it matters,” he says.

“It’s not relevant to the story,” you say, “you just need to know I got upset, over something, something really stupid and I should’ve have gotten upset about it. I had no right to get upset about it, but I did. I got really upset. And I didn’t like feeling that way, so I made the third bad choice of the evening.”

“The third?” he asks, trying to keep a light tone despite the heaviness of the air around you both, the threat of this topic burying you alive ever prevalent.

“Well the second was leaving your side at all, and the first was convincing us to go,” you breathe out. “But anyway, I made the third mistake of the evening, I went back to the punch. And I drank.” You push your shoes against your palms, trying to ball yourself up as small as you can be, trying to hide from yourself. “I drank a lot.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything to that, and you half expect him to, but he keeps his eyes on the road, hands now on the wheel fully, no tapping, no lightness, and he waits for you to continue.

“And I kept drinking, and kept drinking, and at some point, someone, I think Tommy handed me a bottle of… cherry tequila I think, and I don’t remember how much of that I drank, but I remember a lot of chanting and encouragement and the bottle feeling much less heavy in my hands. I got dizzy after that, and I went to find some air, but I kept walking into door frames, and the ground kept getting dangerously close to me.”

“You were really drunk,” Eddie says. Had he seen you? You wondered. You had thought that after you saw him with the girl, you’d lost track of him for the rest of the night, and maybe you had, but just because you hadn’t seen him, didn’t mean he hadn’t see you. But you thought it unlikely, because if he had seen you the way you were he would’ve made you both leave there and then.

“I made it to the door, and then I nearly fell off the front step,” you say, “but luckily, he caught me.”

“Who?” Eddie asks.

“Just this guy,” you say, really not wanting him to push the matter. “And I was so glad to see him, I know him, we know him, I wouldn’t say I know him well, but it was nice to see a familiar face that didn’t make me want to crawl into a hole. And he was careful with me, and he helped me sit on the porch and get some cold air, and I thought I sobered up a little more, and maybe I did, but not enough because I went back inside and I found another drink. But I got halfway through it, and he stopped me. He seemed concerned for me, he could see how drunk I was and I couldn’t, I just wanted to keep drinking and stop feeling so bad, and jealous and petty because I had no right. But he took the drink off me and put it down, asking if maybe I wanted some water. So I let him get me water, and he was gone maybe a few minutes before some jock was hitting on me, and I wasn’t paying much attention because I was looking for someone, Robin I think, but you can only ignore someone for so long, and he tried to kiss me so I was suddenly very aware of how close he was and then the guy got back with the water and told him to stay the fuck away, and he did. I drank the water and I felt, giddy and I felt rescued.” The way you say the word makes Eddie’s fist clench around the steering wheel for a moment. You try to ignore it. “I felt rescued and I was drunk,” you say, “I was so drunk.” You suck your teeth for a moment, gathering up more of that courage to get yourself through the story. “So, I threw myself at him, repeatedly, insistently, relentlessly, it was pathetic and I wish the alcohol would’ve taken those memories away because the things I said to him, the things I suggested, it was… embarrassing. It is embarrassing,” you groan and return your face to being buried in your knees. “I hate knowing all those… filthy things I said, things you couldn’t pay me to say sober, things I never even thought would come out of my mouth, things I haven’t even thought about, but again… I was drunk. I was… so fucking drunk.” You inhale. “So I asked him to take me from the party, I hadn’t seen you in hours and I figured you’d gone home.” You can’t ignore the flicker of hurt that crossed over Eddie’s face as you say that. That you thought he would’ve left without you, without finding you. But you’d hashed that conversation out weeks ago. And you wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. So neither of you comment any more on it. “So he took me back to his place. He hadn’t drank so he could drive.”

“He what?” Eddie asks.

“Eddie I was so drunk I couldn’t remember my own address, I couldn’t tell him where to go because I didn’t know,” you say. He turns the steering wheel in a quick action, and the van jerks at the change as he pulls off to a layby. You hadn’t noticed how tightly he had started to grip the wheel the more you talked, but his knuckles are nearly white.

“I don’t… I don’t like where this is going,” he says. You see that look in his eyes, that anger, and you’ve seen it before, it’s the kind of anger that makes him slash tires and break windows.

“Eddie, no,” you say, trying to steady yourself, “it’s not. He wasn’t like that.”

“He wasn’t?” the words feel venomous as they drop from his mouth but you know the anger isn’t at you, it’s for you.

“I don’t have enough gaps in my memory for you to doubt me on this, okay,” you tell him. “He took me back to his place, and I tried to throw myself at him more, but he wouldn’t have it, he kept telling me that I was drunk and he was glad it was him that I fell into but no. He set me up in his guest room, and I threw up, a lot, and he held my hair back and made me drink ice water. I woke up in the morning and I had a bad headache, but it could’ve been so much worse. All the things I said, all the ways I acted, it could have been so much worse. I had a shower in the ensuite and when I got out, he had made me breakfast. And a hangover smoothie and I felt a lot better. And then I felt something else.” With the van in park Eddie is watching you very closely now, turned to you, eyes studying every small movement, waiting to catch you in a lie or react to whatever you might throw at him, what feelings you might have that bubble up, he needed to be ready. Because above all, he wanted to be here for you, he wanted to fix this, and he has long lost the thread on where this is going. “I felt grateful.”

Eddie wishes he could hide his response to that, and he manages to not sneer but the irritation is clear in the way he draws his breath in tight. “Grateful,” he says. You know why that bothers him, he has spent years showing you the difference between good behaviour and common decency, and you know better than to thank someone for not being the worst.

“He is a good guy,” you try but regret the words.

“Because he didn’t take advantage of someone so drunk they literally couldn’t remember the address of the house they’ve lived at their entire life?” Eddie asks. He looks sad, really sad and you want to break apart. He sees it in your face and he winces at himself. “Shit, sorry, I am not trying to make you feel bad, I just… I wish things were better for you.”

“I know,” you tell him honestly. “But I’m not done.” He had figured as much, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear where this was going now, but he knew he had to. “I felt grateful, and I felt stupid, I felt really stupid because I could remember all those things I said and I apologised over and over, and he told me not to worry about it. That people say dumb shit when they’re drunk, and I thanked him for being there, and he said he really didn’t mind. And I apologised again for putting him out and for hitting on him like we were dying tomorrow and he shrugged it off, and he said ‘I wouldn’t have minded if you were sober.’” You bite your tongue as Eddie does the same letting his hand squeeze the wheel again. “Eddie, he wasn’t… it was on me, okay. He was good and sweet and I felt safe because of him, and I got caught up in myself and… I kissed him.”

“You kissed him?” he asks. You can feel the memory of his lips on your collarbone, his hands all needy and giving. The ways he touched you, the ways he held you, the ways your back arched and your words become nothing more than whispers. But you do not want to think about that right now. Because if you think about that you'll remember how much you thought about Eddie, and then you might just sink far enough into the car seat that you don't return. Maybe that would be better.

“And then I more than kissed him,” you say. He nods, really not wanting more detail, and you not wanting to give it. “And that would’ve been fine, it would’ve been a dumb, embarrassing memory, and a decent hook up, and it would’ve all been fine.”

“But?” he asks. He is waiting for it, the penny to drop. This nice guy of yours, did he have a girlfriend he neglected to tell you about while he was kissing you? Eddie wants to say so many things, but he doesn’t he just waits.

“But, we got caught up in it, and I didn’t think, and I don’t know if he just didn’t think either, or if while I was drunk I said something that wasn’t entirely true that made him think he didn’t have to think,” your words are becoming riddled again and Eddie’s brow furrows, trying to follow.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I think I said something about the pill,” you say, “which wasn’t untrue, but I may have run out and not thought much about how long I’d not taken it, I started taking it again a few days later, and I didn’t think anything of it. Until yesterday,” you say. You watch it process behind Eddie’s eyes.

“You didn’t use…” he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “oh.”

“Oh shit,” he says, leaning back into the seat.

“Yeah, oh shit,” you echo. “The party was like five weeks ago.”

“Shit,” Eddie says again, “your pregnant.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” you whisper. You’re not sure when you started crying but you can feel the tears spilling out from your eyes now, dripping down onto your arms and exposed skin. “Not exactly a test I wanted to pass.”

“Shit,” he pulls you in, giving you a hug and resting his head on top of yours. He brings no attention to your sobs as you finally let all the feelings you tried to bury flow out of you. He doesn’t know what to say any more than you do. But being close to him, hearing his breathing, his heartbeat as he tries to keep himself calm, it reminds you of home, not your home, but true home, the place where you feel safe and understood and always welcome. That has always been Eddie for you. Now is no different.

“So Pennsylvania,” he says after a long silence.

“Yeah,” you manage, “it felt far enough away that it couldn’t come home with me, the whispers, the judgment.” You feel Eddie’s posture change, his shoulders falling lower, his muscles relaxing, you hadn’t realised how tense he had been. So it’s not surprising when you look up at him and his expression is soft, his lips gently parted in thought.

“Why are we going to Pennsylvania?” he asks.

“To deal with this,” you say, “and then never think about it again.”

He nods, you knew he wouldn’t try and talk you out of it, you knew he wouldn’t do anything but support you in whatever it was you wanted to do. Hell, knowing Eddie he would offer to take the blame, joke about a shotgun wedding if you wanted to keep it. But in his silence you hear the quiet for the first time, and the question you didn’t want creeps in.

“I am going to ask you once, and then I will never ask you again, and you don’t have to tell me,” Eddie says, “but the guy?”

“I haven’t told him,” you say. Eddie frowns for a moment, and then gives your forehead a gentle flick. “Ouch.”

“I wasn’t asking that,” he says, “I would never ask that, it’s not his business frankly, not unless you want it to be.” You give him a small smile. “No, I just… who was he?”

“You really want to know that?” you ask. Eddie tilts his head from side to side.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “curiosity might kill me, but I don’t think I am going to like the answer anyway.”

“You don’t like any guy that’s taken an interest in me,” you point out, rubbing some of the remaining moisture from your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Well, usually they are trash,” he says, “and I don’t think defending the guy you knocked you up is going to go down well,” he jokes, or mostly jokes anyway.

“Promise me you won’t tell him if I tell you,” you say. Eddie mocks offence, it’s nothing like the hurt you saw in him earlier, when you recalled how you thought he left without you, it’s all play.

“I would never,” he says, “you question my honour so?”

“I question your ability to not want to start something with him, because I know what you’re thinking,” you say.

“Has he spoken to you since?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say, and he has. Not about it, not that you would have given him the chance to. You were so eager to forget anything happened at all, too embarrassed by the entire series of events and just wanting your life to go back to how it was. Just you and Eddie, with the rest of the world at arms length. But he has talked to you, he kind of has to, it’s hard to give silent treatment to someone you work with.

“About it?” Eddie asks. You look at your tattered converse and Eddie has his answer. “Unbelievable.”

“Did you call the girl you hooked up with at the party?” you respond. Eddie frowns again, all confusion now.

“I didn’t hook up with anyone at the party,” he says. You laugh.

“Not true,” you say. Eddie stares at you, blank. You don’t understand what reason Eddie would have to try and lie about that, especially right now. “Eddie, were you wasted?”

“I had three drinks,” Eddie says, “two of which I had with you.” He looks so clueless and you don’t understand it, the girl had been all over him, and she didn’t seem eager to leave any time soon, it had shocked you sick. It had sent you reeling, it had hurt you in ways you didn’t want to process, and he doesn’t remember it.

“Eddie, the tennis skirt,” you say, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. He still stares at you like you’re talking another language. “Eddie how many people do you have to get hot and heavy with that you don’t remember someone like that?”

“I told you, I didn’t get hot and heavy with anyone, I spent most the night looking for you,” he says.

“Eddie I saw you, with the flirty tank top and tennis skirt, she was like half a sentence away from jumping your bones,” you say.

“That’s got to be an exaggeration,” Eddie states, moving to take the van out of park and get back on the road.

“No wait, we need to finish this first,” you say, pulling the keys out the ignition. “She was drinking something really cheap with a cherry in it.” A look of realisation crosses over Eddie’s face.

“Estelle?” he asks.

“I didn’t stick around to ask her name,” you point out, “I was replacing all the water in my blood with alcohol remember?”

“Estelle, Tommy’s cousin,” he starts to describe her in vague detail and she sounds like she fits the bill so you shrug.

“I guess,” you say, “she was gorgeous, that’s all I really remember about her.”

“Was she?” Eddie asks. You laugh and it’s bitter and Eddie can’t tell why. “What?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice Munson,” you say.

“I guess I didn’t,” he says, “like I didn’t notice she was all over me apparently.”

“Trust me,” you say, “she was.”

“You sound…” he stops. You’re quick to respond to that, fear flooding you. You put the keys back in and try to nudge him to move the car.

“Places to be, problems to deal with,” you tell him. He doesn’t move. He is staring into nothing, like he is playing a reel back through his mind, hitting through the rolodex of memories. You’re scared of what he might find there.

“You said,” he pauses. You can hear his heartbeat, as it starts to hammer like an all too eager drum in his chest. “You said you saw something, and you got upset, and you went to get more drinks.”

“Eddie we should move, not let the night get ahead of us, we have miles to go,” you try.

“You said, you saw something that made you feel awful and you needed to drink to make that feeling go away,” he says, he sounds scared as he speaks and that fills you with a whole other type of fear.

“Eddie, please don’t think about it too hard,” you beg him, but you know it’s too late. He is a dog with a bone, and he has found all the pieces, it’s just a matter of time now.

“You didn’t stick around to ask her name… and that’s… I lost sight of you before that, and I thought I saw you when Estelle was talking and I came to find you but you must’ve already been getting more drunk,” he says.

“Eddie,” you say, not even a whisper, not even a plea, just a need to say it.

“And you almost sounded… jealous,” Eddie says, so hesitant on the word, “and that’s what you said you felt, sad about something childish and jealous when you had no right to be.”

“Well, how can I get mad about someone noticing you Eddie?” you ask. “I notice you all the damn time, hell I don’t know how to stop noticing you. But I can’t make other people not see you because it makes me feel small, unimportant,” you sigh. “I saw Estelle in her little skirt and her chirpy demeanour and I immediately wanted to drown myself.”

“You… you got drunk because of that?” he asks. You understand now with one simple sentence. He blames himself, that is the thing he takes away from this. You got drunk. You got vulnerable and drunk and he sees it as his fault.

“Eddie, no,” you say, but the words don’t bring comfort, because they’re not really true.

“I should’ve found you sooner, I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight,” Eddie stammers.

“I shouldn’t have made you go to the party,” you say, “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.”

“This is my fault,” he says. You punch his arm, hard and he throws you a wounded look. “Fucking, ouch.”

“You do not get to take credit for my accidental pregnancy,” you state, “did you knock me up? No. Did you drink your body weight in punch? No. All you did was let a pretty girl talk to you, you couldn’t know how that would make me feel.”

“I didn’t mean to let a pretty girl talk to me though,” Eddie says, “I only ever really want you talking to me.”

“I don’t know Eds,” you say softly, “I think there are things appealing about talking to someone who isn’t me, like a pretty girl,” you pause, “or guy.” He looks at you with those puppy dog eyes, so brown and lost. He let’s the comment pass you both by in favour of something more important.

“You’re the only pretty girl I care about talking to,” he says. “Or pretty, anyone.”

“Eddie,” you say, “you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Eddie says firmly, “I do mean it, and I’ve been meaning it for a while, but I thought… how could you feel like that, that hurt and not tell me?”

“What did you think I was going to say Munson?” you ask. “Hey, I know you’re my best friend in the whole world, but seeing another girl flirt with you makes me feel like I’m dying, that seeing anyone noticing you in all the ways you should be noticed because you’re a fucking rarity, makes me feel like I’ve lost you. Makes me feel like you’ll wake up and find someone and forget about me, because I am in love with you Eddie and I don’t know how to process that properly so instead I got drunk and I hooked up with Steve fucking Harrington.”

Eddie wants to say a lot of things in response to that, to ask about the whole ‘you being in love with him thing,’ to tell you all the things he hasn’t said but always wanted to, to make you see that he sees you just the same. But only one word manages to form on his lips and he can’t keep it to himself try as he might it just falls out.

“Steve?”

[aulwil]

sparrow (untitled)

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Charlie/Lucifer | Morningcest | Charcifer Word Count: 800 Archive Warnings: N/A Relevant Tags: Excerpt, PWP

Charlie sits on Lucifer's face.

Charlie has spent all 200 (and change) years of her life in Hell, and she expects herself to be accustomed to various displays of debauchery and sin — and she is, for the most part. Then Lucifer's claws dig into her butt where he's got both hands wrapped around her, pulling her hips down against his face better so he can work his tongue up against her clit and suck in rhythmic little pulses that make her eyes flutter closed and everything inside her twist, slippery knots through the inside of her hips and all up into her belly. She's pretty sure the ambient temperature has been raised several degrees, her skin dripping with sweat, each of the little twitches of her hips forcing her to remember that Lucifer's face is slicked with wetness and also, oh yeah, it's Lucifer's face.

"Fuck, oh, fuck," Charlie gasps, throwing her head back, her thighs shaking like she's a teenage virgin. "Lucifer—"

His name is foreign on her tongue, but the idea of calling him dad makes her feel squirmy and hot-cold-hot like a fever's settled between her thighs. This is fucked up, even by her fucked up standards because of the fucked up place she's lived in her whole life, because riding your dad's tongue isn't exactly out of the question but it would probably get you a side-eye if nothing else. Charlie knows this, and part of her might even still care about it, except when Lucifer pulls her down against him again, his mouth hot and tongue nothing short of motivated.

Lucifer's wanting, open-mouthed moan sends sticky, shuddering vibrations through Charlie's folds, and it's enough to crack any reservations that might have been clinging on. She gives in to the urge to reach a hand down and fist it into his hair, using it to brace herself as she pushes her hips down, leaning back and—

And opening her eyes was a mistake, because Lucifer's fucking looking at her, past the flushed, sweaty skin, his eyes golden coals that sear into her as her hips jerk and the fork of his tongue finds her clit to press on both sides of the swollen bud. From the noises he makes, you'd be forgiven for thinking he's the one getting eaten out, each one of his desperate, obscene groans ratcheting the pleasure higher and higher as Charlie tries not to think too hard about how he set down a plate of food in front of her this morning and kissed her on the top of the head when she said thanks, Dad like the normal family they pretend to be.

She can't stop thinking about it. Her wetness is smeared over his face, her thighs are bracketing his head, her pussy aches for something bigger than his tongue. It's Lucifer's face she's grinding against as if it's one of Angel's little performances, Lucifer's tongue that's flicking at her clit, Lucifer's skin that's slippery against her soaked folds.

"Dad, Dad please—"

That's it, that's all it takes — her orgasm is sour-sweet like pink lemonade and she doubles over, her head falling against the headboard as she keeps one hand tight in his hair. She's clenching around nothing, ripples of ecstasy blazing through her with the smallest movements. There's no chance of holding her noises back, and every involuntary jerk of her hips against him is another panting, strangled moan into the space between them, closer than they've ever been, like they can wipe away his years of absence with sweat and skin and contact.

It's like nothing that Charlie's ever experienced, and it leaves her shivering and boneless, the air suddenly feeling cold. Aftershocks are still making her tighten in slow, dragging pulses when Lucifer helps her sit back a bit, just enough for her to catch the dripping shine across his mouth and go a little dizzy at the sight.

"We can stop," Lucifer says, and the rasp of his voice fucking does things to Charlie, especially when he swallows and licks his lips like he's savoring her taste. "We can stop now. If you want."

She can still feel the echo of his tongue on her, the fork of it curling around her clit, his claws in her skin. The dark gray of his forearms against her pale thighs is wrong, but she doesn’t want him to let her go for anything. 

Charlie’s never half-assed anything in her life. She’s not planning to start now. She grabs one of his hands and presses his palm against the dark blonde curls made darker by wetness between her thighs, interlacing their fingers and squeezing briefly. The look on Lucifer’s face is nothing short of awestruck, and she feels the way the bed shifts when his hips jerk.

“No,” Charlie says breathlessly. “No, we can’t.”

[neovisioned]

♡ꜜ profane﹫jaehyun jung

profane - ashe vernon

pairing : jaehyun x reader (f)

genre : smut with little plot, fallen angel!jaehyun, best friends to lovers. 

warnings : actual filth, dry humping, passionate eating out, penetration (unprotected, be safe), body worship, slight begging and corruption, overstimulation, jaehyun’s wings are sensitive, creampie. 

word count : 3k exactly.

synopsis : fallen angel Jaehyun confesses to the one who saved him the night he fell from heaven five years ago, he shows you exactly how much he meant his words when he called you holy or : “ God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim,”

“The first time he calls you holy, you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.”

Jaehyun never even tried to hide his awe for your beauty, since the day of his fall. From the night you found him in the middle of the street, right after a rainy summer day, he never did. You were in your last year of high school, a teenager finding a bloodied, half clothed man on the hard concrete. You thought you were hallucinating, victim of one big, elaborated prank. You remember observing him for minutes, until he turned his scared face towards the noise of your boots cracking a dead branch. Oh, his face. Even in pain, even crying from the damnation he just faced, he looked ethereal. Correction, he was ethereal. A fallen angel, lost in this cruel, cruel world. Bloodied wings, sculpted body draped with a white sheet, trembling chestnut eyes. Big, white wings wrapped around himself in an attempt to protect his remaining dignity. Your heart dropped when he planted his eyes in yours. Jaehyun wondered if you were an angel of death here to finish the job, he never knew they were this pretty. Jaehyun remembers asking himself if he felt right to another kind of heaven he didn’t know about when you walked carefully towards him, pale moonlight enlightening your worried features. The first human face he’d see and yet, he'd bet you were crafted in his late home.

“You’re divine.”, was the first thing the fallen angel had told you. Ah, how he managed to get you even more intrigued with three words. You recall him not backing away from you when you kneeled in front of the man, offering a hand. He looked the same age, a deer caught in the bright lights of a truck. You’d hate yourself for leaving him here.

The red tint on his soft feathers stay imprinted in your mind, even after five years.

You never thought you’d be one to take an angel under your wing. But here you were, helping the fallen learn about life on the blue planet, one he never thought he’d live on himself. After all, the brunette never even formed the idea before, being dropped out of heaven was never on option for God’s old favorite. Years, and Jaehyun never stopped being dazed by your features. You even wondered where he’d get his compliments, always sounding like an old poet gushing over his best muse. Lovely, charming, delightful, ravishing, gorgeous, heavenly, stunning, artistic, magnificent. The list goes on. You quickly wondered if he wasn’t going too far, if he wasn’t too attached after you saved him, mind twisted by an illusion he created for himself. He saw what you couldn’t see in you. Words you never heard any man call another woman before, they all have the same effect on you. The feeling of heat pooling to your cheeks gets too familiar when you’re with Jaehyun. It’s to a point where his name only manages to burn your skin. However, the day the now almost normal man calls you “holy”, you don’t know how to react. His head rests on your stomach, strong arms wrapped around your body. You remember how frail they looked the night you met him. No matter the time flying by, the people he met, the number throwing themselves at him, Jaehyun never stopped looking at you like you held stars in your irises. Puppy dog eyes for what you then think is just equal, a puppy love.   “You’re holy.”, he had breathed against your skin, a small smile blooming on his face at your reaction. The weight of his head on you makes it heard to laugh and hard to breath properly, your sides hurt as you giggle in an attempt to brush it off. Thankfully, Jaehyun’s used to your off reactions to his words. He might even like it a bit too much. Even, it takes years for you to understand that Jaehyun’s isn’t just victim of a dumb infatuation. He means every word he says, he knows more than anyone else the meaning behind them all. It’s quite ironic. You think Jaehyun’s the one who needs to open his eyes but, when you do, you understand something bigger. Jaehyun isn’t as innocent as you thought he was. The ability to hide his wings and your presence guiding him had him walking on his Earth like any other human being, slowly becoming like every other young man of his age.

“The second time, you moan gospel around his fingers between your teeth. He has always surprised you into surprising yourself.”

The second time he calls you “holy”, your reaction is much, much different from any other. The slight salty taste of his fingertips lingers on your tongue, pink muscle lazily lapping against his skin. The fallen angel has two digits resting there, thumb lovingly stroking the skin of your check. Coating them with saliva, the muscle drags between ever so slowly. Hungry eyes catch every one of your reactions, drinking in the smallest of sighs and broken bat of the eyelashes for memories to cherish. It seems every important turn in your relationship with the fallen angel happens in summer, he even told you about how it was his favorite out of the four seasons. An anniversary of your meeting with the brunette turns confession of shared feelings between an improvised meal. He grew. He grew so much all thanks to you and yet, there he is. Body towering over you, using his power against you, the dynamic shifted long ago. His hips fits perfectly between your thighs, the blue jeans he’s wearing aren’t doing anything to hide his hardening member, longing to be touched. You wonder where he learned all of this, when he learned all of this. His hips roll against your clothed core in the most heavily way, it’s slow and hard, intentions clear. “You’re holy, doll.”, Jaehyun breathes again, watching your cheek heat up, your eyes roll back. You never heard this voice before, it dips lower, stained by years of want. “Crafted by the highest.” You moan around his fingers, teeth grazing over the tender skin. Jaehyun was never afraid to push you out of your comfort zone, there he was doing it again. You never thought you’d let your beloved angel sin with your help.

“Because he’s an angel hiding his halo behind his back and nothing has ever felt so filthy as plucking the wings from his shoulders - undressing his softness one feather at a time.”

Oh, how well he hides his halo. There’s no light in his eyes, no light in his voice when he asks you to undress. You wonder if he still has some powers with how easily you bend to his order, underwear adoring your skin. His jeans follow close behind. He got bigger with years, stronger, confident. One thing he doesn’t get rid of, his wings. He could, he could hide them like he does every day now, but he know how much they affect you. You’ve told him many times, never ran more than a light and careful hands on the majestic wings. Pure, white feathers create the perfect cocoon between your tangled bodies like he wants you to himself and him only. You don’t think he ever lost one single feather, never losing their pristine with time.

His hips never stop rolling against yours, now fully hard cock rubbing against your damp underwear. His grey boxers aren’t doing anything to hide his member anymore, one that makes your mouth water, eyes blow in need. One hand travels from his arm to the soft feather of his wing, bold fingers softly gazing over the small spaces between his plumes.

The surprised moan that tumbles from his lips takes your breath away, such a simple gesture that makes him keen under your touch. “Fuck.”, how can a curse sound so pure ? His finger leave your mouth to grip the pillow right next to your head. “Do that again.”

“God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim, and there’s no part of scripture that ever prepared you for his hands. Hand that map a communion in the cradle of your hips.”

“Shit, Jaehyun.” Nothing would have prepared you for the way his hips start moving to a faster pace. He has you moaning a bouquet of curses against his lips, hips bucking up against his. You know Jaehyun learns quickly, you see it when you tell him just how you like it and he obliges happily, hips rolling harder, and harder. The dark spot on his boxers’ a dead giveaway of your arousal building up, and up. His hands start wondering up your body, shamelessly sneaking under your bra. He maps your curves, learns by heart about the holy temple of your envelope. “Feels good ?” Another hand tightly grips your hip, fingers digging at your flesh, sure to leave small bruises there. He pushes your pelvis down against his mattress, until you aren’t able to create friction from your own. The fallen angel brings you to the border in minutes, he builds your orgasm up until you’re breathing against his bruised lips. He makes you jump with him and makes sure he has you all along, he holds you close when you ruin your underwear. Your orgasm blinds you for milliseconds, you probably moan too loudly for your neighbors but, right here and right now, it’s him. Jaehyun might come the very moment his name rolls out of your tongue, the prettiest prayer he ever had the chance to hear and, it was for him, him only.

“Hands that kiss hymns up your sides. He confesses how long he’s looked for a place to worship and, oh,”

“’ve been waiting for so long.”, the brunette confesses against the skin of your stomach. He places soft kisses there, like he wants you to see how much he worships your body. “Thought you’d never let me have a taste.”. There is the slightest bit of amusement in his voice when he kisses along the line of your ruined panties, a single digit teasingly running up and down your lips. He makes you shiver, sigh his name out and say his name in vain. You’d almost beg him to do it already, taste you already.

“Jaehyun, I-.”, you’d almost beg him, and oh.

Pink tongue boldly dips in your core, through the wet fabric. He hums at the slight taste of your arousal, like he cannot believe he’s finally there. His red lips form an -o where he knows your bud of never is, lightly sucking there. Where the fuck did he learn all of this. Oh, the sweet angel will be the death of you if you aren’t his.

“you put him on his knees. When he sinks to the floor and moans like he can’t help himself, you wonder if the other angels feel so sweet.”

Long gone are the years of blindness, years of pushing feelings away out of fear. A hand rests on his shoulder and you push him to his knees, he obliges easily under your touch. Knees to the floor, his knees hit the cold wood of his bedroom. Digits finally wrap around the fabric of your panties and finally. Finally, you reveal yourself to the fallen angel. Transparent fluid stick to your lips and the ruined piece of clothing, Jaehyun moans to himself like he’s been touched by grace.

Glittering eyes look up to you for reassurance and, when he has it, he doesn’t hesitate. Pushing your thighs apart, his eyes stay on your core like the finest of paintings, placing your legs on his strong shoulders. He waited and wanted too long to make the teasing last longer and, much like he did through the piece of fabric, his pink tongue drags up your slit. He collects every drop your give him in the dip of his muscle, he hums at the taste and goes for more. The tip digs between your lips and laps like he’s drinking the rarest of wines, like he’s drinking from the grail itself.

“Taste so fucking good.”, he hums to himself, lips shining with your own arousal. “Can’t get enough.”

You wonder if all angels are so good with their tongues, or maybe it’s the added effect Jaehyun has on you. He brings you to the clouds in what you feel like is seconds.

“He says his prayers between your thighs and you dig your heels into the base of his spine until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue. You will ruin him and he will thank you; he will say please.”

The words he mumbles against your core are foreign to you, your dazed, blurred mind doesn’t quite catch the meaning behind his sounds. However, his deep voice vibrates against your lips. It’s so much, too much. You’re almost too sensitive already from the first orgasm he got out of you. Your body reacts by itself when he lets his muscle explore between your lips a little more, a sigh tumbling from your lips. Your thighs close around his head until your heels dig between his wings, it makes the man moan and break away from your core. Your hand can only anchor itself between his brown locks, slightly tugging at his hair.

He’s breathless, a deep pink dust on his cheeks and chest alongside a thin sheet of sweat. Jaehyun looks so innocent and yet, so filthy, corrupted. When his lips methodically wraps around your button of nerves, you know you’re done for. “Jaehyun, Jae-. ‘m so close, gonna come.”, you warn, words turning incoherent at some point. Ah, Jaehyun loves the way your voice breaks for him, direct result of his actions. It fills his chest with pride and makes his wings bat the slightest bit around him.

“Please.”, he begs, and you have to look down at him to register the word. “Please Y/N, come on my tongue.”, he says again, fingers wrapping around your thighs. How can you say no to such plea ? Jaehyun might be the happiest fallen angel when he feels your thighs shaking around him, tightening around his head as you come for the second time that night. You might black out, the ringing in your ears doesn’t stop you from hearing the brunette’s greedy tongue lapping at your core, small kisses on your thighs. “Thank you.”

“No damnation ever looked as cozy as this, but you fit over his hips like they were made for you. You fit, you fit, you fit. On top of him, you are an ancient god that only he remembers and he offers up his skin. And you take it. Who knew sacrifice was so profane ?”

Fucked out, yet there’s no way you’re going to let Jaehyun like this. Your legs threaten to give out under your body when you sit on the fallen angel’s lap. Your abused core tightens around the head of his length, the slight pain of the stretch adds to the stained moan you let out against Jaehyun’s neck. He fits and he’s no one moaning about how you were made for him. Long gone are the pleas to make you come when he groans and growls about your tight cunt.

You take him, you take him entirely with a whine and fully sit on his thighs. You don’t think you ever felt so full in your entire life, you don’t think you ever felt this way before. His wings wrap around your bodies again, it seems like an old habit. He creates a world for you to rule in, he lets you take control and set the pace.

His moans are for your ears only when you finally start moving up, and down. Up, and down. Jaehyun’s arms wrap tightly around your waist, bringing your body impossibly close to his. His chest crashes against your own, lips bruising yours for the nth time that night. You fit, he won’t let you go. He fits, you grip around him. Jaehyun might just think you look like a goddess at this very moment, skin glowing under the light, wrapped around him, wrapped in him. He wonders if you aren’t just that, a goddess erased from the books, a goddess too powerful and threatening. Jaehyun might just think you’re Lilith. His head rolls back against the headboard of his bed, he unknowingly presents the skin of his pale neck and you take it. You take him, you mark him as yours. Red and purple petals bloom on his chest, marks he'd proudly parade.

“And once you’ve taught him how to hold your throat in one hand and your heart in the other, you will have forgotten every other word, except his name.”

The way his pupils grow wider the moment you bring his hand to your throat is almost comical. You teach him how to use his fingers and press on your neck, cut your breathing just the right way. Just enough to have you desperately clenching around his cock.

“I love you.”, you finally confess to him that night, words he thought he’d never hear at some point. There, the fallen angel has you in the palm of his hand, heartbeat pumping against his fingertips. There, Jaehyun gets his revenge on heaven. When he starts fucking up, sending your body crashing against his own, limp, he might fuck you even harder then. There, in the dead of the night, years after meeting him on the dot, his name is the only thing tumbling from his lips. Oh, what a pleasure to bring a goddess to this state, fucked out and babbling, shamelessly letting herself being used and filled. The fallen angel never thought he’d feed off someone’s tears but, when he hears you cry out for the third time that night, tear rolling down his neck, he comes.

© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter One

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

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

Part 1 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Trope: ‘Enemies to Lovers’; mainly angst, mutual pining, fluff, and eventual smut

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Word Count: 4000+

A/N: Ooo, let’s hope this does numbers! I love myself some ‘enemies to lovers’ tropes. It’s been a while since I’ve written Steve fanfics. :)

~

Wakanda, 2018, 4:04 pm.

     The flash of bright white light temporarily blinded you, sending you back to the ground and cupping your face in self-defense. But as quickly as the initial crack, it was over. Eerily silent and loud at the same time. The birds whistled their same tune, some higher-pitched than others. The wind seemed to blow louder, rustling the leaves from the trees and landing all around you and your teammates. 

“Thor?”

You lifted your head at the sound of Steve’s voice and checked if the coast was clear. All that remained of the evil was a new blood-stained hammer - a hammer that Thor was watching intensely, as if the answer lay hidden there. It was the only remnant left and your mind was already wondering how to use it to bring that evil back to finish a fair fight. 

“Where’d he go?”

The birds stopped singing. 

“Steve?”

You whipped your head around at the sound of Bucky’s confused voice, watching as one of your best friends dropped his gun and looked up at Steve as his hands began to disappear. In a matter of seconds, Bucky - or what became of him - fell to the dirt below. No one spoke, and you watched as Steve tried to control his breathing as he took a knee to place his shaking hand over his best friend’s ashes. A life and mind brought out of the darkness to finally amend those knots he had twisted, now ceasing to exist. In the distance you could hear Okoye shout in turmoil and Rocket begin begging. 

“What’s happening?” you finally choked out, turning just in time to see Wanda lift her head to the sky, defeated and out of will, and succumb to the same fate. “No!”

You ran and fell beside Vision’s now gray and decaying body, reaching over and palming through Wanda’s ashes. You rubbed them between your fingers, inspecting them, and brought your hand to your chest. The pit of your stomach churned as you sat there, immobile and numb. 

“Sam!”

So many names were being called but soon everyone who remained fell silent. The trees were still guiding the wind, leaves falling into the ashes of your friends, a sign of a new and unwanted chapter. You felt Steve drop beside you, turning Vision around to see the damage to his body. You winced when you saw the gaping hole in his forehead. 

“What is this? What’s happening?”

Natasha ran to where you were seated, hand over her stomach as if she was ready to vomit. And once she took one look at Vision, that’s exactly what she did. 

You removed your hands from your chest to look at them, the ashes still there and practically mocking you into finally believing this as reality. “Did we just lose?”

Steve was moments away from a full-blown panic attack. He simply looked up at the trees, watching the way the sunlight still burst through with no disruption. “Oh god.”

You caught Steve as he tipped his upper body toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding onto something real. He had to believe you were real. Anyone. And you were the closest person to him. You shut your eyes and held him, running your hands through his hair, wincing when you realized Wanda’s ashes were now on him.

You held him tight, praying to any God you chose to believe in at that moment, that Steve wouldn’t disappear too. 

Unknown Location, 2025, 1:07 pm.

     The air was incredibly musty, as if each person who struggled for breath in this room at one point or another left a piece of their soul floating in search of last minute penance for their sins. And the man in front of you was no different, choking on the purple blood that dripped down his neck and onto his now unbuttoned, white dress shirt. His chest was rising and falling, his breathing becoming less labored with each blink of the eye. His hands were tied behind his back and to the chair he sat on, a flickering light in the corner of the dark, concrete room somehow mocking this man’s last remaining seconds of life. 

“I’m not an evil person,” you started, kicking one of the legs of the chair to startle the poor man. But your guilt was minimal - it’s not like you wanted to do this - but knowing this man did exactly what everyone said he did, hands red and dripping with young blood, you selfishly took pleasure knowing this man would look at you when he died. “It’s just my job as third in command.”

You gave the man a small smile as you bent down to his level, head hanging in shame, slow breaths now pausing in between each intake. You looked to the other party in the room, handing them the gun in your holster, and walked out the room as the sound of two gunshots rang out. 

Left twist. Sting. Breathe. 

You washed away any smell from that godforsaken room, giving extra attention to the roots of your hair and under your fingertips. 

Scrub. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

The crack of your neck frightened even you, and you stood under the burning shower for a few more minutes before deciding the sting was enough. You changed into the most comfortable sweats you owned, surprisingly calm for such a gruesome morning you had, and took your time with your skin care routine. 

Circle. Wash. Dry.

Soft music played in the overhead speakers, the classical sounds vibrating from one wall to another and surrounding you with something tranquil - something still. There was nothing to expect from such a sound, only the next repeated chorus, no words or drops - just tranquility. You could barely hear yourself breathe but you were at peace - or mostly - and ready to sooth your growing headache behind the eyeballs with more than just music. You slipped on a pair of comfy, forest green socks and bent them at the ankle to achieve an even fluffier look. You applied your favorite perfume, lotioned up your hands, and donned your tacky friendship bracelet. 

One for you. One for Bucky. One for Peter. And one for Wanda. 

You hummed the whole way to the common room, waving at the morning staff as they fixed lightbulbs, covered holes in the walls, and swept the floors. One muffin and a cup of coffee later, you were resting with your head in Wanda’s lap as she filled your thoughts with your chosen sceneries.

      “I can make you see anything you have already seen, so yes.”

“A miniature golf course, Peter’s high school graduation, a field of all kinds of flowers, and Natasha.”

Wanda stilled her floating hand, smile faltering for a moment before she nodded. “Okay… okay, I can do that.”

     They were images well-drawn out, slow and steady to make the atmosphere similar to when you were actually there. They seemed to float across your vision, comfortable in their positions and radiating the same warmth you had felt the first time around. A moving picture. Wanda really had excellent control of this. 

     “I won!” Sam leapt into the air, pointing at a disgruntled Bucky, who stepped off to the side to not throw Sam over his own head. “I won!”

“How is it possible for you to get a hole-in-one each fucking turn?” Bucky groaned, moping in Wanda’s shoulder as she held him and struggled to keep herself standing from her own intense laughs. 

“I think we got a cheater on the loose,” Steve grinned, pointing at the ring Sam was trying to discreetly tuck back into his pocket. A friendly gift from T’Challa, no doubt. 

“Nuh-uh, give me the fucking proof, Wilson!” Bucky roared, wrapping his arm around Sam’s neck and tugging him forward. “I will not admit defeat if there was foul play involved!”

Sam escaped the hold, climbing onto the rock located to the side of the flag and a sign that read ‘do not climb on rocks’. 

“It just helped me calculate all things geometry, Barnes. We’re good.”

Bucky looked as if he was going to leap on him again, but before he could even finish that thought, Sam slipped on the wet surface and plummeted into the rushing little river. 

Laughter erupted and did not cease until you were escorted out of the fairgrounds by four security guards. 

     A flick of Wanda’s wrist and a new memory began forming, colors blending like an oil painting, dried and covered with a glossy varnish, ready to hang. 

     “Don’t trip on your way up, kid.”

Peter swatted Steve in the side as the super soldier left the room, leaving Peter alone in front of the full-length mirror. He adjusted his tie and tried to lay that pesky dangling strand of hair over the top of his head.

You got up from the couch and made your way over, wrapping your arms around Peter and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’ll do great. We’re all so proud.”

“It’s just high school…”

You frowned and turned him to face you. “No, you should already be in your second year of college. This is seven years in the making. We are all so proud.”

Peter could feel the slight burn at the corner of his eyes but he swallowed it down, giving you a small smile and a hug. 

“And can you trip? Don’t you stick to all surfaces?”

Peter scoffed and pushed you away, his tiny smile never faltering.

     You could feel Wanda shift her legs underneath you, searching for the most comfortable position as she continued her work. You sighed, already feeling the therapeutic effects. 

     “They’re all so pretty!” you yelled cheerfully, running through the field with your arms extended to the sky. Bucky and Steve followed close behind, leaning down every so often to pluck the flower of their choosing and adding to the bouquet in their hand. 

“Which did Tony prefer?” Steve asked, snapping you from your pollen-filled, ecstatic state. 

“Aesthetic beauty, Rogers! Natasha was a sucker for anything pink and sunflowers.”

Bucky nodded, seeming to take that information into consideration as he plucked the yellow and pink flowers only. Steve chose the most healthy looking flowers, his hand struggling to hold them together as he reached the two dozen mark. 

“I think we’re good. These are good.”

You smiled at both super soldiers and admired their bouquets, leaning over to sniff their masterpieces. “Awesome.”

     Wanda sighed as she neared your last vision, debating on showing you your chosen moment instead of another one. This moment always hurt Wanda as she wasn’t there to witness it, but it was special to you. There were so many others to choose from, but you insisted this was the one you always wanted to see. And Wanda was always hesitant at first - but when she lifted her hand slowly and dropped the memory back into the front of your brain, she couldn’t help but smile. 

     “Are we ready?”

Everyone was practically bouncing on their heels, both excited and terrified. Time travel was new to humanity and you were to be one of the first to experience such a thrill. You were going to get everyone back. 

You squeezed Natasha’s hand once more before you walked back over to Thor and Rocket. You all nodded to each other, saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘good luck’ with your childlike expressions. 

“See you in a minute,” Natasha grinned, her cheeks reddening with a friendly blush as she looked over at Steve. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a braid you had helped her make, and she was carrying an extra pair of socks in case of a long hike. 

Then a blast of color surrounded your body and the smell of peaches as you landed on Asgard filled your overstimulated senses. 

     You opened your eyes and smiled up at Wanda. You didn’t want to see old memories with your friend, but the most recent. It was like you were grasping onto that last memory of her, not wanting to change anything about her last smile, her last laugh, her last shred of existence. It was oddly calming, and so you hoped Wanda would understand. 

You thanked her again and proceeded to the kitchen. It was bigger than the one before, the soft forest green color of the walls a nice contrast from the blue ones before. You laughed to yourself and your conscience as you silently thanked the explosion that obliterated the horrid blue walls, quickly backtracking at your dumb thoughts. Still, you chose to joke about everything that happened before to avoid falling deeper into yourself. The kettle started howling, smoke circling around the tip. You poured your tea, dropped two cubes of sugar in, and added a little milk. 

It was quite bizarre how quickly you could bounce back from the morning you had. A very bloody, order-filled morning. When one order was given, you had to come up with a plan on how to not disregard the other. You had to listen to Fury and your father, gaining a few feet on each side without toppling the other. Still, it took a physical toll on you. But with Wanda’s help in easing your mind and the very sweet tea you nursed, your emotional baggage was pretty minimal. It sometimes scared you how easy it all was. 

Your morning carried on quietly as you sat on the concrete curb, happily sipping your tea in your sweatpants. You could hear Sam and Scott arguing about something a few feet away from you and Bucky taking his afternoon jog around the track. Quite distracted, the sudden ‘thwip’ and superhero landing of a certain teenager scared you enough to spill a little of your tea. 

“Goddamn, dude!” you whined, looking up at Peter as he tried to control his laughter. 

 “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me!”

“Excuse me for being distracted by the hot super soldier just over there,” you joked, pointing over at Bucky. 

Peter rolled his eyes and sat next to you, immediately reaching over to take the tea from you and take a sip himself. You let him, as you had no other choice, rolling your eyes anyway. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had classes today?”

Peter handed back your cup, “Nah, I’ve only got classes every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Ugh, that sounds great. I remember I scheduled my classes for every day of the week just to have more units,” you sighed, taking another sip of tea. 

 “Stupid.”

You pushed Peter’s shoulder playfully, both your laughter catching the attention of Sam and Scott. But as quickly as you had distracted them, they ignored you and went back to bickering. 

“I’m just here to see my friends, sue me!”

“Nope, you’re always welcome,” you smiled, holding out your wrist and bumping your bracelet with his. “How was your week otherwise?”

“Eh, nothing major. Just trying to navigate the world now that they know who's behind the mask.”

You gave Peter a look of sympathy, still mad at the sudden manipulation of the kid after such traumatic events. You had promised him you would protect him by any means possible, as did the rest of the team, but he seemed to be navigating the situation just fine. Staying away from reporters, scheduling his classes during the most isolated gaps of the day, and signing dozens of forms that promised to protect him, give him royalties, etc. After you had brought everyone back, it seemed the least the new management/orders could provide for you all. 

“We all have our days,” you muttered, handing your tea back to Peter. You two sat there for a while longer, enjoying the slight breeze and taste of sugar. 

An agent rounded the corner and spotted you, jogging up and handing you a yellow folder that was sealed in plastic. “For you, from Fury, from whoever before that.”

“Um, thank you?” you said as the agent walked away. You inspected the folder, turning it over in your hands and playing with the thin plastic. 

You lifted it up to Peter’s face, “Here, smell it and tell me if there’s poison.”

Peter scoffed, “I can’t do that!”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

Peter muttered to himself as he took the folder from you, sniffing it awkwardly. “Smells like paper, dude.”

“Cool, thanks.” 

You ripped the plastic off and unhooked the folder, dropping the single item onto your lap. Peter just sipped your tea and watched you open it. 

It was another envelope, but this one was white with custom-printed indents that swirled across the front and a big, red blob of wax smushed- with your initials- sealing it. You ripped it open and pulled the invitation from inside. You must have read it a thousand times, eyes rapidly scanning the small page with secret meanings. 

“You got invited to a wedding?” Peter asked, taking it from you and reading it himself. 

“Yeah, but this is so much more than that,” you said, snatching it back and standing up from the curb. You quickly went back into the compound, searching for the one person who needed to read it also.

You seemed to find everyone before you found the super soldier who wasn’t out for a jog, a line of somewhat concerned superheroes following behind you from room to room. Eager minds and yet, inflexible rib cages full of anxiety and worry, all ready (and quite not) to tackle the new evils of this new world. And whether they followed you blindly or with functioning minds, they were prepared. 

With the rest of the team behind you, you burst through the second floor with the invitation held over your head. Steve stopped mid-bite, milk dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at everyone in confusion. “Um…”

“It’s time-” you started, pulling the stool from next to him and sitting down. 

“Time for what?” Steve interrupted, his mouth still full of cereal.

“Time for this,” you motioned to the envelope you were handing him. “-to finally end.”

Steve read the invitation word for word, the wrinkles in his forehead becoming deeper as his mind worked. You couldn’t quite discern the feeling in the pit of your stomach, twisting and spinning into a tight coil, seeming to spread to the others as it grew in pressure within you. 

“All three?”

“All three,” you confirmed. 

Peter pushed through Bruce and Rhodey, “What’s happening? What’s gonna end?”

You looked over at Steve, his bowl of cereal now forgotten and soggy. 

His eyes were distant and rather cold, hands extended on his knees as if he was drying the accumulating sweat, shoulders building tension. 

“Steve, we can finally end this. We have to tell everyone. It won’t be enough if it’s just you and me.”

He wanted to explode, in both anger and anguish, to stumble over his intact persona and leave it behind - someone he hasn’t known for a long time. It ate away at him each day since Fury notified him of your selfish choice, burrowing into his now tarnished soul in the most sadistic way. But the prospect of finishing this chapter - a chapter that was unexpectedly halted when half the world disappeared - was considerably euphoric. A chance to move on. 

“Okay.”

Rhodey already had knowledge of your background, recruitment, and family but Steve’s initial involvement - the start of it - was still a mystery. You sat everyone down in the living room, making room for the others who arrived later, and clapped your hands together. “Story time!”

Steve groaned, face already pressed against a throw pillow. “Just tell them.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“You know whose spawn I’m from,” you began, snickers from your amused friends encouraging you. “To better transport their product, they sent me over to the states to attend college like the good little girl they think I am.”

Sam cracked open a beer and lifted his legs up onto the couch, sitting back with a massive smile on his face as he got comfortable for your story. He handed another beer to Scott. 

“Wait, product?” Scott asked, taking a sip from his drink. 

You smirked at him and tapped your nose twice, amused by his ‘O’ reaction. “Anyway, by then I already knew that I wanted out of the game. I didn’t like that life, I didn’t like the violence, I didn’t like my family.”

Steve knew that was an understatement, a cruel and restrained statement from your part, and he wanted to tell everyone just how justified you were in your words, how real you were being, and how much help you would certainly need for this. But like always, he remained silent. 

“But Fury got to me before I could leave. So, we made a deal. I would train as a field agent and he would promote me every other year to lessen suspicion on this whole ordeal. The deal being I would play both teams.”

By now, your whole team was intrigued. 

“I would do what I could for my father and still have my family’s trust, while feeding the information to SHIELD and our lovely star-spangled man over here,” you pointed over at Steve. He gave you a tiny but forced smile. 

“But after the collapse of SHIELD, my father only became more violent, more hard-headed, more suspicious. He- uh-” you stuttered, flashbacks suddenly filling your head. Wanda watched your eyes dart rapidly, sensing the rush of blood to your legs and tips of your fingers.

“He was power hungry,” Wanda said, immediately feeling your heart rate lower. Although you never actually said it, she could tell you were grateful for her intrusion. 

“Yeah, exactly,” you cleared your throat. “But Steve’s involvement all started when Fury asked me who would be the best front - the most reliable front.”

“So, with only Fury and the bad guys knowing - Y/N named me as her partner in crime,” Steve explained, head hanging low as if it was such a disgrace to do what you openly did. You knew his troubles with coming to terms with such an offensive role were multiplying daily, but you were now this close to stopping  every bad force involved. 

 “So, Captain America is the ultimate drug smuggler,” Scott spoke, somehow trying to comprehend the information all at once. You and Steve both nodded in confirmation and avoided the wide and questioning eyes looking back at you. 

“Yeah, he’s essentially the top boss.”

“Y/N-,” Steve interjected, but you beat him to  it. 

“And here we are! Him and I both invited to the wedding.”

Wanda stretched out her words, “The wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding - where three of the most famous and powerful drug lords south of the border will be attending and ready for our taking - including my father.”

Steve stood from his seat, posture straightening as he spoke to the group. “The invitation reads like a threat. No cameras, no plus-ones besides those listed specifically on the card, no speaking to reporters before or after. The trust Y/N has gained would unknowingly make us the contraband of the party.”

After going through more specifics about the whole situation, Bucky finally raised the question eating away at his mind this whole time. “Whose wedding is it, anyway?”

You grinned that stupid little grin Steve always prepared himself for. It was the grin you would display whenever you were going to make a serious matter a joke, or brush something serious off your shoulder as if it didn’t bother you. The sarcastic grin he always wanted to wipe off your face as you defied orders. 

“My lovely little sister’s.”

Rhodey stepped forward to take the invitation for personal inspection, “When is it?”

“A week from tomorrow,” you beamed. “Which means I got to get shopping for a wonderful little, red number!”

“Please, be more excited about this,” Steve groaned, sarcasm dripping off each syllable. 

You flicked your right hand up and in position to flash your charming little middle finger at him, a river of fluffed ego and delight flowing to your cheeks as he huffed and left the room in a stumbled march.

“So…” Scott’s voice ripped through the awkward silence. “We’ve been secret drug smugglers this whole time?”

~

Please let me know what you think! I listened “The Archer” by Taylor Swift and I was like... yes, I see this, lmao. Tell me if you would like to be tagged in later updates! xxMoni

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

~~

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

~~

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

~~

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

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[miyanom]

DEVILS PARADISE (part two)

MASTERLIST | JEAN KIRSTEIN X FEM!READER

synopsis: arriving in paradis, y/n slowly grows close to the devils she was taught to hate.

warnings: mentions of death, let me know if I need to add anything else!

notes: i feel like this chapter isn’t the best, but i wanted to write about y/n and jean a little and also write about y/n’s friendships with the people of Paradis before we head into trost arc.

word count: 2479

Shaky breaths fell from Y/N’s chapped lips as she held on tightly to Annie, keeping the unconscious girl from slipping off the Armoured Titan’s shoulder as he ran through the town beyond the wall.

Reiner had his hands raised to protect the others from the rubble of the gate as he crashed through, but as his hands moved to his sides once more, Y/N found her eyes widening.

Chaos. It was utter chaos.

Homes had been crushed from debris that went flying after the Colossal Titan kicked the gate, people had been crushed in attempts to escape, and mindless Titans were flooding into the city.

Y/N’s eyes continued to scan the area, only stopping as they fell onto a woman screaming for her husband who had been crushed beneath a Boulder.

With an arm still wrapped around Annie, Y/N used her other hand to pull them closer toward the armoured titan’s neck, fear coursing through her veins as the image of the crushed body weighed heavy in her mind.

The Marleyan’s words echoed through her head, reminding her of the sins of the Eldians; the sins that brought this destruction to them.

But Y/N couldn’t stop herself from questioning the things she had been taught as more screams filled the evening air.

Did they deserve it? Did they deserve it? Did they deserve it?

“Armin Arlert, from Shiganshina District, sir!” A blonde boy answered the training instructor.

If Y/N remembered correctly, it was Shiganshina that the warriors destroyed all those years ago. The day still weighed heavy on her heart, though she knew it was the only way.

What other choice did they have? If they were to go home to Marley without the Founding Titan, their terms would end prematurely.

“Yeah? That’s a stupid name. Your parents give you that?” Shadis questioned.

“My grandfather!”

“Arlert, what are you doing here?!”

“Trying to aid humanity’s victory!” Armin answered immediately.

When ordered to about face, Y/N’s eyes met Armin’s cerulean. Trying to aid humanity’s victory… humanity’s victory would only come when the devils were gone, that’s what Marley told them all.

The instructor passed by Y/N, barely sparing the girl even the smallest of glances as he moved down the row.

Jean Kirstein was the name Y/N heard as she tuned back into the initiation. His goal caused the girl to frown in distaste, and it took everything in her to not just roll her eyes.

To live a safe life in the interior, he had said.

The island devils truly were selfish, Y/N realised.

How could anyone hear about what happened in Shiganshina and choose to escape further into the walls? Do the devils not care about their own?

Would they rather save themselves than save the people they care for by ridding the world of Titans?

If Y/N were in their shoes, she knew what she would pick; the chance to save the people she cared about.

That’s why she was here, after all. It was why she went through the rigorous training of the warrior unit. All to make her family honorary Marleyans, to save them from the life of the Eldians.

She was here, pretending to be an island devil, pretending to be the thing she was taught to hate, all for her family.

The devils couldn’t say the same, they wanted to retreat further into the walls, into what they believed was safe.

If only they knew…

“Huh? You’re from Wall Maria, too?” Mina’s eyes widened slightly as she stared at Y/N, who sat across the table.

Y/N rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly as she nodded. It was a cover story the warriors had come up with a while ago, it made it easier for them to blend in when the survivors of Wall Maria found refuge in Wall Rose.

A family had unexpectedly taken Y/N in just a few months after the attack. It wasn’t Y/N’s idea to take them up on their offer, they were devils, after all.

But Reiner had urged her, he told her it could help them with their mission, that perhaps this family could provide more insight into life inside the walls.

He had been right.

The family helped Y/N understand what life was like for the devils of Paradis, though she’d never tell Reiner and the others just how much she had come to pity these people.

The family had lost their son when the armoured Titan broke through the inner gate, apparently he was a soldier in the Garrison.

Y/N spent nights upon nights thinking about that. Each night giving her more and more reasons to think that maybe the devils didn’t deserve what the warriors had been brought here to do.

That family had shown her kindness, a kindness she never saw from own mother. So maybe-

No. This is the only way, Y/N repeated to herself. This is the only way…

“Y/N?” Mina spoke up again, staring at her with concern painted across her visage. “Are you alright?”

“Ye.. yeah.” Y/N nodded, averting her gaze nervously. “I just- it’s not easy to think about what happened.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Y/N hated thinking about the day she arrived inside the walls, whenever she remembered it, she remembered all those bodies she saw…

She remembered the screams and the blood, and the thought that maybe the Eldians were innocent and it was them who were the bad guys.

“That’s okay. I’m sorry for asking,” Mina let out a sigh, placing her hand over Y/N’s that rested on the table. “I’m-”

“It’s okay,” Y/N shook her head, quickly knocking Mina’s hand away as she stood up and grabbed her plate. “We should get going anyways, everyone’s cleaning up.”

As Y/N left the mess hall, she let out a frustrated sigh. No, that wasn’t suspicious at all…

Oddly enough, learning to use the odm gear the devils designed to kill Titans came fairly easy to Y/N. And before she knew it, they were moving onto hand-to-hand combat training.

When Y/N had been assigned to the mission to attack Paradis, she never expected she would join yet another military program. Not when the things they were learning for the first time here, were things she had known before she was even 10 years old.

“Go easy on the devils,” Reiner had warned them. “We don’t want suspicion to be drawn to us. Not now, we’re too close.”

Y/N hated to admit that he was right. Not about being close to the finish line, but about not wanting to draw suspicion to themselves.

But it was hard to remember his warning when she had been partnered with Jean Kirstein for training… She had known it on the day they met, and she knew it now, almost three years later.

Jean was a selfish, cocky bastard.

“Aw come on. You can do better than that.” His annoying laugh filled her ears as she quickly turned back to look at him, her eyes narrowing into a glare as her grip on the wooden knife tightened slightly. “By the time you take me down, I could’ve taken on at least eight people.”

“Yeah, why don’t you try testing that, Jean?” His name fell from her lips with venom as she chucked the knife in his direction, watching as he caught it with ease.

How much more annoying could he possibly get? Y/N asked herself.

Jean rolled his shoulders back in a stretch before getting into the correct stance, and within seconds, he was running at Y/N.

His eyes widened as the girl grabbed onto his arm, twisting herself around so her back was facing him as she kept pressure on his arm to keep the knife pointed away from her. This wasn’t a move they were taught by the trainers, he realised immediately.

He reached out for the knife with his other hand, though as soon as Y/N caught his movement, she kicked her left leg back, her foot slamming against his bottom calf causing his knee to buckle beneath him.

Putting all her strength into it, Y/N took advantage of Jean’s shaky footing, throwing him over her shoulder and watching as his back hit the dirt with a loud groan of pain falling from his lips.

With a smirk, she crouched down to pick up the knife, twirling it between her fingers as she glanced back at him.

He was still on the floor, staring up at her with wide eyes and a light blush painted across his cheeks. “Aw come on, Jean. You can do better than that,” she taunted.

Jean was ignoring her, Y/N realised as the trainees from the 104th settled down in the mess hall for dinner that night.

She didn’t blame him, she would be embarrassed too if she were in his shoes.

It wasn’t exactly his fault that she had been through this before, in a much harsher environment where the punishment for a failure like that was much worse than a simple comment made by their instructor.

Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her hand as her eyes scanned the dining hall, the sound of chatter filling the room. It wasn’t like this back in Marley, they would always eat in silence, in fear.

But in Paradis, those fears no longer weighed heavy on her shoulders. She no longer had to sleep with one eye open, terrified the Marleyans would decide to torch Liberio in the middle of the night.

She would never say it aloud, but maybe the devils were right to flee and hide here.

“-right, Y/N?” Christa’s voice snapped Y/N out of her thoughts, causing her to quickly turn around.

“Huh?”

“There she goes drifting off again,” Ymir commented, her arms crossed as she stared at Y/N. “With an attitude like that, you’ll become Titan chow the second you step outside these walls.”

Christa had quickly become Y/N’s friend within the first year of training, now that they were coming close to the end of the third and final year, Y/N realised that she had practically been inseparable from Ymir and Christa during training.

Maybe she had followed Reiner’s orders too quickly, he told them to blend in with the devils. Or maybe she had found peace within the unexpected kindness… it was wrong, that’s all she really knew.

She wasn’t supposed to be getting along with the island devils, she wasn’t supposed to call them her friends and wish they would be far away from Trost when the warriors plan comes to fruition.

But they were kind, they weren’t anything like how Marley described them to be.

A conflicted feeling settled in Y/N’s stomach once more as she averted her gaze, no longer able to look Christa and Ymir in the eyes without remembering what was to happen.

They didn’t deserve it, they didn’t deserve it.

Or did they? Their ancestors had committed atrocities against the entire world, after all.

But that was their ancestors, not them. Christa, Ymir, Mina, the family that had taken her in when they found out she was a so-called orphan from Wall Maria… they didn’t do what the Eldians of the past had done, they didn’t kill anyone, did they really deserve to pay for crimes they didn’t know about?

Y/N was snapped out of her thoughts once more as Ymir waved a hand in front of her face. “Sorry,” Y/N muttered, glancing at the girls who sat at the table with her.

Christa stared back with a look of concern, while Ymir seemed to not care that much at all.

“Anyways,” Ymir looked back at Christa. “I was just telling Christa here all about the tension between you and that cocky bastard when you knocked him on his ass in training today.” The girl seemed to smirk slightly as her eyes flickered back to Y/N. “I didn’t realise blockhead two had a crush on-”

“And I was telling Ymir that it’s not like that. You would’ve told me, right, Y/N?” Christa asked, looking back and forth between her and Ymir as she awaited an answer.

Y/N couldn’t tell how Ymir had come to the conclusion that she and Jean were crushing on each other, not when they had nothing but bicker constantly. Maybe almost as much as Eren and Jean did, and everyone knew how bad that was.

“It’s not like that,” Y/N confirmed, beginning to pick at her breadroll. “He was being his usual annoying self, and I put him in his place.”

“Yeah, well, looked like he enjoys being put in his place,” Ymir teased. “If you know what I-”

“Ymir!” Christa squeaked out, staring at the taller girl with wide eyes. “You’re going to embarrass them.”

I can’t like Jean, or anybody for that matter, Y/N wished she could tell them.

How could she let herself fall for an island devil? It would be enough to get her killed when she returns to Marley. Retrieving the Founding Titan wouldn’t make up for the sin of loving a devil.

No, befriending them for the sake of the mission was one thing, but loving them?

And Jean of all people? She would never love him. Even if he was from Marley and she was allowed to fall for him, she wouldn’t.

“An easy life, deep inside the walls?” Eren spoke up, his eyes narrowed in Jean’s direction.

The tone of his voice was enough to break Y/N out of her thoughts as she realised the boys would undoubtedly get into another fight.

Her eyes flickered toward Reiner, a frown tugging at her lips. It reminded her too much of how Porco was always fighting Reiner back in Marley.

“Until five years ago, this was considered deep inside the walls,” Eren continued.

“What’s your point, Eren?” Jean crossed his arms.

“You don’t need to go to the interior.” Eren placed his cup on the table. “You’ve gone soft enough in your own head, Jean.”

Y/N hid her smile by resting her head in the palm of her head, though her smile faltered for a moment when her eyes met Jean’s, who had turned to look in her direction.

As Jean turned back toward Eren, the boy began speaking again. “Don’t you think it’s strange that we’re training to fight Titans, just to end up farther away from them?”

“Who cares? For my own sake, I hope they keep this stupid system,” Jean told him.

Right, the island devils were selfish people.

And Y/N was definitely not going to fall for Jean Kirstein. Not in a million years.

[eveningstar1516]

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 4

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so…, Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence.

AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Previously:

Not wanting to stay in my head any longer, I drift off into a dreamless slumber awaiting the day that will ultimately decide not only my fate, but the fate of the demons I’ve grown to call, family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 4 - I want you to be the one... (1842 words)

Snapping my eyes awake I shivered against the air as a bucket of ice cold water was thrown into my face.

“Get up human!”

A guard then roughly pulled me up by the shoulder twisting my arms behind my back and locking them together while unlocking the chain on my ankle. Pushing me out of my cell and half escorting me half dragging me out of the dungeon and to where my trial was supposed to take place all before I could even register that I woke up. As we were walking toward what I assumed was the very same courtyard where we welcomed the king not 24 hours ago, I started hearing lots of yelling. Straining to hear, I realized that it was the brothers arguing amongst each other about what they should do and Diavolo attempting to calm them down, sounding conflicted himself. Upon entering the courtyard I locked eyes with the brothers as they fell silent in shock upon seeing me bound in chains as I was escorted on stage where the king was waiting with Diavolo and the brothers.

*Flashback*

After I passed out.

“Father! What did you do to them?!”

“I am humouring you my son. They are being held under the palace and I am forbidding any one of you from making contact with them.”

“My Liege, I implore you to please reconsider your judgment. They are unaware of how the politics work here and they simply misspoke. I assure you they don’t mean you any harm.” Lucifer lowered his head pleading to the king to reconsider his choice.

“Lucifer is right! They mean the world to us and they can’t possibly do anything to you or the Devildom!” Mammon joined in. The brothers then each said their piece about you.

“You all disgust me, pleading for a human's life. You are my highest ranking demons. Show some dignity!”

“With all due respect my king, that human you are referring to is the one that bettered your kingdom and has achieved far more than any human, demon, or angel could hope to accomplish in the span of just 1 year. They have brought us all together and mended ties we didn’t even know were broken. Y/N is a human I would give up my Pride for-”

“My Greed for-”

“My Envy for-”

“My Wrath for-”

“My Lust for-”

“My Gluttony for-”

“My Sloth for-”

“My title for-”

“My powers for-”

“Y/N is a one of a kind human. They have found their way into our lives and there is nothing you can do to take that away from us my Liege.”

“That was quite the speech Pride, although that doesn’t change my opinion about them. If anything, it just makes my decision all the more ironclad. But I will humour you all. Seeing as how you’re all willing to give up the very thing that makes you, you for the human, a public trial will be held. Their fate shall be decided there. Until then, I forbid any contact between them, through their pact, dreams, or any interference with the timeline. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my Liege” they all responded simultaneously as the king left the room.

*Later in the east sitting room with Lucifer, Barbatos and Diavolo*

“What are we going to do Dia?” Lucifer exclaimed as he did something he has never done while sober and flopped onto a couch opposite of Diavolo as Barbatos sat into a seat in between them.

Holding his head Diavolo responded.

“I don’t know Luci. I just don’t know. As the crown prince I can’t go against my Father and as my right hand neither can you, but things are different with them involved. I just don’t know.”

Sighing, Diavolo laid down on the couch no longer giving a care about anything, just thinking about different possibilities.

“Barb-?”

“No can do my lord. The king forbade me from using my powers. Even if you were to command me, I don’t have access to them for the time being.”

“Do me a favour Barb and drop the title for now? Please? I need my friends, not my subordinates.”

“Alright, Diavolo. Let me say this then. You both know that no matter what happens tomorrow, Y/N will be banished from the Devildom. We all know that the king isn’t above making us suffer just to prove a point. How are we going to support Y/N and stop them from harming themselves should they be banished to the human realm?”

“Jeez Barb! That isn’t what we need right now! I don’t want to think about that.” Lucifer added the last part with a whisper.

“My brothers are going to be absolutely devastated. Y/N kept them all together, it’s going to be really difficult keeping everyone together with them gone.” “Adding to the list of problems, now that my Father is back, we 3 now serve him. I don’t get to dictate anything until he crowns me, not like before. We will all be swamped with more work as Father will more than likely try to “fix” my improvements to the Devildom.”

The three sat in silence, lost in their minds, endless possibilities and scenarios floating around in their heads. Eventually, Lucifer excused himself under the guise of some unfinished paperwork and returned back to the House of Lamentation.

“Barb?”

“Yes?”

“What have we done?”

“I don’t know my friend. I don’t know.”

*End Flashback*

Walking up the steps towards the stage, I held my head high making eye contact with no one other than my demons as I kept my expression as comforting as possible for them. Poor Asmo and Mammon looked like a dam threatening to burst. Beel wasn’t faring any better holding on to Belphie for comfort. Levi squeezed Mammon's hand discreetly. Satan gave a sad smile. Lucifer stood by Diavolo’s side, each giving you the smallest hint of a smile while Barbatos stood behind Diavolo's left looking like he always did, but after spending so much time with him, you noticed the small sign of sympathy in his eyes. Making my way center stage I was pushed onto my knees in front of the king. I raised my head up high making direct eye contact in defiance. The king then addressed the crowd which I noticed is filled with not only Demons and Sorcerers of different powers but many demons I knew from RAD and called my friends. They looked solemn as I realized that I made an impact on more than just the brothers.

“Denizens of Devildom! Here is a human who has upset the balance of the Devildom…”

I drowned out the rest of his speech not focusing on anything except for my family up on stage. Ignoring the ringing in my head, I reached out with my pacts just enough for them to feel it. I sent them some of my favourite memories over the years and wished Satan a happy birthday before the king declared my sentence. Holding my head high, I locked my gaze onto him.

“The human known as Y/N is hereby banished from the 3 realms, their soul to be returned to oblivion!”

Smirking he turned to face me. Smiling, showing off his fangs he asked,

“I believe that is a suitable sentence, don't you Y/N?”

I ignored him and turned to the demons on stage. I watched as Beel grabbed onto Belphie harder as tears came to both of their eyes. I saw the dam break in both Mammon and Asmo as Levi and Satan both battled their own tears to try and comfort them. I watched as Lu’s face paled and Diavolo squeezed his friend's shoulder a little tighter to try and ground him. Barbatos looked more solemn as his eyes started to water ever so slightly. The king then summoned a sword, turning towards the brothers, then walked until he stood directly in front of Lucifer and Diavolo. Letting go of his friend's shoulder, both Diavolo and Lucifer bowed their heads towards their king. He then shifted to face Lucifer and held out the sword towards him. A look of shock crossed over the brothers' faces as Lucifer looked up to his king in confusion hoping this didn’t mean what he thought it meant as he slowly accepted the sword.

“Lucifer, Cardinal Sin of Pride. You will be the one to deliver the blow.”

The colour fully drained from his face as the king stepped to the side to allow Lucifer to step up. Slowly with a trembling breath, Lucifer approached you with pleading eyes silently praying that this was some sick nightmare. His brothers looked on in horror, shock freezing them in place. Stopping in front of you, he took one look at you, turned to the king and lowered the sword.

“No… I won’t.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said NO! I will not kill Y/N!”

“Yes, you will.”

The king's eyes started glowing as an aura surrounded Lucifer. His brothers broke out of their trance and tried to reach towards you to hold back their brother from killing you against their wishes. Diavolo and Barbatos stood in shock as the scene unfolded.

“Hear me, denizens of the darkness.” Everyone onstage immediately stopped in their tracks and looked my way.

“Hear me denizens of the darkness. You who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it.” Upon starting the incantation, a magic circle appeared beneath me and Lucifer; my shackles started glowing. An intense pain shot through my skull. Pushing past the pain I continued.

“HEAR ME AND DO AS I COMMAND!” The shackles around my wrists broke under my power and I stood up facing the brothers. The king tried to move towards me but the circle by my feet prevented him from getting close.

“I Y/N order the 7 sins not to interfere with this trial. You are not to make a move against the king after the completion of the trial. You 7 are to remain loyal to Lord Diavolo and continue serving him as his word now outranks the kings!” Ignoring the pleading looks on the brothers' faces, I turned to Lucifer.

“Lucifer, Avatar of the Cardinal Sin of Pride, you are to follow through with your king's command and execute me as is due with your sword. You are to remain loyal to Lord Diavolo above the crown. You are to continue watching over your brothers and are not allowed to fight me on this decision.” Cupping Lucifer's cheek I whispered into his ear, “I want you to be the one Lu.” Stepping back I finished my order. “Now kill me!” Kneeling before Lucifer I looked up with a smile on my face watching as unshed tears began pooling in his eyes as he summoned his sword.

“LUCIFER! NO!”

“LUCIFER! PLEASE NO!”

“Y/N!”

Lucifer looked into my eyes muttering something in angelic before whispering, “I’m sorry…”

With tears burning his eyes he buried the sword deep into my heart.

“Thank you”

[sanflowerseeds]

They Do It With Mirrors

Genre: PWP, Smut

Pairing: Choi San x Fem!reader, surprise appearance by Jung Wooyoung

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mirror sex, fingering, unprotected sex, slight anal play

Synopsis: Whenever you visit San at the company building you both end up going at it in a variety of innapropriate places. Today is no different. Bent at the waist, face pressed against the practice room mirror, you watch your warm breath fogging up the reflecting surface as San brings you apart piece by piece.

Here’s the thing. You rarely visit San at the company building, but the few times you do, more often than not, it ends with you both getting frisky somewhere inappropriate. 

Like that one time he sat you on the long table in one of the meeting rooms and fucked you silly. You had your legs wrapped around his waist, two of his fingers in your mouth keeping your tongue busy and your moans restricted to quiet whimpers. 

Or when you had him silently begging you to let him come, fingers tangled in your hair while you took your sweet time sucking him off in the gym room.

Likewise, today you find yourself bent down, face and chest up against the practice room mirror as you watch your hot, ragged breaths fog the reflecting surface. Your skirt is bunched up around your waist and your soaked panties are down, twisted and forgotten around your ankles. San is glued to your back while his skillful fingers play with your clit in tight circular motions, deliberately building up your pleasure. 

He's been teasing you for what feels like hours, even though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. At this point you are soaked, deliciously aching, you can feel the rush of blood in your veins. You are just so needy it is like you are about to burn up from inside out. 

It stopped surprising you long ago how effortlessly San can get you wet for him. Maybe it's the heated look in his eyes, blown-out pupils holding the promise of driving you wild, or the way his soft lips mold into yours, coaxing your tongue to follow his lead. Most of all, his husky voice, heavy with want and dripping desire as he spills sugar-coated obscenities in your ear.

"Good things come to those who wait," San teases before he licks the sweat off the side of your neck. "Lucky for you, I'm not feeling very patient today, either."

Thank God! If being honest, you don't know for how much longer you can take this sweet torture. When San grabs onto your hair, pulling your face up so you can stare at your own reflection, you need to use your hands to brace yourself against the mirror in order to find any sort of balance.

"Look at yourself, baby. So desperate and eager," his voice was viciously teasing. "I want you to see what you look like when I'm working you up, making you feel so good," he says. 

With no further warning his fingers trace away from your clit, his middle finger gently finding its way into you from behind. It causes your eyes to close shut and a restrained moan to form on your lips. At the same time, you feel a harsh tug to your scalp followed by a hissed demand by your ear.

"I told you to watch." San’s voice was stoic, grave, in a manner you rarely heard from him. It was not a request. There is no way you can stop the shudder running down your body, dissipating in a pleasant, expectant warmth all the way to the tip of your fingers and toes. 

So you watch with half-lidded eyes the blush on your cheeks and the redness of your parted lips. The burning need you have for him stamped on your face as San fingers you at a slow and steady pace, his darkened eyes transfixed by your image and the smallest changes he can see on your features as he does his best to make you come apart. He doesn’t have to try too hard to get you to succumb to him, really.

San’s ring finger joins the first one, his strokes precise as his thumb circles your other entrance in a light caress. You gasp, surprised, your legs turning weak at the silent promise of something more. He pushes in a little, not even enough to breach the tight muscle, chuckling at your frustrated whine. 

"We can play like that some other time, beautiful." San breathes out, full lips brushing against your sweaty temple in a messy kiss. There is a sudden emptiness, your walls clenching around nothing when he pulls back and brings his fingers up to wrap his lips around them. Count on him to make a spectacle of licking them clean as if lapping at the sweetest of nectars while humming in delight.

He licks into your mouth, your neck twisted at an awkward angle guided by his hand still wrapped in your hair, but all that matters is tasting yourself on his tongue. The kiss is feverish, frantic. If not for you being on the brink of insanity, you’d be perfectly content to just stay like this. 

Kissing San is on the top of your “favorite things to do” list. He kisses with hunger and intent, his kisses talk of devotion and adoration. They make you lightheaded, euphoric. You are pretty sure you will never have any need for drugs because San is enough to keep you addicted.

"You're delicious," he says. The sudden weight in San's voice doesn't go unnoticed and your body's reaction is immediate, tightening the coil in your lower stomach, electricity running like pinpricks under your skin. 

There is warmth where San is rutting against your asscheek, a thin trail of precum the evidence of his arousal. You feel the loosening pull on your scalp, your head falling forward as San’s hand runs down your neck, in between your shoulders, fingers trailing your spine until he can grip at your hips. 

He uses his other hand to guide himself, running the tip of his cock along your slit, spreading your wetness and making goosebumps rise on your skin in anticipation. He is probing, provoking, but still not giving you what you desperately want from him.

"Tell me how bad you want it," he growls lowly. You can tell by his labored breathing just how worked up he also is. 

A slight smirk graces your lips at the thought you are the one causing his sweet demise. 

"I want it all. I want everything you have to give me." With your eyes focused on his through the mirror, you lick your lips in a clear invitation, your voice not faltering a bit. “Ruin me, San.”

Giving San the power to do whatever he wants to you made you feel powerful too. Yes, you were under him, at his mercy and will, but you gave him that, you allowed it. He can be the one calling the shots right now, but inevitably you are the one that’s got him wrapped around your fingers. The rush of adrenaline at the thought goes straight into your core, making you pulse, waiting for his next move.

The groan that leaves San’s throat while he slowly but steadily enters you is enough proof of the effect you have on him.

San doesn’t give you much time to adjust. Once completely sheathed inside he pulls almost all the way back, thrusting in again at a lazy, appreciative pace. He knows very well how much you enjoy the feeling of his cock dragging against your clenching walls. He knows how to build you up just to bring you crashing down in the most exhilarating way. There is not a doubt you will crash and burn for him, over and over, if it means he never stops making you feel like this.

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up his rhythm, making it hard for you to contain a breathy moan when you stare at the mirror, getting lost in his reflection once again. There are beads of sweat gathering on his hairline, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The tip of his tongue is peeking between his parted lips, giving him a boyish yet sinful appearance.

He catches your gaze and brings a hand up to run it through his hair, pushing back the sweaty locks while winking at you playfully. You are about to roll your eyes at his silly - but effective - teasing, but instead, you roll them in pleasure when there is a shift in angle as San leans in to lick and leave open-mouthed kisses on your neck. The faint scrape of his teeth on your skin makes you arch your back. When he bites down on your heated flesh, you cry out in a shameless whine.

“I'm so close baby,” San’s breath is warm and damp when his husky voice reaches your ear. “Cum with me.”

His left hand is on your hips, nails digging half-crescent marks where they grip, guiding and pushing you back on his cock. With his right arm wrapped around your waist, his hand comes down between your legs to play with your clit as his thrusts become increasingly more eager. 

Everything is hot,sweaty and sticky, San’s broad frame pushing your upper-body flat against the mirror. You can feel the pull in your stomach getting tighter, tighter, until it finally breaks and you are coming with a high pitched moan that sounds too loud when it echoes on the walls of the empty room. San’s fingers still move in slow circles on your, by now, extra sensitive clit, waiting for you to ride out the intense waves of pleasure and the only lingering feeling to be pure bliss.

Not a second later, you feel his body tense up and the sudden emptiness leaves you breathless when San pulls out, stroking his cock in quick movements until he’s also coming, staining the back of your thighs in a decadent painting he can’t stop staring at.

The weight of San’s forehead touching between your shoulder blades is comforting and welcomed while he rests for a few seconds until his breathing is back to a more steady pace. Silently, he strips out of his damp t-shirt, using the soft fabric to diligently help you clean up.

“I have a spare one in my bag,” he smiles sheepishly, dimples and all, quickly intervening when you’re about to complain and stop his actions.

Defeated by the beautiful upturn of his lips, you let him dote on you for a couple of minutes before pulling your underwear up, adjusting your clothes and turning in his arms to fully lodge yourself into his embrace. You kiss him again, tongue licking into his mouth unhurriedly, simply enjoying the proximity of your bodies, one hand tangled in his dark locks and the other running softly over his bare chest. San is handsome like this, disheveled and pliant under your touch.

There’s a knock on the door and before you can pull away from each other, a mop of dark hair peeks in, a pair of lively brown eyes taking in the room before finally landing on you and San. 

Caught out of guard, but definitely amused by the situation, Wooyoung stares at both of you for a minute, a knowing smile on his face when he finally speaks. “Will you two ever stop fucking on company’s premises?” 

Staring right back at his best friend, San doesn’t miss one beat. “No,” he says matter of factly, laying a soft kiss to the top of your head. His hands are warm where they rest idly on your waist, holding you close. 

You let out a muffled laugh at your boyfriend’s bluntness from where you’re hiding your face in the crook of his neck. In all honesty, the fact that Wooyoung has been aware of your escapades all along is incredibly hot.

Against your best judgment, you lean back a little and throw a quick glance at San that has him nodding as a sly smirk takes over his lips. You are glad he was quick in getting the hint and ready to play along. 

“Why, Wooyoung? Interested in joining next time?” you say, turning around to face him and sending a small, sultry wink his way as San takes the opportunity to kiss the side of your neck, eyes never leaving Wooyoung.

Wooyung worries at his bottom lip, a small crease appearing in the space between his eyebrows as if pondering about the offer for a while. By now, he’s leaning against the door frame and you spare a moment to take in his form: arms crossed in front of his chest, muscles bulging just the right way under his t-shirt, a slim waist, black skinny jeans doing nothing at all to hide the curve of his hips or the thickness of his thighs. Wooyoung was enticing in completely different ways from San and there’s no denying the attraction and heavy sexual tension permeating the air around the three of you right now. 

The change in Wooyoung’s features is clear, and San notices the mischievous glint in his eyes and daunting tongue wetting his lips at the same time you do. The rush of excitement and anticipation in your veins is almost instant, making you unconsciously grind back against San, earning yourself a low moan in your ear and fingers in a tighter grip over your hips. 

Wooyoung smiles, cocky, he knows the effect he has on others and knows perfectly well how to use it to his advantage. When he speaks, it is full of confidence, with no room for second thoughts or any doubts.

“Gladly.”

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

Hi~ It’s been a while! How are you all doing?

Hope you  enjoyed your steamy, sexy reading ;D Thank you for stopping by and taking the time to read it. This one was a wip for so long I’m glad I finally got the motivation to finish it. As usual, any comments or feedback is greatly appreciated, or if you just want to talk and ramble about other things don’t feel shy. My ask is always open!

[jjoutermaybanks]

With You In My Head || Rafe Cameron x Reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight

summary: it’s going to be a long summer. living in the Outer Banks with your trailer park mom and fancy mansion dad, you know it’s going to be a tough three months. things only get harder when your best friend’s brother, the notorious Rafe Cameron, begins to complicate your life even more. but will the island’s biggest wildcard successfully steal your heart, or leave you more broken than before?

word count: 3.3k

warnings: references sex, angst

*not my gif, credit to owner*

PART FOUR

You had never run home faster in your life.  By the time you shut the door and collapsed against it, you were out of breath and aching from your miles of sprinting.  But the fear and adrenaline was what gave you the energy to make it, and now that you were home the real anxiety could set in.

Tonight was way too close.  One second later and Sarah could’ve found you in quite a compromising position with her brother.  You knew the tumultuous relationship between the two of them, and because you were Sarah’s best friend you obviously had to be on her side.  You knew that if she found out what you did tonight--and what you had wanted to do before you were interrupted--that Sarah might stay mad at you forever.

Blowing out a sigh, you anxiously pushed a hand through your hair and tried to forget about how good tonight felt.  In between flashes of Rafe’s hands on your body, you forced yourself to remember your anger at him, your frustration at being stranded at the party.  But the feeling of his lips on your skin and his voice in your ear was too much to ignore--he was everywhere, all over you, despite the distance you’d forced between you.  You craved his touch again, and only wished you could’ve returned the favor.

Shut up, you scolded yourself.  It was a stupid thing to do, and it’s over now.  You don’t have to see him again.  You changed out of your clothes from the party, throwing them into the corner of your room as you tugged on a big sweatshirt.  You hoped the warm fabric would drown out the lingering fire left by Rafe’s fingers.  As you climbed into bed, you focused your brain on anything but the boy you left behind.

But despite your better judgment, the smallest yearning to see his bright blue eyes stuck with you, no matter how hard you tried to move on.  This yearning stuck around through the next day, which you spent determinedly at home.  When Sarah texted you asking to hang out, you faked a stomach bug so you could lay around moping.  Your mother didn’t ask any questions, but you knew you couldn’t stay cooped up forever.

Sarah finally convinced you to go out the next day.  She and the rest of the Pogues were making the rounds delivering groceries, and you figured spending time with them would help get your mind off of Rafe.  

“Enjoying yourself?” JJ asked as he settled beside you.  You were laying atop the deck of the HMS Pogue, head tilted to the sun so you could soak up the rays.  JJ handed you a beer, which you happily accepted and clinked against his own bottle.

“You guys have the greatest lives, I swear,” you told him, swigging some of the beer.  You didn’t mind the taste and knew it would take more than one bottle to get you even remotely tipsy.

JJ chuckled.  “Great is one word to describe it.  Reckless, dangerous, chaotic; those work too.”

Grinning, you leaned back on your elbows and watched Sarah nuzzle into John B’s neck as he steered the boat.  They were beyond cute, and for a brief instant you remembered the way someone else had kissed your neck.

Shuddering, you took another big sip.  JJ noticed your odd reaction.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answered quickly.  “Just jealous of Sarah, that’s all.”  You hoped your deflection method worked, and judging by JJ’s eye roll you succeeded.

“Tell me about it.  Those two really know how to make a guy feel lonely.”

Your smile faltered slightly.  JJ was such a nice, charming guy.  Why couldn’t you like him instead of intense, unpredictable Rafe?  Not that you liked Rafe, but JJ wasn’t exactly the one occupying your thoughts.  You wished the blonde boy was the one you were daydreaming about, but sadly he barely crossed your mind.

The next few days were spent exactly like that one; adventuring with the Pogues, avoiding Figure 8 and all thoughts of Rafe.  One advantage of staying away from that side of the island was that you didn’t have to see your dad.  Occasionally your mother would try to press you into visiting, but she could tell your last visit had gone horribly and you didn’t feel like trying again so soon.

The Pogues didn’t just take your mind off of Rafe; they actively turned you against him.  The way they talked about the Kooks shined a light on Topper and Kelce and all the other people Rafe hung around.  They sounded like total snobs, and over time you found yourself embarrassed that you wasted time thinking about Rafe.  Instead, you embraced the Pogue life and journeyed all around The Cut until you rarely ever thought about your little slip-up.

One morning though, after jolting awake from a particularly hot and heavy dream, all of your hard work went right out the window.  Even in slumber you still thought of Rafe, more specifically Rafe’s hands.  They were all over you, drifting across your body and igniting sparks on your skin.  The dream left you tingling and frustrated when you finally woke up, and the only thing you wanted was the release he had given you that night on the beach.

Later that day you met up with the Pogues at the dock.  JJ saw your irritated scowl and quirked up an eyebrow.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” he asked, and you huffed.

“You could say that,” you grumbled, arms crossed in annoyance.  “I can’t wait to get on that boat and sail away from here.”  Really, you wanted to sail away from your thoughts.

JJ nodded.  “I get what you mean.  Unfortunately though, we can’t exactly leave for good.”

Kiara and Pope were busy preparing packed lunches at The Wreck, and John B. and Sarah joined you moments later.  As you waited, three frustratingly familiar figures were striding across the docks in your direction.

“Topper,” John B. called out in a clipped tone.  Topper’s smirk was twisted, and Kelce scowled beside him.  You forced yourself not to look at Rafe.  Even out of your peripheral vision you knew he looked good.  His button down shirt was open and billowing in the breeze, his board shorts low on his hips and accentuating his abdomen.  The sunglasses perched on his nose prevented you from figuring out if he was watching you.  You couldn’t decide if you wanted him to or not.

“Come to get another ass-kicking?” JJ demanded, squaring up so you were blocked by his shoulder.  He was doing this to protect you, and you noticed the tightness in Rafe’s jaw as he regarded JJ with a frown.

“Relax, scrappy,” Topper retaliated.  “We’re picking up food before we hit the water.  I’ve got myself a fancy new boat that would ride circles around your crappy tin can.”

John B. took a step towards him.  “I bet a long scratch would look real nice on the side, don’t you think?”  As Topper was about to reply, Sarah stepped forward and sighed loudly.

“Cool it with the testosterone,” she said, rolling her eyes and pushing John B. back gently.  “These sleaze-bags aren’t worth it, let’s just get our food and go.”

John B. and JJ listened to her as she led them towards The Wreck, and Topper and Kelce quickly followed behind, muttering in their wake.  You were about to go join your friends when a hand closed around your elbow.

“Y/N,” Rafe hissed, keeping his voice low and glancing around.  You wrenched your elbow away, huffing in annoyance and scowling his way.  Rafe took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket, revealing his blazing blue eyes that immediately caught you off guard.

“What do you want?”  You tried to sound authoritative, folding your arms defensively.  But Rafe’s intense gaze was making your stomach flutter, and it was hard to stay angry at him.

“Since when do you hang out with them?” he asked pointedly, spitting the word them like it was sour.  You scowled.

“You mean my friends?” you fired back.  “Why wouldn’t I hang out with them?”

“Do you know the kind of shit they get themselves into?”  He ran a hand through his gelled hair, messing it up and leaving it ruffled in a way that made your knees weak.  “They’re dangerous, Y/N.  You’re gonna get in trouble if you keep hanging around them.”

“Oh, and you’re so innocent?  Your friends throw under-aged keggers and go around beating people up.  Why should I want to be with you?”  You winced; you hadn’t meant to phrase it that way.  You shouldn’t have implied Rafe wanted you to be with him, and his surprised reaction told you it caught him off guard as well.

He recovered quickly though, the intensity never waning in his eyes.  “I thought we were getting close,” he admitted, his voice soft.  The sudden vulnerability threw you off, but you kept your composure and cleared your throat.

“We talked once on the beach, Rafe.  You tricked me into going to a stupid party where I was miserable the whole time.”  You purposely left off the part of that night that had been haunting you for days.

Rafe wasn’t going to let this slide, though.  “What about after the party?” he challenged, stepping closer to you.  You were grateful the others weren’t around to see how flustered you were getting just by Rafe’s presence.

“W-what about it?” you stuttered dumbly, falling right into his trap.

“When we were on the chair together.  You can’t honestly say you didn’t enjoy yourself.”  Your throat had gone dry, words failing you as Rafe slowly dragged his hand up your arm.  Goosebumps rose on your skin and you inhaled sharply as his fingers danced across your collarbone.

Gritting your teeth, you shook your head.  “It meant nothing to me.  I want nothing to do with you, Rafe.”

His hand stilled where it rested on your waist, only a thin tank top between you and his sinful touch.  “Oh, really?  Because as I recall, you were more than happy to suck my dick.”

The sudden dirty words made you gasp, stepping away from Rafe’s intoxicating aura.  He followed close behind though, keeping your chests close and faces inches away.

“No I wasn’t,” you argued.  “You’re delusional.”

Rafe scoffed.  “I’m delusional?  Because I have a crystal clear image of you reaching into my pants--”

“It’s done, Rafe.  Get over yourself.  What happened was a one time lapse in judgment, and I can assure you it won’t be happening again.”  You felt your voice waver ever so slightly, cursing yourself silently as Rafe picked up on this and smirked wider.

“Admit it, Y/N.  It’s all you’ve been thinking about.”  

Exhaling softly, you felt his hands burn up your side as they drifted across your body.  His tantalizing voice continued whispering in your ear.  “It’s all I’ve been thinking about, too.  Your fingers, your lips, your tongue.”  A shiver raced its way down your spine, his mouth dangerously close to touching your skin.  “I can’t stop thinking about how good you feel.”

Finally snapping back into your senses, you forcibly stepped back and put some much-needed distance between him.  “Well, you’re just gonna have to keep thinking about it, because it’s never going to happen.”

With that, you turned on your heel and rushed into The Wreck, desperate to find your friends and make the blush in your cheeks fade away.

You joined the others as they finished packing up lunch, grateful to be away from Rafe’s scrutiny.  You all climbed onto the HMS Pogue, JJ giving you a steady to hand to hold as you found your footing.  Pope pulled out of the dock, beginning to head towards a secluded part of the marsh.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t very secluded today.  You spotted Topper at the helm of a brand-spanking new boat, his glare visible even from a distance.  He steered right towards you until you were side by side, bobbing a few meters apart in the calm waters.

“Do you need something?” John B. asked, feigning pleasantries.

“Nope, nothing at all.  Just thought this was a good spot.”  Topper motioned for Rafe to hand him a beer, and you bit your lip as you watched him toss a can.  Rafe cracked one open himself, taking a long swig with his gaze clearly locked on you.

Turning deliberately away, you accepted the beer bottle JJ handed you and sighed.  

“What’s his problem?” JJ wondered, clearly seeing the way Rafe stared at you across the water.  

You sipped the beer, almost challenging Rafe to say something.  “I have no idea,” you answered JJ absently.  

From then on it was a clear competition between which boat was having more fun.  The Pogues all laughed louder than usual, but this was only met with the other boat’s booming laughter as well.  JJ dealt out a game of cards and you all gathered on the deck, eating lunch as you played.  For a split-second you forgot about Rafe on the other boat, until the sound of his voice drifted into your ears and made your skin crawl.

Topper’s engine roared to life, and you all turned to watch him speed down the water.  JJ cursed them out as they departed, clearly agitated by their arrogant display.

“They think they’re so cool because they have a newer boat,” he grumbled.  “We ought to show them what this little puppy can do.”  He slapped the side of the HMS Pogue, shooting Pope a pointed look.

“We can definitely keep up with them,” Pope responded.  “This baby hasn’t failed us yet.”

You watched helplessly as the guys fired up the engine, determined to speed after Topper.  You were just fine putting as much distance between you and Rafe as possible, but with the competitive natures kicked into overdrive you knew you would be seeing him again shortly.

The HMS Pogue sped down the waters, spraying you with droplets as you pulled off your shirt and shorts to avoid getting them wet.  You lounged with Kiara and Sarah on the deck as the boys whooped and hollered, and soon you had caught up to the Kooks.

“Fancy seeing you here,” JJ called out.  Topper’s glare was deadly, and Rafe just took another long sip of beer.  You sat up on your elbows a little, hoping your bikini-clad body was visible enough to throw him off.  Behind Rafe’s sunglasses, you had no idea what affect this had on him.

“You guys really don’t want to try and race me,” Topper warned.  “This thing is the fastest model yet, and I’d hate to leave in you a mountain of dust.”

JJ gripped the wheel.  “Bring it on, Kook.”

Both engines roared to life, the noise deafening as it boomed through the marsh.  You clutched the side of the boat for dear life as JJ pushed the throttle all the way, sending the boat whizzing across the water.  Topper was neck and neck with you though, concentrating hard as he steered dangerously close to you.

Every now and then the two boats would thunk against one another, jostling you where you sat.  Kiara gripped the side rail, sending JJ a glare.

“I thought boat racing was a non-contact sport,” she commented sharply.

“Yeah, there’s no point in wrecking the boat just to win a race,” Pope advised, but JJ merely waved them off and continued his aggressive antics.

Standing up shakily, you attempted to move across the deck but were quickly thrown off balance by another collision with Topper.  Stumbling backwards, you nearly fell off the side before Sarah lunged out to grab you.

“Jesus, JJ!” she hollered, pulling you back to your feet.  The breath had been knocked out of you from your near-fall, and when you glanced over at Rafe you couldn’t decipher whether he had a look of concern or triumph on his face.

“I officially no longer care who wins this stupid race,” Kiara declared, attempting to wrestle the wheel away from the blonde boy.  But JJ, stubborn as ever, resisted her and stayed firmly planted where he stood.

“I can feel her really revving up now,” he insisted, giving the wheel a loving pat.  “A few more seconds and we’ll smoke them.”

You braced yourself for another crash, eyes connecting with Rafe’s across the water.  He’d removed his sunglasses, and was leaning behind Topper’s shoulder and directing him as he drove the boat.  You scowled his way, refusing to back down from his stone-hard stare.

Soon enough, just as JJ had said, the HMS Pogue began to edge out the Kooks.  Topper frantically tried to speed up, shouting in irritation.  Rafe and Kelce tried to tell him what to do, but it was to no avail.  The HMS Pogue was now three feet ahead of them, then five feet, then ten feet, and eventually the country club boys were left in the dust.

With whoops and shouts of glee, the Pogues all burst into celebration.  You, Sarah, and Kiara hugged excitedly, grins stretching across your lips.  JJ pulled the boat to a gentle stop so Topper could catch up, and when he did Sarah flipped him off.

“You said that was a ‘fancy new boat’, right?” John B. mocked, arm slung protectively around Sarah’s waist.  “It’s a shame you wasted your money on such a piece of crap.”

Topper looked about ready to blow a gasket, and Kelce was kicking the beer cooler angrily.  Rafe was cool as ice, however, never once betraying his frustration.  He had you locked in his gaze, and your lips parted as the intensity made chills roll down your spine.

You were sick and tired of how small and helpless he made you feel.  Rafe didn’t deserve to have that much power over your emotions.  In two long strides you made your way over to JJ, grinning up at the blonde boy who was basking in his victory.

“Nice sailing,” you complimented, before looping your arms around his neck and pulling his face down to yours.  Your lips connected in a kiss, tongue swiping out to deepen it.  Startled at first, JJ quickly recovered and smoothed his hands up your bare back, landing just where your bikini was tied.  You leaned into him, hand pressed to his chest as he returned the kiss with equal fervor.

After a minute you tore yourself away, eyes alight with adrenaline as you smiled up at him.  Turning your smirk to the other boat, you tilted your head at Rafe with a confident how’s that? expression.  

His blue eyes were dark, brows low on his forehead.  His frown made your heart clench, and when he finally looked away you felt yourself missing the heat of his stare.  

But he didn’t look at you again; he didn’t even acknowledge your existence once you all returned to the docks.  You made a point to walk beside him up the path, hoping he’d say something, anything.

Rafe was silent, eyes glued to the ground in front of him.  You watched as he left with Topper and Kelce, not even throwing a glance back your way.  His figure disappeared into the distance, until you weren’t sure if you’d ever see it again.  

Guilt and disappointment raged inside of you, battling with your feelings of victory at making Rafe angry.  You should've been thrilled you pushed all his buttons, because after all he’d been doing the same to you.  But what should’ve felt amazing felt like a rock in your stomach, and you almost wished you’d fallen into Rafe’s trap instead of setting up one yourself.

~ ~ ~

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[theslashmix]

I didn’t merely see

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31545329

Written for the LLSS prompt  “ Harry Welsh isn't as oblivious as everybody thinks he is. (ft. Winnix and/or Speirton not being that subtle after all)"

beta-read by @thrillingdetectivetales

will publish a translation/ rework of it in Italian

For some reason, people seemed to forget that Harry was an observant man. He was an officer, and in his modest opinion, a decent one. This meant that he must have a good eye for detail and an even better brain to put things together in a coherent manner: it thus surprised him a bit that people seemed to stop at his jovial façade, somehow separating it from the competence that he had shown on the battlefield. It was almost as if there were two of him- good ol’ Harry, always down for drinks and shenanigans, and First Lieutenant Harry Welsh.

He had known that Winters and Nixon were a thing since Toccoa, and had guessed that they had been for a while before that- since OCS, probably. The signs were all there, almost painfully too easy to spot for someone who truly watched, instead of just seeing: the little touches that lingered just a second too long; the brief stretches of time when no one seemed to know where they were; the constant invasion of each other’s personal space that wasn’t an invasion at all, because at some point it had gotten from being my personal space, to you’re welcome in it, and it was slowly morphing into our personal space under Harry’s very eyes.

He had wondered why on Earth Sobel hadn’t picked up on it, what with him hating Winters’ guts and desperately trying to find even the smallest fault in the man. After some more careful observation, Harry had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t so surprising after all, because Sobel, consciously or not, didn’t want to see it. It was glaringly obvious that Sobel was very good at lying to himself, and him hating Winters was a big, fat lie. He was not good enough at lying to himself that he would try to destroy Winters with that particular tactic, though.

 When Sobel was removed from Easy, Harry drew a big sigh of relief.

It had made him uneasy, back then. It was hard to reconcile the stereotype of fairies he had in his head with the reality of how the two officers were. They should have been effeminate, weak, hysterical: they weren’t. Winters was everything that the high brass could want in an officer and a soldier, and Nixon, despite his flaws, was a good man, and a good intelligence officer. Harry wondered for long hours whether he ought to report them: a lifetime of conditioning was hard to shake. In the end he didn’t: D-Day arrived too quickly, and he had other things to think about rather than trying to convince a court martial that Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon were a homosexual couple. Especially since he had nothing more substantial than a lame “well, they are often together” and his own impressions.

After Normandy, Harry actively decided that he would do nothing about it, even if he didn’t approve. After Normandy, the boys would follow the two officers just about anywhere, and Harry couldn’t in good conscience take them from Easy, because that would mean that more of the boys would die in the incompetent hands of Norman Dyke.

 After Bastogne and Foy, after Nixon had decided to stay in that freezing hellhole with them (and with Winters) instead of taking the much sought-after furlough stateside, Harry decided that he would actively cover for them, if that was what it would take to keep Dick and Nix with them. He decided that it was completely wrong that the world had decreed that the two of them shouldn’t stay together, because after the long scrutiny Harry had imposed on them, there was only one conclusion possible: the two fit so well together that God must have made them to be together. Their relationship evolved to its full potential in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, if what was between them was just sinful lust.

 Now it had fully become our personal space, and the two could hold an entire conversation in just a single, prolonged stare, like an old married couple. Even the boys seemed to be always talking about them as a package deal. “Winters and Nixon said that…”, “Yesterday Winters and Nixon…”, “Do you think that Winters and Nixon will…?”, “Where are Winters and Nixon?”

 There could be no doubt whatsoever that Nix belonged with Dick and Dick belonged with Nix, the same way that Harry himself belonged with his beloved Kitty.

He noticed the signs of the very same thing going on between Speirs and Lip in Haguenau. It was nowhere near as long standing as Dick and Nix’s relationship. If he had to pinpoint its starting moment, Harry would have guessed around Bastogne, at the earliest. Probably when Speirs had stopped going to Dyke for updates on Easy and had started to go directly to Lip. There was still a tentativeness around them, the sweet, hesitating exultance of discovering each other, the pressing need to be together and close as much as possible.

It was in the way Lip perked up as soon as he heard Speirs’ steps, and in the way Speirs’ eyes kept turning in the direction of the house where a sick Carwood Lipton was billeted with a worried frown, as if the lieutenant was magnetic north and the captain was the hand of a compass. It was in the way Lip murmured Speirs’ Christian name when they thought that nobody was there to hear them, and in the way Speirs had claimed the right to take care of Lip as if it was his God-given privilege, and woe betide whoever dared to interfere. 

He hadn’t known the true depth of it though, not until one evening in Haguenau when he had decided to go and visit Lip in his billet. The lieutenant had healed from pneumonia in a way that Roe had defined “miraculous”, but was still quite weak and needed rest. Harry hoped that a Hershey bar would lift his spirits a bit, and distract him from his desperate need to mother everything and anything that breathed. They should probably have him infiltrate the German troops, he’d have them tucked up in bed by 2100 sharp, and no sneaking out to invade Poland, is that clear Adolf?

Harry walked softly, making no noise in case Lip was asleep. As he got close to the flimsy door, he realised that Lip wasn’t asleep, and was in fact talking with none other than Speirs.

“- if you die, what good would you be to the boys?” Speirs was saying, with an exasperated tone that indicated that they had had this discussion a few times already.

“There’s no other second lieutenant, Ron. If I don’t take care of my duties, nobody else will, and the boys will go without supplies.”

“Car- you seriously think so little of the other officers that we’d let Easy starve?” There was an obvious subtext there- do you think so little of me?

“No!” Lip’s exclamation was scandalized and filled with frustration. “No, I don’t. But you all have so much to do already. You shouldn’t be doing my job on top of yours.”

“You’re talking as if you were purposefully slacking, Car. You aren’t. You are sick, you didn’t want this, and nobody thinks any less of you because of it.” Speirs’ tone was getting increasingly frustrated.

“But I can’t-”

 “No, I can’t, Car!” Speirs’ voice rose a little before the captain brought it back down. “I can’t stand the thought of you grinding yourself to the nub. I’m scared, Car, for the first time I’m truly scared in this goddamn war because I’ve got something to lose,” he said, and Harry was surprised to hear him admit such a thing. Hearing Captain Ronald “Killer” Speirs so vulnerable, admitting to his fear so openly with a voice raw with emotion, was something Harry had never even dreamed could happen, not in a million years. It must have cost him a lot to admit it.

“It’s hard enough that I have to send you into action knowing that you could die, but I can accept that because it’s out of our control. I can’t accept the thought of losing you to a pneumonia relapse, not when it can be avoided by you simply resting a bit!” Harry had never heard Speirs talk so passionately.

There was a rustle of cloth, and a muffled sob- they had probably embraced, seeking the comfort of touch and closeness in the very real solidity of each other’s body.

“Please, Car. Please. Do your best to live- I just can’t bear it,” murmured Speirs.

There could be no doubt left that the love between them was the real deal and not something wrong or twisted, not after hearing the pain in Speirs’ voice at the thought of losing his lover. It couldn’t be wrong, not when it could give back humanity to a man like Ronald Speirs, giving him something not only to die for, but to live for, which was much, much more important.    

 “Oh, Ron…” said Lip in a voice that was heartbreakingly tender, and Harry decided that it was time to go. He suddenly felt ashamed, as dirty as if he had spied on them having sex- no, not having sex, he amended. They would make love. He shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It had been a moment of deep intimacy between the two men, not only of the body but of the soul, and he couldn’t bear to spy on something so pure for a moment longer. Even though he had to admit that he was glad to know that there was something that had remained pure and unsullied despite the war.

It was a week later or so, when he heard Luz talking about how quickly Lip had bounced back from pneumonia.

“Couldn’t bear the thought of us boys being without their Mama Lip, especially now that he’s got Papa Speirs to take care of him,” he said wisely, and his audience nodded solemnly, unanimously agreeing that Lip and Speirs were a package deal as much as Dick and Nix were.

He knew then, with certainty, that Speirs and Lip belonged to each other the same way Nixon and Winters did.

Of all the things he had expected to change during the war, his perspective on homosexuality hadn’t been one, but he solidly counted it among the few, positive things to come out of that particular bloodbath. When Dick announced at the end of the war that he had decided to accept the job offer at Nixon Nitration, and Speirs that he would go to West Virginia “to see what opportunities I can find there,” Harry felt happy for them.

They belonged together, and they would stay together. Maybe there was some justice, in this world.

[sp00kymulderr]

Hold on to these words (Ezra x Reader)

Warnings: Anxiety, depression, insomnia - not mentioned explicitly but clearly referenced. 

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,314

Summary: ‘So when sleep just won’t come, and you’ve got no occupation but nibbling at the fruit of the melancholy tree, hold on to these words, hold on to me’ (Again the Night - Jason Webley)

A/N: This is pretty personal and self-indulgent, but I thought I’d share it here for anyone else who might want to read it. I also haven’t really edited this, so I apologise for mistakes. 

It takes weeks for Ezra to convince her to spend the night, all but begging on his knees for her to stay til sunrise at least so they can enjoy each others company for more than a few hours. Perhaps she does not realise how taken he is with her, how she makes his heart beat louder with every moment of her presence. Ezra is dizzy with adoration; faltering in his speech every time she smiles, knots in his stomach every time she deigns him with a kiss.

And yet even when she does agree to his pleas, letting him wrap around her on the bed that knows all of their sins, she hesitates when he offers her the warmth of his chest to lay her head upon. The beat of his heart echoes in her ears and something in her eyes tells him she is wary of his care. He asks her what she needs, a simple question made grand in his usual purple prose, but she simply kisses his wrist where his hand strokes her cheek and tells him she has everything she needs here. She does mean it, doesn’t she?

Ezra falls quickly to sleep, more so than usual, holding her to him in a way that comforts him so deeply – she makes him feel complete, somehow, and all he wants is to return the favour but she always holds back. She keeps part of herself secret; it took some time to figure that out but when he did it was so obvious to him he felt foolish for taking so long to realise. One day he’ll know the words to tell her it’s okay, but for now she stays with him and that is enough.

He sleeps so deeply, his body curved around hers. He sleeps and there’s a gentle snore coming from him that she listens to, finds comfort for a moment in it. She always presumed he would talk in his sleep, continuing the ceaseless ramble of delicate words that left his mouth at every moment. His ardent locution was the reason she became besotted with him in the first place, but the peaceful sound of his breath in the deep of night is even better. And everything feels fine, for once, until it isn’t. Until the room is pitch black and everything is still and she lays awake as the familiar ache starts again in her chest.

Ezra stirs when the warmth is gone, as soon as his unconscious mind notices the cold bed he’s jolting awake with bleary eyes and a disappointment heart. He doesn’t blame her for leaving if she felt he asked for too much, he wants her to be comfortable. But he thought their relationship had finally progressed and now he is deflated from his misunderstanding. For months they have been fiery and wild with each other but he truly believed they had both agreed they wanted more than that.

Turning to the side, he sees a dull light and blinks to dilute the sleep in his eyes. He feels his entire soul rise in relief when he notices her face illuminated by the communications pad in her hands, where she sits on the stool besides the window. For a moment he doesn’t move, but she lets out a sound so forlorn his heart lurches and he has to follow it towards her. Twisting in her seat at the sound of movement, she watches him come close with weary eyes and a forced smile.

“Sorry” she whispers “didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep”

He spy's on the pad that it’s 4am, soon the sun will be in the sky again. He knows at once she hasn’t slept, her tearful eyes give the game away.

“Sweet stardust, there is no need for your penitence” he responds, the term of endearment eliciting the smallest of smile – but true this time.

He kneels besides her, the cool hard floor unpleasant again his bare knees but nothing akin to the heartache at seeing her like this. Tentative, Ezra reaches for her and when she doesn’t shy away let’s his hand fall on the bare, warm skin of her thigh. A gentle squeeze. They sit like that it silence before she puts down the pad and joins him on the floor, back resting against the wall and pulling him close to her side so she can speak quiet.

“I’m sorry” she repeats, and he shakes his head again but doesn’t say a word. She continues quietly, lacing her fingers with his. “My heart is full with love for you, Ezra, but my head is...my mind is a playground for thoughts that stain and mar everything. They come out at night, so I don’t sleep much. They come out at night and they ruin everything. I don’t want them to ruin us”

She turns her head and buries it against his shoulder, wetting the fabric of his t-shirt with fresh tears.

“I don’t want them to ruin us” she repeats, voice muffled against him “so I didn’t stay, but I wanted to and I still want to. But Ezra, I can’t burden you with me. I’m...I’m broken. I can’t make you take on my broken mind and my empty soul because you’ll always have to help me more than I ever had to help you. And I know you’ll say you don’t mind, but one day you’ll resent me for not being complete”.

Ezra feels a shattering at her words, a sorrow that he hadn’t realised what caused her to keep herself from opening up to him as he had to her. Her pain rips through him and he wants to stop it from hurting her ever again. She is the sweetest stardust in this and every galaxy to him, but vicious words swim in her mind and tell her she is too much of a burden for anyone else to carry. He hates it, lets out a ragged breath and feels a wrath at the thing that makes her feel this way.

Sobbing, she holds on to him and apologises again and again, her hand twisting the fabric on his other shoulder – the one that no longer has a limb attached.

“Perhaps we are both incomplete, and this is why we chanced upon one another? Perchance it was so we could put together each others fragmented pieces with parts of our own? When we made acquaintance I was a wretched man, mourning a loss that made me feel no longer whole. You taught me how to exist again. I still carry that weight, but you took some of it for me and made something exquisite from it. Likewise while I cannot completely relieve you of your encumbrance, I can seek to lessen the load and I will... It is the very least I can do.”

She lifts her head, finally, and though her tears still run the smile on her face in sincere and the light in her eyes reflects the love in his. He has never been more sure that they were meant to find each other than right now, each going through a form of hell to find some solace in the others embrace.

“Thank you, Ezra. Thank you” she mutters, clinging to him. She is certain she will still feel scared, alone, unsure – that might be her lot in life, but knowing now that he won’t turn away from her pain makes the sting a little less unbearable.

“I love you, stardust” Ezra finally says, weeks later than he had planned but it’s right and real.

When the sun rises they choose to ignore the morning duties for once, climbing back in to the soft bed. He keeps her close to chase the thoughts away as she sleeps in his arms for the very first time, and surely not the last.

Tag list:

@pascalisthepunkest​ @immundusspiritu​ @keeper0fthestars​ @pedropascalito​ @amarvelousmandalorian​ @engineeredfiction​

[heavenbarnes]

all good boys go to heaven

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, handjob, nasty bucky, coming inside

Word Count: 2163

this is based off of the julia michaels song “heaven” cause it is so much fun to work with. this is nothing but sex and naughtiness which we all deserve. p.s peep my nasty bucky playlist x

Bucky was a choice, some might say a bad one, but you couldn’t say you didn’t know what you were doing. It wasn’t Winter Soldier, bloodshed and destruction bad. It was break your heart, your back and your patience all in one night.

One night alone with him was like spending a night in purgatory, but finding your sins forgiven in the light of the morning. Falling for him certainly felt like falling from grace, but landing softly in his bedsheets.

And upon being asked, not a doubt in your mind that you’d do it again.

-

He hadn’t been around too long, long enough for the both of you to catch each other’s eye. You couldn’t name a time that the two of you were together, that your eyes were ever anywhere else. He never acted on it, he wouldn’t give you the time of day unless you asked for it.

Or maybe, worked for it?

He wouldn’t give anything away, never back down without a fight. Your fight looked like a silk slip dress, bright white, and mid-thigh. It was accompanied by a saunter into the party, immediately scanning your situation. You lost count of the number of eyes that fell on you.

No need for the count, only one pair mattered, and they’d hit you before the change in air had.

Your ignorance towards him served purpose as you wrapped your hand around a drink that’d already been prepared for you. You kept your back to him as you waited for that moment.

There it was.

Strong hands landed on your waist and you felt a strong form at your back. You giggled inwardly, lips wrapping around the paper straw. You felt the fingers tightening against your hips, trying to draw you back. The strong grip was getting dangerously close to the hem of your dress.

“You greet everyone like this?” Your voice was a sharp quip, already feeling lips getting closer to your ear.

They met the sensitive skin there, nipping ever so gently to make your skin prickle. Bucky was moving slowly against you, willing you to give in and make it easy for him.

“Only the ones that are dressed like angels.” He growled, the low rumble resonating through your body and sending a flood between your thighs.

“I’m an angel?” You placed down your glass and turned in his grasp, nearly nose to nose. “Well only good boys go to Heaven, so where does that leave you?”

He dipped his head, lips moments from your own till you could nearly taste him. His fingers ghosted against your thighs, trying their way up.

“The way I think about you when I’m alone, there’s no way that I’ve been good.”

He gripped your skin and pulled you in, sounding a gasp from within you and setting your heart rate faster.

“But I can bring Heaven to you.”

And he brought you Heaven, he brought you to his room, he brought you to your knees. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist as he carried you to his bed. He held tight to the soft skin that was being exposed by your small dress, remembering the way that you felt.

You felt a sharp slap against your ass, the burning red that he left in his wake moving through you and making you cry out into his mouth.

Your lips moved against his like they were never meant to be anywhere else, his distinctive taste working its way through your mouth. Your hands snaked into his hair, grabbing on and giving a tug back. The moan that sounded from him was like nothing other.

He let go of you, throwing you back against the bed. He dropped to the mattress, stalking you up it, eyes lit up like the eternal flame. He caught sight of your lack of panties, making him shake his head.

“You’re so fucking dirty!” A strong hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you towards him.

You squealed at him, feeling the way he immediately peeled the dress off you, tossing it over his shoulder. He looked down at you in all your glory, running his hands over your body with a stifled groan. You reached out, fingers going for his belt and working to undo it.

As you pulled at his trousers, he lifted his shirt over his head, leaving him standing above you in his briefs. The light shining behind him made him look like a prophet, sent to make you repent for your sins. His body was a sight to behold, tanned and sculpted like someone had known what you’d wanted all along.

The sight of him made you squeeze your thighs together, thrashing your head from side to side as you did.

“Just looking at me gets you all wet, baby?” He asked, a cheeky grin on his face.

You’d imagined this before, the way that he looked when he was nearly bare for you, but you couldn’t imagine the way that your body would react when you finally got to see it.

He placed his hands on your knees, prying your legs apart so he could see just what he’d done to you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling it to your soaked pussy and immediately pressing his fingers against you. You rolled your hips into him, begging for any sort of release.

“Please touch me, Bucky.” You cried out for him, no sense of shame.

The groan he let out was guttural, feeling the natural way you reacted towards him. He moved two of his fingers against your swollen clit, collecting wetness and dragging it back up. His other hand rubbed himself through his briefs.

The wet spot was already beginning to form on the material. It told you that you’d better take care of that soon or else you’d be having to clean those briefs up with your mouth.

You cried out for him, hands wrapping around his forearms and pulling him in closer. You brought his lips back to yours, the shortest kisses to sate you for the smallest time. You felt Bucky’s fingers at your entrance, ready to work you open.

He felt your muscles, unwilling to let him in with out a try. As he eased into you, your body lifted off the bed, the arch in your back showing him the affect he had on you. His thumb came to your clit, working you steadily and admiring the way you cried out for him.

“Look at you taking my fingers, you’re so gorgeous.”

He steadily stroked himself through his briefs, waiting for the moment he got to sit you on his cock and feel that warm and wet pussy all to himself.

“You’re so fucking tight, pretty baby.” His voice was gruff and commanding, making the heat trail over your skin.

You reached out to pull him back to you, your voice nothing more than a whimper.

“I want you inside me, now please.”

A needy little cry was all it took, he was stripping himself of his briefs and wrapping his lips around his soaked digits. Your eyes widened at the sight in front of you, his cock slapping against his stomach.

“That’s a pretty face, you want my big cock?”

As he lent his body over you, you took his length in both hands, twisting and stroking your way along it. It was worth it for the delicious noises Bucky treated you with. 

You wouldn’t lie that you’d imagined what his cock would look like, how it would feel hot and heavy in your hands. It was bigger than you’d ever thought. You couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to run your hands along it.

He propped himself on one arm above you, the other taking his cock from you and sliding it against your wetness. You coated him fully, your bodies reaction to him being a natural flood.

Your legs wrapped back around his waist as he made his slow sink into you, his jaw clenched as he felt every inch of your velvet smooth walls. Your eyes rolled back in your head, fingernails sinking into his shoulders as he split you apart.

He was going to be sure you’d never forget how it felt to be fucked by Bucky Barnes.

Once you were full of him, he rolled his hips once, listening to the cry that omitted from you. It made a grin spread across his face, knowing he could render you like this. You moved your hips back against his, meeting each thrust he sent up into you.

You were calming down, adjusting to the size of him, the burn starting to subside. It was a delicious burn, one that sparked inside of you that would probably stay forever. You gripped him tighter, doing what you could to draw him in.

“Fuck me harder, please Bucky.”

An accidental moan tore from within him, his hand bracing against the bed and his thrusts speeding up. He fucked you well into the mattress, sending your chest bouncing and an incoherent chant of his name leaving your lips.

He knew how to move with you, the feeling of him deep within you only making you want him even deeper. You couldn’t help the sounds that were falling from you, he had you speaking in tongues, levitating, walking on water.

Your hands moved down his back, coming to the tight skin of his ass. They only lifted slightly to deliver a sharp slap that only seemed to make him move faster. Make him want you just as hard as you wanted him.

You felt your walls constricting around him, never wanting to forget the way you felt together. Bucky’s growls were like music, the sound so close to your ear and making your skin prick up. He had never sounded as sexy as he did right then.

“You’re a dirty girl for me, is this all for me?” He asked between thrusts, voice broken up by pants.

“Only for you, this is all yours.”

“Fucking right it is.”

You didn’t know why you wanted to say what you said, something about him made you want to spill your secrets. He made you want to confess. The way his body felt against yours made you think that this was the only thing that was right.

He slipped a hand between you, his thumb finding your clit within an instant. You cried out for him, immediately attaching your lips to his. The way his tongue forced its way into your mouth, this was where he belonged.

You felt the flood gates beginning to open, the rains that were about to cascade down. You reached your fingers back to his hair, tugging it back to expose the delicate skin of his throat. He cried out as you attached your lips to it, teeth gently nibbling at him.

He looked so beautiful when the pleasure was taking over him, made you think he was only ever made to feel this good. He gripped you harder, somehow found the strength to plow you harder. The sound of the headboard colliding with the wall began to sound like a prayer.

“Are you gonna come for me, going to show me how good I’ve treated you?” He moved his hand from your clit, bringing it to your throat.

It caught you by surprise and tipped you straight over the edge, white light flashing before your eyes. A whimper of his name shot through you, pulling him in and silently asking for more.

You felt your muscles tighten to milk him, bring him right over with you. His thrusts began to falter, his head leaning down to bury in his neck. You brought your hand up again and have him a sharp slap, telling him that it was his time.

You could’ve missed it, but it was there. A pathetic whimper coming from him, getting lost in your skin as he let himself go. His hips relaxing as you felt him fill you up, giving you all he had until it was threatening to drip from you.

You lay there with him draping you, his heart beating so close to your own, making you melt into each other for just a moment.

It was to your surprise when he pulled you back to bed, to sleep beside him. His silent way of telling you he didn’t want you to go just yet wasn’t met with protest. You felt sleep take you as he wrapped his arms around you.

-

Bucky wasn’t a choice you regret making, he is worth the fun and memories that never stop playing in your head. Waking up in the morning to find his side of the bed empty. Rolling to find a piece of paper on the nightstand with one note.

“ON A MISSION IN ROMANIA TILL I DON’T KNOW WHEN. – BUCK”

And you have to admit to yourself that you let him have something over you, when you feel that twinge in your heart you promised yourself you wouldn’t get. It’s found in the way he moves, the way he touches you, the way he says your name.

And you lay back with a smile on your face, knowing that you’ve been good enough to go to Heaven, and you will be as soon as he’s back.

[xfandomwritingsx]

His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 1

-gif source-

Description: You’ve always been Bucky’s girl. But Bucky’s not here anymore…

Warnings/Labels: Post Snap. Angst. Self-Hate. Pining. Daddy kink. Slightest briefest illusion to choking kink. No smut yet. A small hint of fluff if you squint.

Approx. Word Count: 7,000

A/N: This took on a mind of its own. I’m sorry. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but as it usually happens with me, I’ve written this part and am just at a standstill. So to boost my motivation, I’m posting what I’ve got. I hope you guys like it. There will be smut in the next part. Just as soon as I write it.

You hate how cliché it is. Really, you do. If you could stop it, you would. If you could stop the ache inside of you yearning for your best friend left in the galaxy and simply go back to the overwhelming sadness, the mourning for your lost boyfriend, you would do it in a heartbeat. Because at least the sadness felt right. It belonged. It was valid. 

The aching flame of desire that’s been building, growing steadily inside of you is not. It’s out of place in this world and it’s just wrong. It feels like betrayal and tastes like bitter poison with the potential to destroy you.  

It’s so damn clichéd to say he’s an addiction, but fuck it if you just can’t bring yourself to leave him behind. You tried once. You stopped answering his calls and his texts. You took a vacation away from everyone, but it felt like a torture just as bad as indulging in what you have to admit is much more than a crush. You’d been back in town less than twenty-four hours before he showed up at your apartment to greet you and just seeing him made you feel light and airy and you knew you were hopeless. So you stopped trying. 

The worst part about all of it? You know he feels the same way about you. For most, knowing the person you want to be with also wants to be with you would be a blessing. Instead, it’s a cruel twist of the knife in the back of the man you love. 

Loved? 

No. Love. Loves. There are some days you need to remind yourself. Bucky is gone, but your love is not, cannot, and will not be gone. Which is why the way Steve’s watching you from across the table sends both a blush to your cheeks and drop kick to your gut.  

He’s different now, hardened over the last three years since the snap. Maybe that’s why it’s only now that you’ve drawn such an attraction to him. He had been too soft for you before, too morally white and good. He’d slipped into the role of supportive friend and colleague so easily that there was no room for anything else. And when you grew close to and eventually fell head over heels for Bucky? Any chance of a spark was stomped out. With that Steve at least. But this one? This Steve opened a new door that you aren’t sure can be shut. This Steve is rough around the edges and takes what he wants. This Steve is watching you instead of the holographic conference call you’re on, propping his elbow on his armrest, two fingers resting on his cheek while he gently bites down on the tip of his ring finger and his pinky plays along his bottom lip, all with an absolutely sinful look in his eyes. 

Old Steve never would have done that. 

You struggle to listen to what everyone else is saying. The meeting is boring to say the least, a bi-weekly check in that didn’t really need to be done but everyone participated in our of habit. It’s just you and Steve physically in the room since Natasha had left earlier in the day to travel to a nearby town that needed aid. You wonder briefly if the rest of your colleagues notice the way he’s looking at you or the way you shift in your seat across the wide spacing circular table, but you don’t really care. You realize you’re biting your lower lip and his eyes are drawn to where your teeth sink in gently.  

Someone calls your name with the tone of having already called it at least twice and you snap your eyes back up to the blue holograms in front of you. Carol is raising a single eyebrow at you and Rhodey is wearing the smallest smirk. You push down the embarrassment and sit further up in your chair, straightening your back and forcing yourself not to look at Steve who you know is chuckling at your lack of composure.  

“Nothing new to report here,” you say after clearing your throat. “Nat’s on her way now to help some cleanup efforts and nothing major has come up recently. Afraid to say it, but things might actually, finally be cooling down.” You chance a look across the table and Steve has his own eyebrow raised in a much less annoyed way than Carol had. His is teasing, suggestive. Things may have been cooling down for the rest of the world, but boy is it getting hot in this room. 

Fucking clichés again. It sounded ridiculous even in your own cloudy head.  

The call ends quickly after that. One by one all of their images dissolve in front of you and you’re left with no one else to look at except Steve. He removes his hand from his face, thank god, and folds them both into his lap as he casually leans back. 

“Plans this afternoon?” he inquires. You mirror his posture, leaning back in your own chair. 

“I should do those reports,” you groan, letting your head flop backwards onto the edge of the chair’s back. You hear him chuckle lightly before he responds in an apologetic way. 

“You know no one reads them anyways.” You snap your head back to squint your eyes at him. 

“You used to be all about paperwork, you know. What happened to organization keeps us going like a well-oiled machine or whatever it was you spewed at us?” you tease. He cracks a smile. 

“Less people makes keeping up with briefings a lot simpler.” There’s a bitter sadness behind the look on bright side undertone to his words and it threatens to ruin the mood. You tilt your head lazily and push past it.  

“Did you have something else in mind?” You don’t really have many plans today. The place could use a cleaning, but that’s not exactly high up on your want-to-do list. He shrugs and locks your eyes. 

“We haven’t sparred together for a while.” The suggestion sends a cold chill down your spine, a twist in your gut, and a tingling warmth between your legs, all of which leaves you feeling like you might float up out of your seat. He watches you carefully, just like always. Looking and waiting for the rejection, the polite decline on his invite.  

“I’ll meet you in the gym in ten?” You’ve never said no. Like the cliché goes; it’s a fucking addiction.  

Sparring has become your dirty little secret. You’d done it before, sure. But back then it was strict and with purpose and Old Steve corrected your form with precision. Now you only did it when you were alone and it was a whole different game. 

It starts friendly, a light warmup and practice drills both of you could do in your sleep by now. Some friendly banter. A couple of unexpected moves to throw the other off balance. His corrections no longer have that precision they once had. Instead his hands linger on you and he presses a little closer. Your focus has now shifted from besting the great Captain America to instead figuring out if you can get him to pin you down in a way that isn’t completely obvious.  

There’s times it’s slow and drawn out, a lot of dancing around and eyeing each other before a takedown. Other times it’s hard and fast with barely any warning before one of you is on top of the other. Sometimes it gets rough; a shove into a wall or a takedown that knocks your breath out completely. It was rough a lot the first year after The Snap. Neither of you ever willing to admit you needed the pain to fee alive. You’ve moved past that now and the roughness is for the sheer pleasure of it all. 

And then occasionally, when you haven’t been around each other enough and there’s something pent up inside both of you, it gets dirty; innuendos whispered against the shell of an ear, his leg between yours and a slight grind of his hips when he has you against the wall, an accidental slip of your hand up the inside of his thigh. The dirty was rare and taboo, but you couldn’t help but want it more often than you got it. 

No matter the type, at the end of it, you’re always breathing heavily and worn out, a mixture of aching to do it again and feeling completely satisfied coursing through you. You don’t like admitting it’s your version of sex, but it is. And the only reason you’re not slipping your hand into your panties every night after you do it is because you’re just too damn tired. Besides, you do that plenty of other nights. But that, and the overwhelming self-hate that comes with it, is a different story. 

You make quick work of changing into the black leggings, sports bra, and simple tank top you’ve made a habit of keeping in your room at The Haven. The place is your second home and there are some weeks you’re here more than you are your apartment, but you’ve thinned out the wardrobe you keep in an effort to keep yourself from lingering too long. As empty as it has become, the whole building holds an air of depression that’s seeped right into the grey walls. It’s also why you all stopped calling it The Compound and renamed it The Haven. It was a nice attempt to bring a warm feeling back to the place, even if it didn’t always work. 

You’re almost out of your bedroom door when you see the red sweater, his red sweater, resting on the chair in the corner. It gives you pause and that punch of guilt comes crashing over you in a wave. Leaving him in your room to go fuck his best friend.  

Stop.  

It’s not what you’re doing. He’s not in your room. He’s gone. Gone. And you’re not fucking anyone. 

You slip backwards out the door and watch that sweater until it’s just a sliver between the door and the frame. And then it’s gone, trapped behind a heavy wood door to stop taunting you. You breathe a weighted sigh and pry your hand from the door handle. Steve is waiting for you. 

--- 

“Feisty today, aren’t you?” he hisses after your elbow in his ribs puts some space between you. You’ve been at it for a little over twenty minutes. 

“Can’t handle me?” You swipe your arm over your forehead to slick away sweat. “You’re getting slow, old man.”  

“Age jokes?” There’s a smirk on his lips that should have warned you that he was about to make a move, but you’re completely unprepared. “What’s next?” he grunts as he manipulates you to twist your arm behind your back and presses his chest to your shoulder blades. His other hand ghosts around your neck, never doing more than cradling it in his palm. “You gonna start calling me Daddy?”   

Your sharp gasp is audible and there’s not a chance in the entire galaxy that he didn’t feel the way you shuddered and melted back against him. There’s a small chuckle against your hair just behind your ear that confirms it.  

Did he know? Had Bucky told him about your little secret kink that was rarely indulged upon? Fuck. Did he know all of your kinks? How much did they share with each other? Best friends. 

“Yield?” His voice is clearer, hands already loosening around you in preparation of letting you go. You recognize the tone. Something triggered his own guilt, prompting him to step back. You can let him go or you can keep him close, continue your game and push the boundaries. You want to so badly.  

You hesitate and breath catches in your throat as you fight internally with yourself before finally whispering, “Yield,” back to him. He’s gone in an instant, cold air filling the empty space behind you and you instantly regret it.  

There is no right answer. 

--- 

You have a reoccurring dream that’s somewhere between ecstasy and terror. You’re sharing a bed with Steve, in your childhood bedroom for a reason you can never figure out. It’s dark in the room and he’s pressed up behind you, a large hand over your hip and a clear hardness rubbing against your ass. Neither of you speak, but you push back into him, aching to feel that hardness between your legs.  

You grind against each other, soft moans the only sounds you hear. Then it’s not enough and that ache becomes too strong. Clothes are gone, dissolved off your bodies like they were never there as he scoops his arm behind your knees, bringing them to your chest as he sits up. He keeps you on your side as he gets to his knees, one hand on your ass, the other keeping your legs together and towards your chest. He lines himself up and your body is begging him to push inside of you. You bite down on your lip so hard, you swear you could feel the pain of it in the morning when you wake. All you want is for him to press his hips forward and put his dick inside of you. 

He obliges, but slowly. He eases in, just an inch at a time, slowing spreading you open for him and pleasure coursing through you. You moan and grip your pillow tighter. He feels only barely inside of you when there’s a sound outside the door, footsteps of someone coming closer.  

You hope and plead that they won’t enter, but they do. Steve bunches the comforter around his waist, shielding you from the unwanted eyes of the intruder, but stays inside of you. You want the person to go away, want Steve to push all the way inside of you, to fuck you like you’ve been craving, but it doesn’t happen. Steve withdraws and in a fit of anger about the feeling of emptiness between your legs, you sit up and are faced with the betrayal in Bucky’s eyes as he stands at the foot of your bed. 

You don’t remember much after that. Sometimes there is more, but when you wake you can never quite piece together the blurry memories. Sometimes you just wake up right there, unsure if you’re left horny or distraught; your constant inner turmoil. Usually, you kick the covers off yourself to cool your sweaty body and bury your face into your pillow, willing yourself back to sleep. 

--- 

You still remember the first time you realized how you felt about Steve. It happened unexpectedly and very suddenly. You’d both been in the study of what once was the Avengers Tower, but now was more of an empty, cursed castle. It was only eight months after The Snap. It didn’t feel like that long. As you both sat there in silence, a record playing softly to fill the void, you looked down into your newly empty glass and just felt defeated.  

A song started and from the very first bar, you recognized it. It was the slow, entrancing voice of Doris Day singing a song that had become very, very dear to your heart. Tears welled up, but you pushed them away with the back of your hand. 

“He used to say that if we ever got married, this was the song he wanted to dance to,” you told Steve, voice surprisingly clear for how you were feeling. He looked up from his own drink. You knew the alcohol didn’t have the same effect on his body as it did you and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing for him right then. He looked at you apologetically and nodded. 

“I know a thing or two about being owed a dance you’ll never get.” It may not be the same exact situation, but he understood how you felt, how just a song could send you down a path in your mind that hurt so badly. He waited for a moment before downing the rest of his glass and standing up. He walked over to the record player and with a delicate ease, started the song over. Walking over to where you sat with a confused, sad look, he held out his hand. “I’m not Bucky, but I’m not too bad of a dancer.” You couldn’t help but smile at him and his attempt to ease the sorrow.  

“Well I’m not Peggy,” you said, slipping your hand into his. He gave a gentle pull to bring you to your feet. “And I will probably step on your toes,” you joke. It brought a smile to his face wider than you’d seen in a long time and it made you feel truly happy that you’d been the one to put it there. 

The song itself is only about a minute and a half long so he made quick work of placing his hand politely at your hip and holding your hand out to the side, swooping you into a small, slow step. He led with a grace you didn’t quite expect and it was easy to follow him, to get lost in the sway of the simple piano in the song.  

You found yourself leaning in closer, turning your head and pressed your cheek to his shoulder, eyes closed and face practically buried into the comfort of his neck. He laid his head carefully against yours and you suspect he also had closed his eyes to lose himself. You expected yourself to think of nothing but Bucky, to be imagining it was his arms you were in. Instead, you melted into Steve and the only thing you could think of, was how safe you were in his arms.  

You’d leaned heavily on each other in those first few months. Tears, hugs, shoulder bumps, squeezing hands, grounding looks from across the room. Anything and everything to keep your heads above water. He’d always been one of your best friends since the moment he came into your life and now you feared he may have actually been the last person on the planet that you could trust with everything you had.  

As the song faded down, you pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eyes and that’s when it hit you. Like a ton of bricks, as they say. Something came over you and you just wanted to pull him down and kiss him. There was a look you couldn’t quite place in his eyes. They were soft, an internal conflict reflected in them as he glanced down to your lips in a slow blink. His hand closed around yours, a palpable change from the gentlemanly way he had cradled it through the dance. His lips parted a fraction and your stomach started twisting in an anxious sort of pleasure.  

But then a new song came on, something more upbeat and the spell was broken. You both backed away from each other and you thanked him for the dance. You chocked it up to grief and craving safety and familiarity in such desolate and chaotic times. You expected it to fade, to wither away and never come back. 

But all it did was grow. 

--- 

You’re sitting in the main office with Steve, work long since forgotten. You’re sitting at what has officially become Nat’s desk, but with her gone on another will-be dead end hunt for Clint, you’ve made yourself comfortable in her chair. Steve sits across from you and though he won’t say it, he’s relieved he’s not in charge anymore. He’s content on the other side of the desk, riding out the storm instead of trying to tame it. 

It’s gotten late, the room growing dark with patches of yellow light from the lamps gently placed around the room. Everyone had silently agreed the overhead lights were too harsh for nighttime. They were too white. Too happy. Too fake. A soft, warming color from the lamps fit the air of night much better. It also helps to shadow your face after you swallow the rest of your drink. Your hair, growing a little longer than usual, provides a curtain that helps to give you courage for the question burning at the tip of your tongue. There’s been flirtations passed between you and the way his eyes roam over your body as you lean back only encourages you. 

“So be honest,” You don’t look at him as you ask, but instead at the empty glass you place on the desk. “Did he tell you?” When he responds with silence, you look up through your lashes to see a genuine look of confusion. You sigh, not wanting to elaborate. “The… daddy thing.” You cringe saying it. It’s been at least a month since Steve said it, but it still lingers in your mind all the time. His look of confusion lessens, but you can tell even more elaboration is still needed. “I don’t know how much guys share about that kind of stuff. I didn’t know if Bucky ever told you… about that.” Your foggy mind can’t find a tactful way to phrase Daddy Kink, but the look of realization dawns on his features. He licks his lips quickly before literally biting back a smile while he looks down. Your cheeks are absolutely burning in a blush right now. 

“Uhh,” he stutters and clears his throat. “He did not.” You let out an embarrassed groan and throw your face into your hands which draws a chuckle from him.  

“I thought for sure he had to have and you were screwing with me.” Your voice is muffled through your fingers, but still clear enough to understand. “Instead I just confess a kink for no reason.” Another groan from you and another chuckle from him. 

“Buck was a private guy. He didn’t share much about what went on behind closed doors.” Why did you open your mouth? Steve hadn’t brought it up. You could have continued your lives without him knowing and without tossing yourself into a pit of embarrassment.  

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, starting to melt your hands away from your face, but sinking down further into your chair. “You didn’t need to know that about me. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He’s still biting his lower lip, trying not to laugh at you and you’re not sure if you want to disintegrate or laugh along with him. 

“If it helps,” he starts, the sly smile on his lips tempting to turn into a seductive smirk. “Even though he didn’t tell me, it was pretty clear by the way you… reacted.” You can’t help it. It’s a tortured groan that comes out as you sink as low as you possibly can, butt sliding off the chair entirely, your lower back now supporting your weight. “Hey!” he calls to you, patting his palm against the wooden desk to cut through your groan. “It’s not that bad. Get back up here.” He’s still trying not to laugh. 

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble, but push yourself back up in your seat. “I need another drink.” You reach out to pour yourself another and Steve picks up his beer bottle. 

“You can just count it as another thing you and I have in common.” You stop pouring. He says it so simply, takes a swig of his beer so casually and yet there’s a glimmer in his eye that reflects the dirty place he sends your mind spiraling into.  

You thought he’d been teasing you, pushing your buttons. You never once thought it might be something he also liked. And if he didn’t know about your dirty little secret kink when he said it, had he said it for his own pleasure? Your stomach starts knotting inside of you and it’s getting uncomfortably warm. 

“That’s… good to know.” It’s not a good response, but your mind can’t come up with anything else. The tension between you is thick and light as a fucking marshmallow and you swear it tastes just as sweet. 

Neither of you speak for a time and neither of you look away. His eyes hold yours, dare you to make a move, to cross the line. You stare back, but barely seeing him as your mind runs wild imagining just how he would react if you called him Daddy and desperately trying to figure out how you can slip that into any future interactions.  

He can clearly see you’re daydreaming, but he still says nothing. He just watches as your eyes come and go, enjoying the way your tongue occasionally darts out to wet your lips and the flush that’s forming near your collarbone. You take a deep, slow breath to refocus yourself and calm your heart that you didn’t realize is pounding in your chest. 

He rests his fist under his chin, turns it so he can run his pinky finger over his bottom lip, making you wonder just how soft his lips would be and how roughly he’d press them to you. He looks as though he’s about to say something, but you’ll never know what because the buzzing of his phone vibrating on the desk breaks the spell. He looks at it and then regretfully back at you. 

“I have to take this,” he admits. You wave your hand and shake your head a little too wildly. 

“Go, go!” He swipes the phone from the desk and has it to his ear before he’s out of his chair and leaving the room. Everything comes crashing back down on you and the lustful heat just feels like sticky sweat now.  

You swallow your drink in one gulp and retire to your room before he gets back. 

--- 

Your hands are buried in the dirt, trying to dig a hole deep enough for the damned blueberry bush, but every time you think you’ve found the right spot, you hit giant rocks. Who the hell decided giant rocks should litter the ground where you would unexpectedly be trying to plant things? Try to do some good in the world you told yourself. It’ll be fun you told yourself.  

“You better fucking grow after this ordeal,” you hiss at the bush. Although it wasn’t even a bush yet. It’s a stem and roots that’ll take over a year to produce berries. Stupid damn garden. 

You’d started it two years ago. There was a patch of land in back of your apartment building that was getting overgrown and you were at the point where you needed a project, something to do. Growing some vegetables and herbs and flowers seemed like a good idea. Get into the dirt with your hands and make something. Grow something. Share something. Of course, you had no idea what in the hell you were doing so it took over a year for you to produce a vegetable that was larger than your finger. It’s a pain in the ass and plants are finicky as fuck, but despite your moaning and complaining, it works. It feels good. 

“If you don’t grow, I’m going to rip you apart with my hands and then find a chipper to run you through,” you threaten as you pick it up to gently place it in its hole.  

“I thought gardening was supposed to be soothing,” Steve’s voice comes from behind you. “Kind of like yoga or something.” You turn your head to pass him a glare. 

“Maybe intimidating plants is soothing to me.” You turn back to your bush and fill the hole in with dirt before pushing up off your knees and standing. “What are you doing here?”  

“What? Can’t visit my friend?” he teases. You take off your gardening gloves, hot hands feeling a rush of cool when they hit fresh air. You toss the gloves into your bag of tools on the ground and cock your hip out. 

“You never come see me in the garden unless it’s important or unless you want more cucumbers,” you call him out. “And seeing as how you just got a batch of cucumbers from me, I don’t think that’s what you’re here for.” You bring your hand to your forehead to shade your eyes so you can stop squinting at the setting sun and see him a little better. He’s leaning his shoulder up against the brick wall of the building, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

“I’ve got to cancel this weekend,” he says with a hint of regret. You can feel yourself start to deflate a little. “There’s an older gentleman in the support group who needs an escort upstate. I won’t be back until late Sunday.” 

“You would abandon me for something noble,” you accuse in a teasing manner. Lowering your hand from your face, you take a few steps towards him.  

This weekend was your annual ice cream fest, as you affectionately called it. Once a year, you gather as much ice cream as you can both handle and devour it like children at a sleepover. It had originated from early on; a drunken night in which you needed consoling. Steve thought ice cream seemed the perfect thing to help you out and it kind of just stuck. It’s something you look forward to every year now. 

“When are you leaving?” you ask.  

“Tonight,” he says, confirming there’s no hope for salvaging the weekend.  

“Well, shit.” You manage to say it in a somewhat humorous tone, trying to make it clear you aren’t angry with him for canceling.  

“We can binge next weekend,” he offers quickly. A couple more steps and you find yourself next to him, leaning your back up against the same wall, using his shadow as a shield from the sun as the rough brick scratches into your shoulders. 

“I don’t know if that’s going to cut it, Rogers,” you tease. “My broken heart isn’t so easily mended.” He cracks a smile and leans in closer to you. 

“What ever can I do to make it up to you?” he inquires in jest. He slips his hands out of his pockets and pushes his shoulder off the wall, coming into your personal space. You make a show of biting your lip and him-hawing as you roll your eyes upwards to look at the sky in mock thought. “You tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He’s using that tone suddenly; the dark and dirty one that threatens to undo you. He shifts so he’s in front of you, places each of his palms on the brick, one on each side of your waist. “Anything you want, babygirl.”  

Your eyes snap back to his and that lip bite you’ve been doing loses its falsity. Your pelvis inches off the wall, gravitating to him and causing you to actively pull it back. You’re so focused on your hips that you don’t catch your hand reaching out for him and taking hold of his sweater in the middle of his chest. You play it off with a laugh and unfurl your fingers free of the fabric, instead giving him a pat. 

“That’s just mean,” you chuckle. “Playing on a girl’s fantasy like that.” His lips tilt upwards and he leans ever so slightly into your touch when you don’t take it away immediately. 

“Well maybe one day we won’t be just playing with it.” You catch the look of longing in his eyes as your throat closes up and nearly chokes you on air. It’s taking everything you have not to melt into a fleshy puddle at his feet. You want to say yes, fucking beg him to make good on that, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. He reaches up with one hand and twists a small bundle of your stray hair around his fingers. “I miss you when I’m gone,” he says softly, the dirty tone gliding away and making way for something softer. 

“I miss you too.” Your voice is dry, a stark contrast to the way the skin on your throat is wet with sweat and heated with a blush. You swallow and try to speak a little more clearly, but he beats you to it. 

“We deserve to be happy too, you know.” It’s what he tells his support groups, the same line he’s been using for at least the last year and a half in order to help people move forward. And yet, it doesn’t sound rehearsed. You slip your hand from his chest up to his shoulder. 

“Do you really believe that?” There’s hesitation. A struggle. He sighs and it’s ragged. He twirls your hair a little more, distracted. 

“I’m trying to,” is his honest reply. It’s such an easy thing to tell other people, but to convince yourself when you were the ones fighting the battle, when you’re the ones who lost? The ones who got your best friends, your loved ones turned to ash? Not as easy to believe. “I want to believe it.” He leans down, rests his forehead on yours. “I’m ready to try at least.”  

It’s hard to focus. The setting sun is beating down on half your face, heating your skin and nearly blinding one of your eyes. The twirl of his fingers pulls so gently on your hair that it could practically lull you to sleep. At some point your hand had slipped up towards the back of his neck and you can feel the ends of the hair on the nape of his neck on your fingertips. Your hand itches to slide up over his head and pull him down to you. But when you close your eyes, you see Bucky’s disappointed face reflecting back to you. 

“Do you think he’d want us to be happy?” you whisper. Do you think he’d give his blessing for us to fuck? But no, that isn’t right. It’s more than that, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be a hookup. It wouldn’t be a one-time thing. It would be real. Is that supposed to make it better? There’s a long pause before he answers. 

“Does it really matter anymore?” A bitter and defeated chuckle follows his words. He’s tired. You can see it in his eyes. Tired of worrying about right and wrong. Tired of wanting and not having. Tired of not letting himself be happy. He’s so close and you want to give in, want to pull him down and press your lips to his and tell him to hell with everyone and everything. But you just can’t shake Bucky’s image from your mind. 

“Steve,” you pause, voice cracking. “I-” 

“I know,” he cuts you off gently and sighs pulling his head off of yours. He’s disappointed, but not surprised. “But if and when you’re ready, just know I’m here.” As he steps back, he lets his hand graze over your hip and it leaves a tingle in its wake. He leaves you with a smile and a promise to be back soon and it takes you quite a few minutes to get yourself off that brick wall and back to work. 

Tears silently fall down your face tonight, every molecule of you feeling torn. He’d broached the line, held out his hand and offered for you to go with him. If you’re honest, you never actually thought the day would come. Sure, you’d dreamed of it, yearned for it, but it was always so unreachable. And now he’d just… offered it to you. Yet he did it in such a way that you could ignore it. You could pretend it never happened and just stay as you are. The question is; do you want to? 

--- 

It’s weeks later and you’ve barely seen him. A mixture of work, personal responsibilities, and exhaustion making your schedules clash against each other. There’s been a couple phone calls, a few texts, and brief meetings with fellow teammates, but no one-on-one time appropriate to broach his proposal. 

It hasn’t stopped you from thinking about it, dreaming about it and then tearing yourself apart for doing so. Honestly though, your self-depreciation is starting to feel a little forced. There’s the smallest shift from feeling guilty for wanting Steve to feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. It still leaves the black hole in your stomach in the morning, but it’s different. 

You’re shuffling papers around in the office because, yes, paperwork does still matter, when Natasha comes in. You give her a smile as she sheds her jacket and comes to stand across from you, leaning her hands on the back of a chair. 

“Doing okay today?” she asks tentatively. You don’t even look up from the report you’re trying to read. 

“Yeah, but could someone teach Rocket some penmanship if he’s going to make notes on these?” It’s only partially a joke. You’re turning the paper in your hands and squinting your eyes trying to make sense of his chicken scratch. When you glance up, you expect to see a smile on her face, but there isn’t even a trace of one and her eyes are analyzing you. “Are you okay?” you question back. 

“Yeah,” There’s a look of subtle surprise on her face with a simple raise of her eyebrows as she straightens up and crosses her arms over her chest. “I guess I’m still just tiptoeing around some things. I thought today would be hard for you.” Your brow knits together. Today? Why would today be hard? Hell, what is today? It’s Wednesday. It’s summertime. It’s… Fuck. Your face drops. “You forgot, didn’t you?” It’s gentle and nonjudgmental. “That’s actually good,” she tries to reassure. “Moving on and whatnot.” 

You throw your face into your hands, dropping the reports on the table. You’re honestly not sure what you’re feeling. You forgot your anniversary. Your anniversary! You’d forgotten it plenty of times before and it wasn’t like it was your real anniversary either. You and Bucky had just picked a random date out of obligatory social construct after realizing you had no idea when you’d actually gotten together. After The Snap it hit you a little differently though with the last couple stinging you sharply and causing bad days. Not this year apparently.  

“I’m an awful girlfriend,” you groan through your palms.  

“Sweetie, I hate to break it to you,” Natasha offers softly, but with a small sense of humor hidden in her voice. “You’re not his girlfriend anymore.” 

You take a deep breath and it shakes. When you squeeze your eyes shut behind your hands, you can feel tears make their way through you. You use the heels of your palms to rub them away. She watches it hit you; the emotions, the guilt, the tearing apart and she walks around the table to put her hand on your shoulder. It’s a small touch but it’s friendly and grounding and it makes you feel more comfortable. 

“Maybe it’s time to let him go. Let them all go,” she suggests. “It’s been more than three years now.” Some days it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. You bring your hands back to the papers on the table and pretend to watch them. “No one would blame you for moving on.” She gives your shoulder a squeeze before shifting away and leaning her lower back onto the table edge next to you. There’s a brief hesitation before she speaks again. “No one would judge you for who you moved on to either.” You look up sharply at her and she averts her eyes to the floor.  

“Are you implying something?” you sound a little angrier than you are. No one’s ever acknowledged this thing between you and Steve before, so the instinctive defense kicks in.  

“Look, it’s not like you two are subtle with the constant flirting.” She’s doing that thing she does where she’s giving you the answers straight, but her voice is soft. It works to help dissolve the anger. “Hell, there’s a bet going around on when you’ll finally hook up.” You’re not sure if you’re more embarrassed or humored by that piece of information. 

“Where’s Rocket’s bet at?” you ask, deciding to go with the humor. “I can’t let that little bastard win.” Natasha cracks a smile at you. 

“He’s running the betting pool so he actually wins it all if you don’t hook up.” She chuckles as you groan and lean back in your chair. 

“Well shit,” you say. “I guess I have to sleep with Steve now.” You both take a moment to laugh at the notion, letting any remaining tension about the conversation float away. When the smiles and the laughs settle, you give a small sigh. “I just feel like the worst person in the world,” you admit. “What kind of woman falls for the supposed love of her life’s best friend?”  

“There are worse things that a woman could do. Trust me.” Her words are true, but don’t do much to dull your pain. “It’s not fair to hold yourself to past commitments. We’ve gone through an unprecedented event. There’s not a rule book on what’s right and wrong here.” You peek up at her with a tilt of your head. 

“You sound like Steve at his support groups.” She squints her eyes and then cringes, bringing her shoulders up to her ears. 

“Oh god, I do, don’t I?” You both laugh again. “Alright, take out all the sentimental therapy bullshit,” she retracts with a smile as she drops her arms and pushes herself away from the table. “Just let yourself be happy.” She walks back around the table to grab her jacket off the chair. “Besides,” she adds before leaving. “Can’t let that raccoon win.”